6 Movie Makeovers That Damaged My Self Esteem
I love a good makeover montage in a movie. In ninety seconds flat, a perfectly attractive Hollywood-level beauty is transformed into the exact same perfectly attractive Hollywood-level beauty with her eyebrows threaded. Gotta love that movie magic! For real though, I want to take a minute to talk about the movie makeovers that have made me, a perfectly normal, New Jersey-level human woman feel like absolute crap. I love all of these movies, but I don't love suspending my disbelief so long that I'm expected to think that anyone would look at Anne Hathaway as anything other than an extremely pretty lady. For that reason and that reason only, I got beef.
She’s All That
I’ve worn glasses nearly all my life. One day when I was basically a toddler my dad asked me what time it was and I got so close to the clock he thought I was trying to smash my face into it. It’s been four eyes for me since then. I’ve never been outwardly teased because of my glasses, but one thing that never fails is the reaction I get from people the first time they see me without my glasses. “You’re really...pretty?” they say before realizing that’s a very rude thing to say. No shit, I’m gorgeous, but why did it take me removing something I need to literally navigate my life for you to notice? She’s All That is why. She’s All That is cultural shorthand for “you can’t be hot until you take off your glasses.” She’s All That is responsible for the Digit savings account I keep for when my astigmatic eyes decide to normalize and I can actually afford Lasik. Freddie Prinze Jr. is on my fight-on-sight list because of this movie. Bring it on, Freddie.
My Fair Lady
Compared to Eliza Doolittle, I have it pretty good. I’ve never had to use the power of song to imagine what it would be like to feel warm, and while I don’t love the sound of my own voice it doesn’t sound like I’m twenty minutes out of oral surgery and also British. However, you’re telling me that some rich guy picks her up out of nowhere and gives her fancy girl lessons so she can dress in fabulous, form-fitting gowns and drink all the champagne she wants at a rich people party? Where’s my shortcut for near-instantaneous class ascension? Take a bet on me, Henry Higgins! I’ll do whatever, teach me how to juggle, I don’t care. I'm not marrying you at the end of it though. You don't own me.
Cinderella
Cindy lucked out in a way I’m never, ever going to luck out. My fairy godmother doesn’t exist, and I’ve had to really work to come to the realization that no one is going to bibbidi-bobbidy-boo my MetroCard into a town car, or zap my collection of Batman tee shirts and sensible flats into a head-to-toe designer wardrobe complete with custom-fit pumps. I don’t even have any mouse friends who will painstakingly deliver the relatively low-rent version of that dream. You know what happened the last time I saw I mouse? I broke my lease and moved. That little crumbsnatcher probably couldn’t even sew.
The Devil Wears Prada
Similar to Cinderella, this one is more about the wardrobe than anything else. Living in New York City means that no matter how hard I try, everyone on the street looks chicer than me and there’s constant temptation to throw my credit score to the wind and upgrade my way to sartorial bliss. The whole “I work at a magazine so the fashion closet is my own personal Rent the Runway” thing is a complete lie, and while one day impressing Meryl Streep with my Chanel boots is on my bucket list, it’s probably not going to happen. I work at a magazine. There is a fashion closet. We are not allowed to borrow whatever we want from it, even if Stanley Tucci asks nicely.
Grease
Sandy’s transformation at the end of Grease never made sense to me. Danny Zuko is a garbage fire of a man who embarrasses her in front of her equally crappy friends, so she buys out the local fetishwear store and picks up smoking. Is that what it takes to get boys to like you? High School Me didn’t like the implication. I was actively unwilling to wear leather pants in high school and I would have looked ridiculous trying. Because of Grease, I skipped my prom to go see Wicked and didn’t date until college.
The Princess Diaries
This is it right here, folks. The root of the problem. Why couldn’t Mia have been a princess with curly hair? Why couldn’t Paolo have taken some time to look up deep conditioning curl masks and a little Devachan magic before going smooth-happy with the Brazilian keratin? This makeover is missing a scene where Mia has a panic attack in the salon because the formaldehyde in her relaxer is burning her scalp.
The Princess Diaries makeover is so drastic that I distinctly remember fighting with a straight-haired peer on the playground who was convinced that Before Mia and After Mia were played by different actors. This movie is single-handedly responsible for every dollar I’ve thrown at so-called ionic flat irons and the secret hoard of smoothing creams I keep behind my tampons in the bathroom cupboard. I just want to be a princess, OK? I just want to be a princess.
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