I suppose one day you'll see all of me. But, for now, here is an X-Ray image of my teeth (no, they aren't black---I didn't live in England THAT long!) I'm forcing a big old smile that does not come naturally to me. The reason I took this image with this filter on is because at the end of the day, underneath it all, a smile can really just be a facade and a straight face can be a very happy person but one caught in their thoughts. I dunno--a man once told me I'd be attractive if I'd smile more. Here's my story...

Dear Ether,

I was once told by a man that I would be much more attractive if I smiled more.  I wondered, “Did that stop people from approaching me because I looked like a sourpuss?”  When I catch my reflection in a store window or a mirror, I definitely look unapproachable.  My head is often lowered, my cheeks sucked in giving my lips a down-turned pout and sunglasses usually shade my eyes.

I was never the girl who was bought drinks at bars or was approached on streets.  I never got asked out on dates or was flirted with in public.  And I didn’t get it.  I know you guys don’t know what I look like, but you know I’m honest, and I will try and be humble, but I’m not bad looking.  And when I put myself together, I actually look quite nice.  So when I saw girls who I thought were less attractive, I never knew why I wasn’t getting any attention.

You know, some people have a great smile.  Their eyes crinkle beautifully, their teeth glimmer like ivory piano keys that explode in their mouths welcoming you to their face.  Their lips are full and their grin just makes everything more inviting.  When I smile, I lose my upper lip, my eyes almost disappear and it looks like I’m missing my back teeth because my lip casts a shadow over the last few molars.  I just don’t have a pretty smile.

When I had braces, I learned to smile with my mouth shut.  An almost pucker-like smirk.  I look back on these photos and see how dreadful I appear.  My chin juts out, lines gather around my nose and mouth.  No one would ever mistake me for the Cheshire Cat.

After this man suggested this about my appearance, I tried to take heed of his advice.  I actually felt the atrophied muscles in that region struggle and shake trying to hold the pose.  I felt stupid and foolish. After a few tries I gave up and my face relaxed back into its straight-lined position. The thing is, I don’t NOT smile, I just don’t have that kind of cheerful visage.

I will tell you one thing—(and it’s my surprise)—when I laugh—I give it everything I’ve got.  THAT’S when my teeth come out and sparkle and when my eyes shine and you see my dimples.  So, maybe the secret is you’ve got to make me crack-up.  And when you do, maybe I’m really damned beautiful.  So though I’m not on show every minute, what makes me special is that I come out from the woodwork and glitter every once in awhile.  And it’s the people who matter that get to see the really attractive me.  It’s the people who take the time to invest and not just enjoy the ongoing music of the large piano key teeth but maybe some of the flat notes hidden by my skinny excuse for lips.

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365

God Save The Queen---and my teeth!

Dear Ether, 

I think a little bit too much of the English lifestyle has rubbed off on me.  Brits, do not get offended by this stereotype (remember, my partner is English so this gives me some rights to a bit of a rib jab, eh?)  I, who once was so proud of her glittering white clackers, have not been to the dentist in over a year.  This young lady, who grew up with a mother who said, “there are two things you have to look after, your teeth and your feet” have neglected (well, both actually—damn those days of pointed-toe heel trends—bunion brewers!) my stunning American teeth. 

Ohhh, the hours I toiled in that orthodontist chair where he swore to me (the liar) that those braces would be coming off in just one more month (2 years later) and where I brushed for two minutes solid every night and proudly swung my tongue over the clean enamel like a windshield wiper doing its job to perfection. 

The worst thing is I own the Rolls Royce of toothbrushes—a Sonicare that was given to me by Phillips as a press gift.  I have no excuse.  I have the tools (though I do not floss—please don’t start throwing stones at me), so why the hell don’t I face Dr. Z (I won’t mention his real name because he is the epitome of evil.  He is the typical Beverly Hills dentist who thinks he is hilarious, abuses his hygienists, has nose hair like Chewbacca and always dreamed of becoming a screenwriter and blames his father for forcing him to become a dentist.  I believe every tooth he has ever pulled brings him joy for every lost script he never wrote).  

His office calls every month or so with a tsk-tsk and I swear to them that next month I PROMISE that I’ll be there.  Of course I’m lying. 

But here’s what did it for me.  I just saw a picture of myself and was shocked—my teeth didn’t glisten like they used to!  I’m a coffee drinker and an occasional smoker and my infallible teeth were, well, not so infallible.  So, I’ve made Dr. Z’s ladies’ day and booked an appointment.  Oh man!  What will they find?  An old fishing hook?  That missing pen I’ve been looking for?  And the lectures about my gums. Oy Vey! But, I’m not in London anymore—I’m in L.A. baby, and I gotta get this smile lookin’ like a Hollywood grin again or I’ll become a leper. 

Maybe, if I cancel, I’ll just start speaking with a British accent and people will understand.  My goodness, if Kate Moss can be a runway model with those cockeyed crunchers, maybe I can pass?  Sighh…nope, I hold a blue passport, not a lovely maroon one—I gotta face that hideous chair and the horrible “Muzak” they play while being filled in and buffed out (how surreal is it hearing the Beach Boys “Good Vibrations” when they’re using a drill on a filling?). 

Hey, my only solace is that I don’t have to go to an NHS dentist.  Again no offense guys, but the last time I tried that route, some Draconian dude tried pulling out the wrong tooth and told me that my front incisor, that only needed a small filling patch, would have to be replaced completely with silver! As bling-alicious as I may be—that really wasn’t my look—though it would have matched the buckles on my Ferragamo shoes quite nicely! 

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365

PS:  I almost forgot (see, I am totally Anglo-FRIED) HAPPY 4^TH O’ JULY!

PPS: “Fashion Fridays” was so much fun for me, but many of you didn’t vote!  Well, just because it’s Saturday doesn’t mean it is too late.  Go for it–lemme know whatcha think.  I’m already planning my theme for next week