Syndicate Re-Release: Storia della Bellezza

Editor's Retroactive Notes:

"Syndicate Season" traditionally begins on Memorial Day Weekend. In deference to the brave and weary souls who voluntarily subject their mind to the rigid confines of obscure academic research, at least one additional calendar week after Finals  is allotted for general rehabilitation. 

Millions of American College Students met their final writing deadlines between seven and ten days ago, as did hundreds (to posit a conservative estimate) of Shadow Scholars.  This particular  Shadow Scholar heralds the end of the pressure by proclaiming the advent of a genuine "Silly Season".

That's our Syndicate, gentlemen; creative catharsis among old friends! Snarky riffs and shameless pokes are always welcome ; ) Don't hold back. It's time for friends and football. 

Onset betting odds will follow over the course of the week. Your friendly bookie nevertheless remains fond of the concept of a crescendo. A "soft launch" helps get everybody in the mood. 

Thus, we'll begin with a "re-release", as we've done in many years past. For this year's "re-release", I've selected what was perhaps the most bizarre and intriguing aspect of the two previous syndicate chapters that covered Women's Football Tournaments. 

There isn't nearly enough time or to summarize the brilliant work of legendary Italian writer Umberto Eco. I also cannot hope to offer a fitting summary of his astounding and ingenious 2004 academic inquiry into the history of Western conceptions of aesthetic beauty entitled "Storia della Bellezza" or "On Beauty". Suffice to say that my pilfering of his title amounted to nothing more than a cheap joke. 

Eco analyzed Renaissance Paintings and Sculptures. I analyzed female footballers. Eco probed into the societal ramifications of early film and photography. I...er.....I...probed into some internet pictures of female footballers. Eco thoughtfully and elegantly contrasted the ideals of Antiquity with those of the Western World after the Industrial Revolution. I...er....well...I clumsily and haphazardly looked at some more pictures female footballers and contrasted them with whatever the hell I felt like contrasting them with.

You get the point. ; ) Purchase Eco's Book. It will make a fine addition to your shelf should you have the stamina to plow through. On the topic of stamina, those possessing enough to read further can watch your friendly bookie's unique evolution. 

He once crudely rated these girls on a scale from one to ten. Although he could never be described as shallow or unthoughtful, he came to understand even deeper concepts of beauty over the course of three years and twelve installments. The process is neat in it's own way.

In chronological order, footballers covered in "Storia della Bellezza":

1) France 
2) Deutschland 
3) Japan 
4) New Zealand 
5) Sweden 
6) USA 
7) Australia 
8) Brazil 
9) Finland 
10) The Netherlands 
11) England 
12) Russia 

Attempts to re-format these segments with more aesthetically pleasing graphics may actually end up proving less beautiful. Yes, your read that correctly. ; ) 

The Initial Eight Parts can be found here:

<http://shadow-scholar-syndicate.blogspot.com/2012/05/fwm-2011-round-two.html>

The Subsequent Four Parts can be found here:

<http://shadow-scholar-syndicate.blogspot.com/2013/07/fem-2013-quarterfinals.html>

Their first appearance as a cogent series can be found here:

<http://shadow-scholar-syndicate.blogspot.com/2013/11/wmq-2013-alzo-sprach-das-syndikat.html>

Never "feel unpretty", girls.     

Presenting…..all Twelve parts of “Storia della Bellezza—With Umberto Eco Vicey”

       

From FWM 2011—Round Two

“Storia della Bellezza – With Umberto Eco Vicey” (Part I)

“Umberto Eco he is not. What’s to stop him from pretending? Here are some thoughts ‘On Beauty’ from your friendly bookie.”

    

At first glance Gaetene Thiney appears relatively plain.

While her profile remains intriguing, the indiscriminate observer will quickly dismiss a frontal shot of her face for a whole myriad of reasons. Yes, the overall width of her face almost belies a subtle symmetry that tends too far toward the masculine. Her mouth, nose, and forehead exhibit disproportionate girth and her jaw line is slightly too pronounced. 

Such imperfections are rendered completely immaterial by a striking attribute that elevates her to the realm of the undeniably beautiful. Clearly visible capillaries irrefutably enhance a woman’s beauty. While skin tone ordinarily counts for little in the looks department, who can resist the captivating power of the “involuntary blush”?

 Thiney’s capillaries are perfectly positioned pentagonal patterns that run from the top of her respective cheekbones to the base of her lips, taking an elegant 35-degree turn from the bubble protrusions of her nose. 

She may very well be as tough as nails, but the rosy red cheeks of her “involuntary blush” perpetually transmit the image of a charming dainty with a shy, innocent allure. We thus commend Gaetene Thiney and all girls with an “involuntary blush”. You emanate a resplendent aura with every smile. Keep smiling girls.

“Storia della Bellezza – With Umberto Eco Vicey” (Part II)

      

“Umberto Eco he is not. What’s to stop him from pretending? Here are some thoughts ‘On Beauty’ from your friendly bookie.”

 Simone Laudehr and Alexandra Popp have bad teeth. Not exactly British bad, but they still sport a snarl.

 

Does this somehow disqualify them from the heights of the Mount Rushmore of Beauty that I suddenly conceived of without warning? As someone who has always resented his own Diasthema, I might have once answered in the affirmative. Yet, these two most certainly qualify as “very pretty”. 

What makes them so? Blond hair? Blue eyes? Chiseled faces? No, we’re not going down that road. Neither one of them meets complete Aryan criteria anyway. Both have an hourglass figure punctuated by muscular thighs. These facets they’ve worked hard to maintain. 

The most prominent property in the image of Simone Laudehr sprinting forth, fists clenched, shoulders hunched, and mouth agape is her bulging right ulterior gammon flank; a protruding section of thigh muscle that signals to the world that she’s a footballer. Popp possesses a similar flawless physique.

For all those unable to invest the long hours (and I count myself among you when things get hectic) know that the pair possess eminently pretty faces irrespective of their teeth. Gaps matter not. 

“Storia della Bellezza – With Umberto Eco Vicey” (Part III)

      

“Umberto Eco he is not. What’s to stop him from pretending? Here are some thoughts ‘On Beauty’ from your friendly bookie.”

Homare Sawa affords us a wonderful occasion to discuss the controversial issue of aging women. Some gentle jokes aside, I consider myself in the male minority when it comes to this delicate subject. It is with great disdain that I note how many men who would consider themselves deep thinkers behave shallowly when it comes to casting off their own age cohort, trading them in for a younger model. Truly a disgrace. Whether you are a zealously devout Christian (think Mel Gibson), a meditative and reflective Buddhist (think Russell Simmons or Richard Gere), or an agnostic yet socially aware humanist (think George Clooney), the one gospel all men seem to agree on is the importance of dating a girl at least twenty years younger than you. Yes, your philosophy of life notwithstanding, the philosophy of the dick remains the same.

Wait. It gets even worse. It’s not even the fresh, unblemished skin, the accelerated metabolism, or the tighter cunt that men are after. They simply find it easier to have someone less experienced and considerably dumber than them around. It’s less taxing on the ego, requires less work, and allows us to remain wrapped up in ourselves and our own petty meanderings. 

The younger women who boast that an older man “selected” them for their “uncommon level of maturity” always facilitate a good laugh. I’ve gotten to the point that I may sit straight-faced while you describe how “exceptional” and “unique” you are for dating an older man. “Yes, you really are something special,” I’ll remark while dutifully nodding my head. My inner-emotions remain a mixture of pity and Schadenfreude. You poor little tarts just don’t realize how patently stupid you are. You’re worse than a trophy. You a pet, owned by man too immature and lazy to maintain a partnership.

In the unlikely event that there’s a young woman reading this, she’ll surely conclude that I speak out of personal bitterness or deep-seated spite. You’re more than entitled to your opinion, but there exists no buried animosity here. As a man, my aging process doesn’t perturb. On the contrary, life continues to improve exponentially as I get older and I relish the prospect of growing more grizzled still. Give yourself some time, sweetheart. 

Time, an unrelenting menace not even close to being on your side, will catch up to you too. When it finally does, just remember that only a less hollow man will find the extra pounds you’ve packed on in the mid section, the grey streaks running through your hair, the crow’s feet nestled underneath your eyes, and the wrinkled crevices dominating your blotched face still attractive. Then you’ll truly be “something special”.

This brings us back to Homare Sawa. Only thirty-two years of age, repeated exposure to the most physically demanding of athletic endeavors leave her looking as if she’s in her mid-forties. Her skin appears well worn. The bags under her eyes exhibit a dark-yellowish hue. Wrinkle-folds invade her neck. A close inspection reveals her hair begins to gray. 

Is she still beautiful? I happen to think so. Nothing wrong with a vehicle with 170,000 miles on the odometer. So long as it still runs, there’s quite a bit one can do with it. Trust me. Nothing rides like a classic. Don't bet on me pulling an Ashton Kutcher anytime soon. I still contend they don’t make em' like they used to. Too many younger women are appallingly bad in bed anyway.

 “Storia della Bellezza – With Umberto Eco Vicey” (Part IV)

“Umberto Eco he is not. What’s to stop him from pretending? Here are some thoughts ‘On Beauty’ from your friendly bookie.”

      

Okay, Vicey. What precisely is it that makes Ali Riley so gorgeous?

Insofar as I can surmise it’s her highly intriguing genetic alchemy. I honestly cannot even attempt a guess as to her spawning stock. I know she was born in the states, attended Stanford, and obviously has a parent from New Zealand. Beyond that, I’ve no clue what she is. She boasts some Asian features that for some unexpected reason express themselves subtly. 

Asian genes are normally so dominant that they overpower any European recessive mutations. Of the top of my head I can think of at least a dozen Asian-Caucasian couples I know who have elected to breed. In eleven of those cases the kid comes out looking so 

Chinese/Korean/Japanese/Phillipino/Vitenamese/Cambodian that the wife might as well have been cheating. No one will ever know. Of course, genetics transcends the simplicity of the Mendel Charts we all studied in grade school. In the one remaining case, one can barely tell that of friend of mine was born to a Japanese mother. Only after concentrating intently on the nuances of his mien can you see the Hibachi behind the Man-grate.

Given that human beings come in such a wide variety of hues and skeletal structures, the permutation that you can’t place never fails to fascinate. Ali is such a specimen. Two very different people opted to mix it up and they ended up accidentally discovering a valuable new element/inventing the most delicious cocktail ever/concocting a cure for cancer/stumbling upon the “Powerpuff Girl” formula. 

Yes, chemistry is fun. Whenever I’m forced to cook I dump whatever I can find lying around the house into some diced tomatoes in search of the Holy Grail of pasta sauces. I mix alcohol with any item in the fridge that hasn’t begun sprouting hairs. Sometimes I blunder upon a glorious solution in the most unexpected of areas. Did you know that Mayonnaise, Gin, and Tony Chacheres seasoning in a blender makes for one heavenly smoothie? How about whisky, V8, and Tabasco? It’s damn good. Trust me. Spicy seasoning also perks up most any light beer.

I stand firm in the belief that we humans almost have an obligation to mix it up on behalf of the species. Our lives are so insignificant that some evolutionary experimentation appears a solemn duty. If, by some miracle, I ever made enough money to start a family, I might very well take a page from Eddie Murphy’s “Raw” and head down to Namibia to pull the girl with the biggest afro out of the bush. (with her permission of course). I’d be madly curious to see what we could make. Never dated a blonde haired, blue-eyed girl. Honestly, what’s the point? I could just make out with myself in the mirror. Er…not to say that I do that….regularly…anymore.

“Storia della Bellezza – With Umberto Eco Vicey” (Part V)

“Umberto Eco he is not. What’s to stop him from pretending? Here are some thoughts ‘On Beauty’ from your friendly bookie.”

      

The very pretty Lotta Schelin has a very pretty smattering of freckles.

For the second time in this installment we salute girls with features that inadvertently make them look sweet, innocent, even somewhat shy. One should not equate the connotations of these traits with what a guy typically wants in a woman. There is such a thing as too docile, too domestic, too sad little puppy dog. Passion, zeal, and a firecracker personality side are important as well. A few times in my life I’ve crossed women that were sweeter than a milk chocolate binge. 

A guy such as myself has no idea how to handle such innocence. I certainly can't fuck its brains out. If she’s a virgin…well…reminds me too much of a daughter or little sister. Looks like you’ve acquired a new big brother. He’ll be nice and kind to you, never even thinking of touching you. Seventy-two virgins don’t sound like paradise to me. It sounds like my own personal hell. I can’t help that many girls with their papers! 

“Storia della Bellezza – With Umberto Eco Vicey” (Part VI)

      

“Umberto Eco he is not. What’s to stop him from pretending? Here are some thoughts ‘On Beauty’ from your friendly bookie.”

 As I’ve already remarked several hundred times, there simply wasn’t a fugly face on this [American] team. We surely won’t get away with covering one single player this time, not with a predominantly American readership. Not entirely sure I would wish to focus on one of them anyway. Much like the presenter of the AVN Award for “Best Anal Sex Scene”, I simply feel too bad that if can’t give all the girls their due credit. They’ve all worked so hard!  Hence, we shall blitz out a compilation that touches em’ all. Er…that it to say….well you know what I mean.

Hope Solo earns her stripes, as I’ve already mentioned, through her attractive eyebrows.

Heather Mitts is sexy in the more generic Playboy Playmate way.

Christine Rampone is perhaps a little too butch in the face, but has nice curves.

Becky Sauerbrunn earns her cuteness via the nebulous “girl next door” factor.

Tobin Heath, Alex Morgan, and Rachel Buehler work that angle as well. Morgan in particular has one of the cutest noses I’ve ever seen.

Amy LePeilbet has nice eyes.

Shannon Box has a nice ass.  Amy Rodriguez sports a gorgeous pair of legs, along with the freckle factor. Carli Lloyd has very nice skin, accentuated by well-placed capillaries.

Stephanie Cox will be my “a note to follow so” in that she’s beautiful in exactly the same way.

Ali Krieger has the same basic features of Danica Patrick, and happens to be ten times as strikingly beautiful. She should be doing those “Go Daddy” commercials.

Lauren Cheney has a darling face to go along with her inviting hips.

Lori Lindsey emits a nice MILF vibe. Meghan Rapinoe and Abby Wambach blow the stereotype about women with short hair right out of the water. No, I don’t care what you think. I find them both attractive. The answer would be yes. All day, every day, even on sober holidays.

That about takes care of everyone except the two back up keepers. Have I gotten to everyone? Not quite. We've still have the Southern Belle who barely edged out Ali Riley for the dubious honor of “Vicey’s hottest girl in the tournament”. I speak of none other than Georgia’s own Kelley O’Hara. 

After spending a drunken evening ruminating on why I found myself so infatuated with the former Stanford Cardinal and current Boston Breakers midfielder, it hit me like a ton of bricks: She looks almost exactly like a girl I had a crush on in Junior High. Yikes. Did I just write that for anyone and everyone to see? Fraid so. Oh well. At least no one’s reading this.

Oops. This just in. Apparently someone from a U.S. Appellate court was reading and I’ve been ordered to keep a distance of 200 feet from anyone involved in the U.S. Women’s Soccer team at all times. No problem. The joy of writing this section was well worth the restraining order. This isn’t the first time I’ve been ordered to get the hell away from a bunch of female soccer players by a judge in good standing.

“Storia della Bellezza – With Umberto Eco Vice” (Part VII)

“Umberto Eco he is not. What’s to stop him from pretending? Here are some thoughts ‘On Beauty’ from your friendly bookie.”

      

Ask a dude what precisely it is that merits “girl next door” status and you won’t receive anything close to a coherent answer. As articulate a man as I consider myself, I cannot compose something that supercedes American Football Player Interview Speak:

“Uh….yeah…you know….uh….the ‘girl next door’…she’s…like….uh….the girl who be….all bashful….and stuff.”

Yes. The eloquent writer finds himself reduced to sounding like “Miss Teen South Carolina”. As one fumble for some sort of useable definition, all that comes to mind concerns her proclivity towards reticence. But the “girl next door” need not be quiet and reserved. I’ve lived next some who were wild and crazy freaks in the sack. Perhaps the essence of the “girl next door” relates to the moment when you catch that passing glimpse while trying to insert the key into the lock while juggling your mail. 

That brief glance is all you need for a dirty little fantasy to abruptly flit through your head before just as quickly disappearing. She’ll never know of this vision, in part because it raced in and out of your mind too rapidly for your face to react. So there we have it. The “girl next door” happens to be the one you hope is DECEPTIVELY tame; the one who uncorks with a screeching, (PLEASE STOP READING NOW IF YOU HAPPEN TO BE ONE OF MY RELATIVES) “fuck my pussy! fuck it harder!”

Wow. Please feel free to take a shower as the unfortunate Collette McCallum doesn’t deserve to be introduced like this. She’s a be-freckled redhead (Nine times out of ten she’s a redhead. Love me some redheads) with an adorable smile.

She’s the type of girl you’d be content just to cuddle with, holding her tight all night long. But…wait a second…she’s not satisfied merely lying in your arms while you kiss her neck. She’s got a surprise for you….

“Storia della Bellezza – With Umberto Eco Vicey” (Part VIII)

“Umberto Eco he is not. What’s to stop him from pretending? Here are some thoughts ‘On Beauty’ from your friendly bookie.”

      

What better way to conclude this misconceived little serial than with a look at Marta’s [Brazilian forward] vigorous tenacity? She takes every stroke of luck and stamps it with her own signature. From time to time in my life I’ve found myself lying spent in the afterglow, passing a bit of pillow talk with some girl I picked up. Many times they express admiration at your initiative. “I can tell you’re the type of guy who sees what he wants and takes it,” they say…or at least something that effect. 

This happens to be much more than a woman not so subtly suggesting that she hopes you can one day make enough money to take care of her. There’s a bit of that in there, but the infinitely more important point concerns the “seize the day” mentality that can make or break our lives. Man or woman, you’ve got to let those metaphorical balls drop. If there’s even the vaguest inkling of a moment lurking somewhere in the recesses of your head, take your chance.

No, it won’t always work out. In point of fact, it will work out far fewer times than you’ll be prepared to commend yourself for your bravery. One mustn’t allow one’s failures to rule you. Put in a more clichéd way, never allow your past to determine your future. Most assuredly, there is a time for hanging back to let things breathe. Make the most of it. 

Tell your hesitant friend to go for it when it would be counterproductive for you to do so. In the process of telling him or her, you might just realize that it’s not so counterproductive after all…..or not. I’ve had girls give me the “Get away from me now, loser” line more than a few times. At the end of the day, I still maintain that a bitch a’int one of my ninety-nine problems. Watch the way Marta moves. Watch how she grabs every chance by the balls and out-shines the sun and the moment it gave her. It holds true for both women and men. Seize your moment. You won’t regret it.

From FEM 2013—Quarterfinals:

“Storia della Bellezza – With Umberto Eco Peter Weis” (Part IX)

      

Tuija Hyyryen affords us an opportunity to explore the once again explore the indefinable concept of the “Perfect Girl Next Door”. (Sometimes referred to as “The Pristine Farmer’s Daughter” in certain circles.) What do guys mean by this?  I’ve tried to tackle this in previous installments and honestly haven’t done all that great of a job at all : (

From Part VII:

“Ask a dude what precisely it is that merits “girl next door” status and you won’t receive anything close to a coherent answer. As articulate a man as I consider myself, I cannot compose something that supercedes American Football Player Interview Speak:

“Uh….yeah…you know….uh….the ‘girl next door’…she’s…like….uh….the girl who be….all bashful….and stuff.”

Yes. The eloquent writer finds himself reduced to sounding like “Miss Teen South Carolina”. As one fumble for some sort of useable definition, all that comes to mind concerns her proclivity towards reticence. But the “girl next door” need not be quiet and reserved”

I’m still fumbling for answers. All one can truly say concerns the fact that there is a certain kind of adorable cuteness that makes even the most foulmouthed of sinners want to foreswear drinking, cursing, and gambling….forever. One look at Tuija Hyyryen leaves one feeling as if its time to move to the country, buy a tractor, and start a small ministry. Don’t take my word for it, now. See for yourself:

…..

…..

…..

I need to buy a farm. Doesn’t anyone know where I can find some reasonably priced sheep? No more gambling columns for your friendly bookie. All I want to do is scythe grass, breed bunnies, and cultivate alfalfa sprouts. I want to wake up to this beautiful girl’s incredible smile every morning, and make sweet passionate love to her every night. 

Time to settle down and get back to the simple life. We’ll till the earth until 4 p.m., then play football with the kids in the field until sunset. Country Roads….take me home…to ze place…….where I BELONG!

Whoa. What just happened there? SNAP OUT OF IT VICEY! Whew. I don’t know where I just was, but I’m back. How do these “Girls Next Door/Pristine Famer’s Daughters” do it? I still can’t tell you exactly. Three factors help.

1) Height

She has to be small. No taller than 5’5’’ (164 cms). Taller women engender an entirely different sort of attraction.

2) Facial Structure

All varieties work, but “The Girl Next Door” has to sport a round-ish face. 

3) Smile

That smile constitutes the “real deal”. She’s not faking or posing! Everything about it screams, “Don’t you want to get to know a nice girl? I’m not crazy! I’m sweet and mentally stable! I won’t drive you up the fucking wall with incessant neediness!”

Beyond that, most men exhibit two kinds of inherent primal attraction. The first is pure, unadulterated sexual lust:

EXAMPLE:

“Holy shit! Did you see the ass on that redhead? What I wouldn’t tear up given a few minutes alone in the dark with that! Follow the erection!

However, a man’s softer, more supple paternalistic instincts shouldn’t be discounted either.

EXAMPLE:

“Awww..Look at the sweet, innocent little round-faced girl. I’d love to cradle her in my arms and tenderly love her like a big brother.”

The former type leads to some fairly rough sexual escapades and over ninety-five percent of one’s relationships. Very rarely does the latter type lead to anything other than friendship. It’s not an implicitly sexual attraction, after all. Once in a very blue moon, a girl can somehow dial up the right combination of these two instincts and the man swoons in a way even Percy Sledge couldn’t sing about. He’ll give up EVERYTHING. That’s the magic of “The Girl Next Door”.

“Storia della Bellezza – With Umberto Eco Vicey” (Part X)

“Umberto Eco he is not. What’s to stop him from pretending? Here are some thoughts ‘On Beauty’ from your friendly bookie.”

      

Why undertake such a time-consuming and über-thoughtful rethink? Because it remains all in the eye of the beholder, people. How can an overworked Shadow Scholar desperately grasping for free time possibly be expected to put together a even remotely factual segment on female footballers. The answer? He can’t come anywhere close. I write not such words not to placate a few haughty female readers who can’t spell, can’t type, and can’t even manage to put a coherent sentence together. Hell with that.

Nevertheless, it remains a relevant use of my limited time to remind everyone how subjectively dynamic the subject of beauty is. Consider our highly regarded Dutch Dames. Lieke Martens initially earned a 9.4. If you saw this picture of her, you’d write her off as the chubby chick who sat next to you in your Trig Class.

Hmmm…who’s that frumpy little ugly duckling? Surely this can’t be the same girl:

  

"So she’s done up in one picture" you might argue. Don’t jump to conclusions. She looks good in uniform too.

Perfect Ten!






What about Danielle van de Donk, Vicey? Seems like a pretty average looking woman to me:
















Sorry, but she earns Perfect Ten Status here:

Why is Leonne Stentler so high? What’s so special about her?

Well…what about the regal beauty obvious below?

My point isn’t that people take bad pictures, have bad hair days, occasionally gain/lose weight, or stumble into the right/wrong lighting….although that does adequately explain why one can’t take ONE picture with most girls without having to delete at least 34,213 others. The point isn’t even that one shouldn’t focus on outward aesthetic beauty.  

The point, if indeed I still have one, is that all beauty remains ephemeral. An OBJECT of beauty relies upon the recognition bestowed upon it during one fleeting moment. By contrast, an UNDERSTANDING of beauty cannot be achieved without a requisite investment of time and thought.

I’ll explain what I mean. No, I’m not on drugs in case anyone is wondering. No, I haven’t been drinking the Erich Fromm Kool-Aid either. I can provide arbitrary numerical designations based on a bit of rudimentary Internet research. I can discover even more beauty after watching some of the girls in action. 

Take note that the better players keep rising. That’s what inflates the rankings (along with the Big Flats). I still miss A HELLUVA LOT. Just like any other imperfect human being, I’m liable to automatically edit out all the beauty that sits directly underneath my nose. That’s all I wanted to say.

Well…that AND…should you ever consider yourself underappreciated or outright ignored, know that the eye of some beholder is out there somewhere. Eventually that eye will find you…maybe even after having ignored you for years ; )

“Storia della Bellezza – With Umberto Eco Vicey” (Part XI)

“Umberto Eco he is not. What’s to stop him from pretending? Here are some thoughts ‘On Beauty’ from your friendly bookie.”

      

Time to discuss Eniola Aluko and what precisely makes black so beautiful. To begin with, I must emphasize that it’s NOT THE HAIR!!

Here’s Eniola with a sweated conch:

Here she is with some nappy braids:

Here she is short and unkempt:

And you can also check her out long and styled:

I acknowledge that whatever argument I’m building towards faces the fundamental flaw that I can’t find her rocking a fro. It’s always been my contention that black girls should let their hair grow wild and avoid makeup at all costs. I don’t want anything tarnishing that pure regal beauty. It would appear that Eniola isn’t quite ready for that yet…and I’ve no choice but to forgive her. ;) ;)

To broach the topic of skin tone when discussing beauty borders on the sacrilege. I couldn’t care less if a girl has a few pimples, a touch of eczema, or a blotch here and there. No need to spend all of your money on foundational makeup and tanning salons, ladies. That’s not what’s important. 

I wouldn’t be honest, however, if I didn’t concede a peculiar fascination with women of the deeply dark persuasion. Light-skinned blacks can charm and enchant just as well….but look at this woman!!!

She looks as if her face was chiseled from a piece of obsidian! It’s almost as if Michelangelo himself took a rock hammer to a piece of volcanic glass!

Okay, okay. My strange infatuation with “Midnight Black” mostly has to do with its exotic horizontal distance from what I see when I look in the mirror. It has a lot to do with Randy Crawford as well. My all-time favorite soul singer was also dark as night. That made her gleaming white smile all the more captivating.

“Storia della Bellezza – With Umberto Eco Peter Weis” (Part XII)

“Umberto Eco he is not. What’s to stop him from pretending? Here are some thoughts ‘On Beauty’ from your friendly bookie.”

       

Keeper Elvira Todua possesses a distinctly Russian face:

I know what you’re thinking. You falsely assume that, when she’s not plotting to kidnap you, she’s a cold automaton that doesn’t give a shit. This blank stare is often the default facial expression of Russian/Slavic women. As it so happens, it doesn’t necessarily mean they don’t give a shit. 

Here she is NOT looking at you as if the interrogation session is about to begin:

Oops. Not the best example. Nope! The interrogation session is in full swing there. Let’s try again:

Hmmm…like the half smile, but I still have the sense she’s attempting to pry me open by the neck and suck whatever passes for my soul out with laser beams she emits from her eyes. C’mon, girl. How about a smile?

I said SMILE!!!

Awww…there we are. That dog doesn’t look as if it’s about to become lunch at all! See? She’s got a softer side to her! Maybe she’s tender after all…or maybe she wants to tenderize the Pomeranian.

Okay. Here’s what to take way from all of this guys: Russian Women are nothing to be afraid of. They  merely house an unfathomably deep soul. They are the guardians of a dark subterranean abyss that claws away at their hearts. That’s enough for them to deal with. Why would they want to eat your soul when they already possess too much of one to begin with?  

Everything will be alright. Isn’t that correct, “Elvira Angel”?

Good Girl.