Beauty Schmooty

I'm reading a book about Diana Mosley at the moment, and musing vaguely on how different her life would have been if she had been born plain.

Being born beautiful, as she undoubtedly was, is no more worthy of any particular reaction than being born clever. But somehow, it's more acceptable to be jealous of beauty than of brains. Or maybe it's just that people are more inclined to be content with their level of brains. Or it's easier to screw people up about beauty because there's more you can do to fix it.

I'm not a particularly vain person (I think) but I find it rather alarming how much stuff I carry around with me to make me look - not beautiful, but better. But I do wonder, sometimes, what it's like to be beautiful. I can't help thinking it must be different.