Nothing ages as poorly as a beautiful woman's ego.
My first recognition of age setting in was exactly on my 36th birthday. I have no idea why, on this day of all days, I looked in the mirror and realized my face no longer looked young.
Beauty, unlike the rest of the gifts handed out at birth, does not require dedication, patience and hard work to pay off. But it's also the only gift that does not keep on giving.
Now, I don't actually know the exact cut-off age where beautiful ceases and "must have-once-been-beautiful" begins. It's true it's not forty-five. I can still get attention when I try really hard, even if it's greatly reduced.
The real bummer of fame is that at some point you're bound to get demoted.
I have worked every day since the age of fifteen, supporting not only myself, but also helping a sizable family when needed.
I have now spent over a year trying to figure where in the workplace I belong.
My boyfriend thinks I lost my true calling to be a librarian.
I was fired by 'America's Next Top Model' on my birthday.
When I model, I pretty much blank. You can't think too much or it doesn't work.
I will continue to be intelligent, I vowed, no matter how beautiful I become.
Fame is an interesting phenomenon.
Models are back to what they were in the '70s: clothes hangers.
Beauty can get a woman what she wants: love and money. But when beauty leaves you, so can the things it brought.
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