Charla Muller - Pretty Takes Practice: A Southern Womans Search for the Real Meaning of Beauty

INTRODUCTION

The Importance of Being Pretty

I live in a city that is bright and glossy, with modern skyscrapers that glitter and twinkle, seeming to invite you to join in the polished success of our fair metropolis. Pretty and freshly renovated houses sit perched on wide, tree-lined streets and beckon you to daydream about their finely appointed interiors. Gorgeously landscaped yards boast perfectly placed azaleas, magnolia trees and crepe myrtles and bid you to come lounge in their shade. Shiny new SUVs, smart cars, MINI Coopers and luxury sedans buzz around town to appointments, meetings, carpools, bridge games and tennis matches. And in those skyscrapers, houses, yards and cars are very attractive, well-groomed and nicely dressed women who took the time and the energy to get pretty.

Pretty girls are everywhere in my town of Charlotte, North Carolina. Case in pointmy girlfriends best pal visits annually from New York City: the worlds epicenter of all things sleek, chic and au courant. And what does she say when its time to leave the Queen City of Charlotte? I cant wait to get out of hereeveryone is so damned attractive, it totally bums me out. Dont I know it, friend. This town is ruining the curve on pretty. When one is a really-very-average-middle-aged mom living in a city where pretty reigns and grooming is high art, looking put together and feeling pulled together can be more challenging than pumping and freezing six months worth of breast milk in a feeble attempt to bulletproof the immune system of my babies (who are now sneaking full-leaded soda from vending machines).

Many of us live in a Pretty City somewhere, and the pressure to look great more days than not can be crippling. And until the day I published a book, appeared on national television and subjected myself to input from the collective universe, I really was okay with looking fairly decent about every third day. Hitting a self-imposed beauty bar 30 percent of the time felt pretty good. And I did have a beauty bar, mind you. I am a southerner born and bred, and schooled in appropriate grooming (including facial hair management), good manners (lots of yes maams and no sirs) and sound fashion habits (no wind suits on airplanes). Even as a full-time working mom I was happy to exceed that bar for big client presentations and power lunches. And the rest of the time, I could and would slack off the grooming gas a little and coast. I still presented fairly well and had some basic requisites: No baseball capsEVER! Clean face and fresh makeup every morning. Skirts and Dansko clogs are not meant to be worn at the same time, I dont care if you are a librarian at a Montessori school (which Im not).

I aspired to a certain level of pretty and knew enough fundamentals to head in the right direction; I was just admittedly and selectively inconsistent. But appearing on national television forever changed my thinking about appearances as well as my apparent delusion that one out of every three days of aspiring to present well was good enough.

You see, several years ago I wrote a memoir about the year of daily intimacy I gave my husband, Brad, for his fortieth birthday. This randy little tale raised a few eyebrows (especially in my neck of the woods) and caught the attention of the media. People magazine, the Today show, CNN and The View came calling, which is every publishers dream and certainly a first-time authors dream, too. And while I was eager to share my message and promote my book, I quickly learned what everyone really wanted to know. The very first question on everybodys lips before appearing anywhere was not what this newly minted author was going to