It's a strange paradox and I've been on both sides of it. Growing up, I was a frizzy haired, lanky mixed-race kid who wanted nothing more than to be beautiful instead of whatever it was I was. Somehow, in my 20s, I fell ass-backward into beauty (or maybe the awkward stage that was my life just came to an end). And it wasn't the super-fun experience I thought it would be. it was kinda fun at first, getting a lot of attention, especially from guys that had ignored me a few years prior. But it got old quick. Charlotte's analogy is pretty spot on. It's no fun being seen as nothing more than a pretty package with nothing to offer aside from beauty and sex. You never know if anyone every gives a shit about the real you. You're bothered everywhere you go. Sometimes safety is an issue. Anyway, not at 52, I'm sort of coming out the other side. I'm not ugly, in fact, I look good for my age, but I'm not 25 anymore and the constant attention isn't as constant. It's freeing, but it's also a little sad those first few times you realize that, "I used to be the pretty one."