Female bodies, at least around here, have changed dramatically since I was a kid. Let me be blunt: ladies, you are not looking so hot.
If you travel into Brentwood or Pacific Palisades on a weekday morning, cruise Montana Avenue in Santa Monica or north Robertson Boulevard in Beverly Hills, or stop by the Malibu Country Mart on the Pacific Coast Highway, you will be treated to glimpses of near-ideal female physiques. You may spot the starlets and trophy wives of the west side emerge from Pilates and yoga classes and slip into their waiting Range Rovers. These shapes, slender and toned, are now in America the exclusive domain of the very rich, the mostly white. Women who have paid surrogates to birth their children and wellness experts to wring every last ounce of excess off their thighs. If you read the Daily Mail, it’s always the Kates: Beckinsale, Middleton, Moss (still slaying)—perhaps with a Rosie Huntington-Whitely thrown in to spice things up. Leave it to the English to preserve our now-discarded traditional fantasy beauty standards.
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