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I have found some stunningly beautiful British girls but with one caveat.....summer teeth. You know.....summer here, summer there.AA Gill on British beauty
British Beauty The Women of This Country Aren't As Good-Looking As Their European Sisters, But Their Inner Beauty Can More Than Make Up For It
AA Gill.
I’m writing this from the south of France. Provence is hot. The whited limestone flags are hot. The Roman ruins are hot. The figs and the flaking alleés of plane trees are hot. The black bulls in the field are bloody hot.
And naturellement, the girls are trčs chaudes. They’re hot, cycling along in little summer dresses. They’re hot, looking sulky and existentialist in town squares. They’re hot in pedal pushers and espadrilles. The waitresses are hot in waistcoats. They’re hot, with black hairy pits.
Hot with ponytails. Hot with gamine bobs, and hot carrying straw baskets of peaches. They’re hot, because everything is hot. French girls look beautiful because we expect them to be beautiful. Because this is the home of beauty and, most important, because they confidently demand that you find them beautiful.
In truth, forensically, if you look with a disinterested eye at French girls, they’re not genetically blessed. If you took a hot French girl and said she was a Belgian, she would become tepid. Belgium is not a nation of beauties; it’s a nation of confectioners and war-grave janitors.
This is the greatest truth, perhaps the only truth, about pulchritude: beauty is not in the eye of the beholder; it is in the eyeliner of the beholden. Beauty is a birthright; it is also a sleight of hand. It is a distraction.
It is the nurture of nature. When I fly back to England, I know that I will notice two things: the old place will look surprisingly and miraculously green, and the girls will look like recycling bin bags full of windfalls, ...
Ms. Keely of Great Britain, presented here solely for forensic study and evaluation, of course.
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