Funny Faces

Today Jonathan and I had lunch outside at a perfect place he discovered only yesterday. On the site of the once famous Morton's in West Hollywood, where the impossibly grand Vanity Oscar party has always been held, the restaurant is the place you dream L.A. will be before you arrive. It is mostly outside, with benches covered with fluffy cushions of white and aqua marine.

You sit outside, but in the shade under a giant awning, with great shafts of sunlight shining through--but never, ever in your eyes.

The table cloths are white linen, and the waiters are pressed and neat and beautiful. Most have British accents, so you feel like you are being served by butlers, and you are the aristocracy.

To me it felt like Capri, or Sorrento.

They have a fabulous prix fix menu (recession special!) which Jonathan insisted I try. And so I did, and it was perfect. A fresh salad of crunchy fresh beans, red onions, tomatoes and tuna carpaccio, and then the most delicious spring risotto, of snapping fresh peas, and curly tender shrimp all sauteed in God knows how much butter, followed by a perfect espresso with a layer of golden foam in a delicate teacup with curves like a woman. Yum.

As we ate, more people filed in. It was a happening place, and the people were stylishly dressed. Jonathan hid his funky writer sneakers under the tablecloth. He was definitely underdressed. This was a place of Balenciaga purses, $500 sunglasses and $1,000 dresses I usually only see on mannequins in store windows.

But there was more. The faces were not real. The women were taut and tight and pulled and stretched. Their hair was fake, their boobs were fake and their faces were fake. As my eyes travelled across the dining room I felt I was in a fun house. Every face seemed off, although after awhile I felt I was losing track of what was normal. What did cheekbones look like? How did non-plumped lips really look? What does someone who really has blonde hair look like?

Jonathan said in a meeting yesterday two of his producers were talking of a medical epidemic sweeping Hollywood, where stars can't stop getting surgery to try to stop time. They are in love with their on-screen selves, and can no longer see what they really look like.

I think probably every beautiful person throughout history has tried to keep themselves young with whatever technology was available. I don't know that this is a new medical phenomenon. But I can tell you that sitting in the middle of a place where people have the money to carry out every technological fantasy and experiment on themselves is a discombobulating experience.

As we walked out I saw a single woman with brown hair, a few wrinkles, normal clothes. I did a double-take. Was she normal? I no longer knew.

When we got to the car I looked at myself in the rear view mirror. I looked so natural. So strange. I had little gray hairs popping out of my scalp, real live wrinkles, brown hair. I looked so fresh. So real. Like I walked out of a different movie. A different plot. A different life.

Maybe I am just made for a different set.