Before I start on the rant proper I feel I should announce, like all the politicians always do, a vested interest in the subject matter because, blessed as I am, I am very easy on the eye. I will go as far as to say, without fear of contradiction, that ‘dangerously handsome’ accurately sums up my general demeanor. As a kid I could have been a child star, had I been pushed in the direction of the boards; flawless skin, golden blonde hair, killer smile and cosmic blue eyes; pretty much the whole package. Obviously, such looks, which have followed me into adulthood, could have been a curse, made me acquire unattractive personality traits but my magnetic personality, quick wit, easy charm and complete inner balance mixed with a humility akin to Mother Theresa’s saved me from becoming some sort of braggart with ideas above his station. Now that’s out there for all to see, I feel it will add more weight to the rant and also show I have a lot more to lose than the vast majority of you.
The halo effect. It is said people who are considered beautiful have an easier life and quite possibly that is true…in fact, all the evidence seems to point in that direction. Attractive people are given more opportunities to advance and tolerance toward their behaviour, however grim, lasts far longer than it would for a less attractive person. That’s probably an oversimplification of the halo effect but it is its essence.
On the other hand, you have the horn effect, this is the one lumped onto less attractive people and because of that their lot in life is one far harder to bear. Career advancement doors are locked to these people and social climbing can be difficult as the ladder has been pulled up, tantalisingly just out of their reach. They are also often the victims of weak metaphors regarding fictional ladders. It’s not as simple as ‘Damn, you’re ugly, piss off,’ but again that’s a pretty good shorthand. I can’t talk more about this side of the coin because, as I said earlier, my experience lies directly under the warming shine of a rather splendid halo.
Why halo and horn? Apparently, it’s as simple as ‘saintly halo’ and ‘devil horns’. Having said that there is an argument that the ‘horn effect’ could be seen as a benefit if you allow for the colloquial use of the word ‘horn’. Or maybe there’s a third category that I do not know about that covers that particular area and is known as the ‘wood effect’ but has nothing to do with having carpentry skills or being able to French polish a box…or maybe that could be exactly what it’s about. That’s all theoretical speculation on my part, so ignore the wood effect despite the hard to resist, persuasive effect my halo is having on you.
The other day I saw a perfect example of the ‘halo effect’ in effect and that is what inspired me to write this rant and come up with the perfect solution to negate its power and make us all equal, at least on a physical attractiveness level. Two young women decided to cross the road with little regard for the fact that traffic was moving along both lanes, they just alighted from the curb and began their jaywalk. In fear of sounding like a sexist pig (which is not something I am afeared of doing) these fillies (see, not afeared at all) were not unpleasing to the eyes and I could tell they knew it by their swaying gait and spine jarring, hair whipping heads as they arrogantly crossed the byway. The taxi driver in front of me slammed on to allow these dolly birds (still not afeared) safe passage as did the oncoming traffic, so they casually sashayed their way to the other side without a false eyelash put out of place. What made it worse, for me at least, was these arrogant excuses for humanity ploughed their route less than ten yards away from a pedestrian crossing. Had they been persons of a less attractive configuration, say two arthritic pensioners, the road would have been decorated with false hips, twisted tartan shopping trollies and a couple of mobile phones that didn’t take pictures and opened like a clam.
I was fucking livid. I was swearing so loud I was drowning out ‘Woman’s Hour’ and for once my usual morning tirade of cussing was not aimed at the radio. Firstly I was swearing at the pedestrian Barbies for their self-importance, that was literally oozing from their every pore to taint the Tarmac with some kind of slime (poetic licence); Secondly I was swearing at the taxi driver for his sudden cessation of movement, a false gallantry I am sure he was garnishing with a hand shoved down his trousers, his imagination already filled with a highly unlikely ménage á trois; and thirdly I was swearing at all those self-aggrandising, beautiful people, myself not included, who think it is their right to shit on others from on high just because they are deemed to be the right shape. Had the taxi driver not been in front of me I would have carried on and cheerfully wondered what the bumps in the road were…I say I would have but in reality the thought of trying to get several pints of blood mixed with fake tan and hair extensions off my bonnet when I got home would have made me brake too.
The fact of the matter is these two bimbos (I know that’s a sexist label but you know the type of women I’m talking about, the ones whose full range of facial expressions go from pout through to pout) thought it their God-given right to walk where and when they want merely because they think they are pert. It’s debatable whether or not I should be allowed to run them down – that goes for teenage lads too, the ones who think that staring at you/your car makes them immune to a ton and a half of metal doing 30 mph as they amble across the road – but at the centre of this, the very essence of it, is the fact they truly believed they had the arrogance to make the world dance to their tune. Sadly, because of the halo effect, the bloody world does.
Which is why I shall be badgering parliament to bring in ‘Salopettes Law’. Although it sounds like the title for a Mafia TV series it is, in fact, something far less violent and will have a satisfactory ending without a cop-out fade to black in sight. Salopettes, for those who do not know, (like I didn’t before Googling it) are the posh name for ski-pants and the whole basis of how I am going to make society fair and equal without a halo or horn in sight…though some horns may still be needed if society is to continue. I want everyone, at all times, to be dressed as if they are about to hit the slopes at Aspen, Colorado…minus the skis of course, that would be bloody stupid, even if hysterical. The thing about skiing gear is it is bulky and quilted and pretty much makes everyone look like one of the Tellytubbies, with all curves and bulges lost within the generic blobishness of the attire. Top that off with a bobble hat and ski goggles and everyone is an amorphous, sexless, nylon coated starfish with the playing field completely level and no one getting preferential treatment or admiration because of the shape of their arse…because all our arses will look like a sack of spuds. Another perfect solution to one of the world’s problems or what?
Yes I realise there will still be people taller than others but short of hacking people off at the shins there’s not much that can be done about that (I’ve checked, I will not be allowed to do that) and height has never had much to do with the halo effect which is all about perceived physical attractiveness, whatever altitude it’s at. We can all give examples of vertically challenged film stars who still glow with the halo effect…but I can’t be arsed making a list so when I say ‘we’, I mean ‘you’.
For those of us in the top 1% of the attractiveness spectrum (it’s the burnished gold sliver right at the edge) it will be a bind at first not being able to breeze through life with helping hands held out for us all the way but for the remainder of you this will possibly be the greatest leap forward in societal equality the world has ever seen. If nothing else it will stop those two bimbos from the other day getting to cross the road whenever and wherever they like because if they’d been in randomly lumpy skiing gear the taxi driver would have run over them without a doubt…before smacking on his hazard lights and pulling an illegal u-turn while texting his mate to counterfeit some insurance documents for him.
So sign your names in the comments section below and when we have enough ‘signatures’ The Bickering Press will take ‘Sallopettes Law’ to Downing Street and demand its implementation. And remember, while you are ‘signing’ the comments/petition take a moment to think of the sacrifice I am making for you and maybe find it in your heart to drop us some sponsorship to show your appreciation, there’s a virtual Patreon tin can for you to bung donations into so we can take TBP to the next level. Who wouldn’t want a ‘Bickering Press’ T-shirt with some of our wiser words of wisdom on: ‘Keep boring me, I feel a yawgasm coming’…or something like that. The thing is it won’t be too long before we’re too weak to type anymore due to starvation and lack of the latest shiny tech and booze, our continued existence is all down to you, my friends.
In the meantime I am off to bathe the world in the brilliance of my halo and make your lacklustre lives that little bit better for it while I still can.