Faking fabulousness a full-time job
ArtisHENDERSON sandydays@florida-weekly.com

Perhaps George Washington, great founder of our nation and feller of cherry trees, could not tell a lie. But, even that venerable statesman indulged in a little aesthetic trickery with his ivory and gold false teeth. When the indomitable First Lady Barbara Bush flagrantly sported her faux pearls in the early '90s, it was obvious that looking good by faking it had gone mainstream.

In America, the fairer sex has built an empire on our fraud, turning the cosmetics industry into a multibillion-dollar business. Manicures and pedicures alone account for more than $20 billion a year. That's a lot of fake nails.

Lingerie, too, has gotten in on the charade, with Wonderbra (creators of faux cleavage everywhere) bringing in $100 million each year. Breast implants generate $300 million annually and demand continues to grow at 20 percent. That's a lot of fake boobs.

Guys, too, are part of the pandemic, contributing to the billion-dollar male fragrance industry and buying over $50 billion worth of men's apparel each year. Men, like women, have mastered the art of putting on a façade.

Though technically dishonest, these tricks of the dating trade are arguably crucial in the early stages. For my friend's wedding in India - two weeks ago, now - I led a months long, strategic primping program. The beauty regimen included appropriately timed appointments for haircuts, waxings, and pedicures. I scoured online retailers for weeks to piece together the perfect wedding ensembles and had every detail - down to undergarments and earrings - pre-planned and prepackaged in individual Ziploc bags.

By the time the wedding rolled around, I had assembled a fashion and

make-up tour-de-force that was remarkable not only for its glamour but also for how very different it was from my dayto day look. When I met the handsome Londoner on the first night of festivities, I was in a gauzy Michelle Mason frock and sapphire chandelier earrings bought on my travels in Rajasthan. The second night, as we danced to Indian bhangra and stole kisses on the golf course, I wore a black sequin dress (and, to be fair, a pushup bra). The last night: floor-length BCBG and gold bangles. There was never a time when I was without make-up or hairspray, and though my shoes came off at intervals, the rest of me stayed perfectly in place.

They say the way to tell if a woman is truly beautiful is to see her first thing in the morning. Thanks to separate rooms on opposite wings of the hotel, by the time the Londoner spied me in the a.m. I was already in a full face of make-up and that day's preassembled outfit. On the one rare occasion he caught me in capris and a tank, he smiled ruefully and tugged at the frayed strap of my bra, slipping from underneath my top.

"It's my travel bra!" I said, by way of explaining its faded flesh tones and unraveling fabric.

He quirked an eyebrow and laughed, but I could tell he was unimpressed.

Now, as he talks about the beauty of London at Christmas and hints of a looming invite, I feel myself going back to pre-wedding mode, mentally tallying the outfits I'll need to last out a week in that cold, rainy city. There's an entire winter wardrobe (non-existent since I moved home to Florida) and the contents of my make-up bag, lost on the last leg of the flight back from India. There's new shoes and new jewelry and, let's be honest, new underwear.

The list spirals on, an infinite amount of items needed to maintain the carefully constructed deception created during that fantasy week in India. Perhaps, instead of seeing what a woman looks like first thing in the morning, the true measure of beauty should be how a woman looks when she's not on vacation. With enough prep work and a finite timeline, anyone can fake being fabulous.