He Wanted to Improve My Looks, So Naturally I Had a Few Suggestions for Him

A man I was dating developed a rather lively interest in improving my appearance.

Nothing too ambitious at first. A different lipstick might be sexier. Longer nails would be glamorous. He had thoughts about heels, eyelashes, hair and clothes, all offered with the cheerful confidence of a man who seemed to believe my reflection had been waiting patiently for his notes.

At first, I listened, partly because I am reasonably open-minded and partly because I became curious about just how far this enthusiasm intended to travel.

Quite far, as it turned out.

Eventually, I explained that I happened to like the way I looked already. He was perfectly welcome to have preferences, naturally, but my face, body and wardrobe were not awaiting final approval.

He remained wonderfully enthusiastic.

Well.

If personal enhancement had suddenly become part of the romance, it seemed terribly unfair for him to miss out.

Wonderful. Let Us Begin With You.

The following morning, I presented my suggestions.

Fair is fair, darling.

First, let's take a look at your waistline. Hmm.  Not glamorous, in my opinion. Would you like a slimming waist? Excellent. I had found something for you.

His waist, in his opinion, was perfectly normal, of course, but apparently normal had become a rather unambitious standard.

So we could improve it.

A firm little wrap would pull everything in beautifully. Comfortable? Who could possibly say. Comfort had not featured very prominently in his ideas for me, so introducing it now seemed almost fussy.

The result, however, could be magnificent.

He looked at me.

I smiled.

What a lovely shared interest we had discovered!

Next came the eyes.

He had been rather keen on making my lips brighter and glossier, so it seemed only fair that I should be allowed one little color preference of my own.

His eyes, I decided, could be much bluer.

Very blue!

The sort of blue that would require colored contact lenses and possibly announce themselves before he did.

Suddenly, the idea of enhancing somebody else’s natural features seemed slightly less exciting.

Interesting.

We Had Barely Started

Then I noticed his posture.

Now that we were examining one another with such dedication, it seemed almost rude to ignore it.

A little straighter, darling.

Chin up.

Shoulders back.

There we are.

And because relying on him to remember all this seemed unnecessarily optimistic, I had thoughtfully found equipment - a posture corrector for men.

Imagine him at dinner, sitting beautifully upright while I admired the result from across the table. If the straps pinched a little, well, glamour had already proved itself surprisingly uninterested in comfort.

His enthusiasm for my makeover was beginning to lose some of its sparkle.

Mine, curiously, was flourishing.

Then we reached height.

He had once described himself as six feet tall. My heels had conducted their own quiet assessment and remained unconvinced.

Fortunately, this too could be improved.

Elevator shoes.

A handsome pair, naturally. Nothing outrageous. Just enough extra height to give him the lovely elongated look he seemed so keen on everybody achieving.

By now, the conversation had become unexpectedly peaceful.

Amazing what a little equality can do for the atmosphere.

Glamour Suddenly Becomes Less Urgent

The next time we went out, something rather wonderful happened.

Nobody mentioned false eyelashes.

Nobody suggested acrylic nails, extravagant hair additions, punishing heels or anything else involving glue, squeezing, lifting, fastening or quiet personal suffering for the pleasure of somebody else's view.

I chose clothes I loved. My makeup looked like me. My shoes were beautiful and entirely possible to walk in.

He looked rather good too: normal waist, normal eyes, normal height, and posture once again entirely his own responsibility.

And somehow, the evening survived.

More than survived, actually. It was lovely.

I cannot say whether my little presentation permanently cured his urge to redesign me. That would give six sketches and a pair of elevator shoes rather more authority than they deserve.

But I did discover something charming about unsolicited makeovers:

They become considerably less irresistible when the mirror turns around.

And goodness, did mine turn around beautifully. 😊