Not just any 'body'

 

One of my favourite things about going to the hairdresser is flicking through the magazines. I weaned myself off glossies years ago, about the time when it was a choice between Marie Claire and a pack of nappies, but I still love a good Grazia binge when I’m getting my roots done.

 

Last week, I had the pleasure of discovering what a typical day in the life of supermodel and successful businesswoman Elle McPherson looks like, thanks to a back issue of Glamour. It was not pretty. I blame myself: As soon as I saw the words “supermodel” and “successful businesswoman” and saw the 52 year old with luscious locks, I should have turned the page—especially when said supermodel enjoys the nickname “The Body.” (My nickname was Goofy).

 

 

I must have been suffering from some Lenten compulsion to punish myself, however, because I kept going. I learned that Elle rises every day at 5A.M., not because she does the early shift for her cleaning job or has a hellish commute to work but because she fits in an hour of yoga before her billionaire husband gets up. Then it’s time to make a glorious feast of a breakfast for her school-going son, whose exotic name I forget but translates roughly as “my parents are richer than yours.” Elle, of course, eats none of this carb-rich deliciousness but grazes on fruit and virtuousness while she scans her emails.

 

After the school run, she swims, scans some more emails and gorges on fish and vegetables. Then it’s time to watch her son play sport. (Lacrosse, in case you’re wondering). I’m not quite sure how she has become a multimillionaire business mogul because there was precious little detail of any wheeling and dealing in her perfect, sun-kissed day somewhere a million miles from my damp little corner of Ireland.

 

 

 

I closed the magazine, smiled dutifully at the rear view of my €50 hair, and drove home in my ten-year-old car. Did it bother me that my solidly Irish-named children have never played Lacrosse and my body wouldn’t resemble The Body if I sold the house and invested the proceeds in plastic surgery? Not really. After all, glossies are just the adult equivalent of fairy tales, and you don’t have to be a princess or a supermodel to live happily ever after. I wouldn’t mind her hair though.