Most Beautiful Woman. In The World. Obviously?
OK, so I realise the bandwagon has spat me out and trundled off down the road and that this story has been kicking about in the UK press since back in April 2012, but it still makes me laugh. And horrified. But then I laugh again. Danger: This woman seems to have a rather inflated sense of self. It will irritate.
Ladies and Gentlemen roll up, roll up! May I present to you, in her own words, the hardship of being just Too Damn Beautiful. And not being able to afford mirrors:Â Â
On a recent flight to New York, I was delighted when a stewardess came over and gave me a bottle of champagne.
âThis is from the captain â he wants to welcome you on board and hopes you have a great flight today,â she explained.
Youâre probably thinking âwhat a lovely surpriseâ. But while it was lovely, it wasnât a surprise. At least, not for me.
Throughout my adult life, Iâve regularly had bottles of bubbly or wine sent to my restaurant table by men I donât know. Once, a well-dressed chap bought my train ticket when I was standing behind him in the queue, while there was another occasion when a charming gentleman paid my fare as I stepped out of a cab in Paris.
Another time, as I was walking through Londonâs Portobello Road market, I was tapped on the shoulder and presented with a beautiful bunch of flowers. Even bar tenders frequently shoo my credit card away when I try to settle my bill.
And whenever Iâve asked what Iâve done to deserve such treatment, the donors of these gifts have always said the same thing: my pleasing appearance and pretty smile made their day.
While Iâm no Elle Macpherson, Iâm tall, slim, blonde and, so Iâm often told, a good-looking woman. I know how lucky I am. But there are downsides to being pretty â the main one being that other women hate me for no other reason than my lovely looks.
If youâre a woman reading this, Iâd hazard that youâve already formed your own opinion about me â and it wonât be very flattering. For while many doors have been opened (literally) as a result of my looks, just as many have been metaphorically slammed in my face â and usually by my own sex.
Iâm not smug and Iâm no flirt, yet over the years Iâve been dropped by countless friends who felt threatened if I was merely in the presence of their other halves. If their partners dared to actually talk to me, a sudden chill would descend on the room.
And it is not just jealous wives who have frozen me out of their lives. Insecure female bosses have also barred me from promotions at work.
And most poignantly of all, not one girlfriend has ever asked me to be her bridesmaid.
 Youâd think we women would applaud each other for taking pride in our appearances.
I work at mine â I donât drink or smoke, I work out, even when I donât feel like it, and very rarely succumb to chocolate. Unfortunately women find nothing more annoying than someone else being the most attractive girl in a room.
Take last week, out walking the dogs a neighbour passed by in her car. I waved â she blatantly blanked me. Yet this is someone whose sons have stayed at my house, and who has been welcomed into my home on countless occasions.Â
I approached a mutual friend and discreetly enquired if Iâd made a faux pas. It seems the only crime Iâve committed is not leaving the house with a bag over my head. She doesnât like me, I discovered, because she views me as a threat. The friend pointed out she is shorter, heavier and older than me.
And, according to our mutual friend, she is adamant that something could happen between her husband and me, âwere the right circumstances in placeâ. Yet Iâm happily married, and have been for the past four years.
This isnât the first time such paranoia has gripped the women around me. In my early 20s, when I first started in television as a researcher, one female boss in her late 30s would regularly invite me over for dinner after a long day in the office.
I always accepted her invitation, as during office hours we got along famously. But one evening her partner was at home. We were all a couple of glasses of wine into the evening. Then he and I said we both liked the song we were listening to.
She laid into her bewildered partner for âfancyingâ me, then turned on me, calling me unrepeatable names before ridiculing me for dying my hair and wearing lipstick. I declined any further invitations.
Therapist Marisa Peer, author of self-help guide Ultimate Confidence, says that women have always measured themselves against each other by their looks rather than achievements â and it can make the lives of the good-looking very difficult.
âMany of my clients are models, yet people are always astounded when I explain they donât have it easy,â she says. If you are attractive other women think you lead a perfect life â which simply isnât true.
  âThey donât realise you are just as vulnerable as they are. Itâs hard when everyone resents you for your looks. Men think âwhatâs the point, sheâs out of my leagueâ and donât ask you out. And women donât want to hang out with someone more attractive than they are.â
I certainly found that out the hard way, particularly in the office.
One contract I accepted was blighted by a jealous female boss. It was the height of summer and Iâd opted to wear knee length, cap-sleeved dresses. They were modest, yet pretty; more Kate Middleton than Katie Price.
But my boss pulled me into her office and informed me my dress style was distracting her male employees. I didnât dare point out that there were other women in the office wearing similar attire.
Rather than argue, I worked out the rest of my contract wearing baggy, sombre-coloured trouser suits. It was clear that when you have a female boss, itâs best to let them shine, but when you have a male boss, itâs a different game: I have written in the Mail on how I have flirted to get ahead at work, something Iâm sure many women do.
Women, however, are far more problematic. With one phenomenally tricky boss, I eventually managed to carve out a positive working relationship. But a year in, her attitude towards me changed; the deterioration began when she started to put on weight.
We were both employed by a big broadcasting company. One of our male UK chiefs recommended I take the companyâs global leadership course, which meant doors would have opened for me around the world.
All I needed were two personal recommendations to be eligible. As everyone in the office agreed I was good at my job, I didnât think this would be a problem.
But while the male executive signed the paperwork without hesitation, my immediate boss refused to sign. When I asked her right-hand woman why, she pulled me to one side and explained that my boss was jealous of me.
Things between us rapidly deteriorated. Whenever I wore something new sheâd sneer at me in front of other colleagues that she was the star, not me.
Six months later I handed in my notice. Privately she begged me to stay, blaming the nasty comments on her hormones. She was in her early 40s and confided she was having marital problems. But by then Iâd had enough.
I find that older women are the most hostile to beautiful women â perhaps because they feel their own bloom fading. Because my husband is ten years older than me, his social circle is that bit older too.Â
 As a Frenchman, he takes great pride in hearing other men declare that Iâm a beautiful woman and always tells me to laugh off bitchy comments from other women.Â
Yet I dread the inevitable sarky comments. âHere she comes. Weâre in the village hall yet Samâs dressed for the Albert Hall,â was one I recently overheard. As a result I find dinner parties and social gatherings fraught and if I canât wriggle out of them, then often dress down in jeans and a demure, albeit pretty, top.
But even these ploys donât always work. Take last summer and a birthday party I attended with my husband. At one point the host, who was celebrating his 50th, decided he wanted a photo with all the women guests. Positioning us, the photographer suggested I stand immediately to his right for the shot.
Another woman I barely knew pushed me out of the way, shouting it wasnât fair on all the other women if I was dominating the snap. I was devastated and burst into tears. On my own in the loos one woman privately consoled me â well out of ear-shot of her girlfriends.Â
So now Iâm 41 and probably one of very few women entering her fifth decade welcoming the decline of my looks. I canât wait for the wrinkles and the grey hair that will help me blend into the background.
Perhaps then the sisterhood will finally stop judging me so harshly on what I look like, and instead accept me for who I am.
 "One, Two, Three altogether now! Should have gone to ...". But let's compare her to Mila Kunis, who is genuinely beautiful:
Now scroll up. Now look back down... and now .. scroll up once more? Riiiigggghht....
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snowghoul
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