Have you ever heard the term, “pain is beauty”? Seriously, who ever thought of that must not have imagined to what great lengths some people—women, especially—will go in the search of beauty. And perhaps that person was a masochist.

I admit that I’ve chanted this mantra several times while ambulating down the street in six inch heels. Actually, sometimes it’s more like “Ouch. Eech. Ouch. Holy Mother of God! Help me to realize that pain is beauty.”  I’ve often lain on my bed trying to slip into my skinny jeans while basically cutting off all circulation to my lower extremities in the hopes of making my derriere look simply perfect. That’s painful, people.

The Spanx market has absolutely exploded. Now you cannot even think about wearing a slinky jersey dress without “spanxing” yourself into it or being reminded by anyone from the pesky sales clerk to your best friend that of course you will look better in that dress with a little “help.” Spanx, as great as they may make your “assets” look, they tend to sever your ability to breathe freely. You’ve been warned!

Waxing is another goodie. Whoever said waxing was painless!  Every time I lay on my aesthetician’s chair I want to cry. It’s not pretty. A dear friend once told me to have a shot of Vodka before having anything waxed—“works like a charm”—she maintained. Well, my dearest friend, no amount of vodka can dull this redhead’s overly sensitive parts!            

Another wonderful invention is bootcamp. How or why I allowed myself to be seduced into such a living hell is beyond me. Three times a week for an hour, rain or sleet or hail or shine—my friend and I lay ourselves down to the slaughter. I keep asking my friend why we’ve paid someone to get yelled into shape. Being the snot that she is, she reminds me (quite correctly) of how good we will look in our bikinis. She hasn’t been wrong yet so I have to put my waning trust into her words.

Every time I’ve tried to cram my feet into shoes just because they are “cute,” or tried to squeeze into a shirt because it is by the most fabulous designer at the best price or even worn a wonder bra, it’s all been for the ultimate aim of beauty.

Today I’m in a lot of pain—the culprit probably being the suicide runs in bootcamp class. I’m struggling to find closure and understanding that this will result in some ephemeral aim of beauty. Note to self: Good luck with that, lady.