Beauty and Brazil


After a long hiatus, I’m writing my belated offering from the airport
in Rio
De Janeiro. It’s been a hedonistic trip for carnival but one can’t
help but pay attention to the physical attributes of the locals-after
all, people-watching is practically the national sport and I am
definitely what we call in the business a facial pervert. It
fascinates me, deconstructing what makes one person stunning and
another not, when the difference might only be a matter of the tilt of
a nose or the slant of the eyebrows.
And in Brazil you have a remarkable case of multinational genetic
roulette intertwined with a culture of top-notch plastic surgery-is it
any wonder Ipanema Beach is a terrifyingly competitive environment for
men and women. Cariocas (the name given to those blessed individuals
born in Rio) are obsessed with the pursuit of perfection-if they’re
not working out in one of the state-of-the-art gyms, they’re hanging
out at one of the ubiquitous juice bars having an energy-boosting
Super-Bomba (containing acai, eggs, guarana…a meal in a glass). And
not just the girls, big manly alpha-male types straight in from
surfing will partake too. Then there is the salad culture-super-foods
abound, the sushi is as fresh and delicious as I’ve ever tasted and the
chance of you not getting your 5-a-day is extremely unlikely. Plus no-one smokes.

Really, the only beauty vice is sunbathing-which admittedly takes its toll on the fair-skinned Brazilians from the South. If ever there was a perfect blue-print for maximizing your inherent attractiveness, then life in Rio might just be it.

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