The other night I ran into a friend at a popular bar on the east side of Austin. Like many east sides of major cities, the neighborhood is where a number of artsy and irreverent kids hang out. And by artsy and irreverent I mean don’t have jobs. The friend was describing to me how difficult it often is to frequent such scenes where every single girl is particularly hip and beautiful looking. They’re the sort of women that could make one feel conscious of their subconscious need to up the ante. Their eyes couldn’t be any doe-ier, their noses any smaller, or their body fat any less a negative number. They look like Kate Moss circa 1993 and they know it. You in turn pout your lips a little further out, turn your toes in a little more in attempt to beat out their Lookbook go-to stance, and walk across the bar as though floating in slow-motion through your own personal music video when seeing these sort of girls.
In other words, it’s one giant contest of who is the most noticeable.