As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams, he found himself transformed into a giant cockroach.

Hmph. He got off lucky.

I myself woke up this morning to discover that I had become ugly.

Now, you might say that being a gigantic, slime-ridden bug is worse than becoming ugly - but that just shows how shallow you are. For one thing, Hollywood's starting to understand that bugs are another profitable niche market, much like African-Americans and Hispanics. (The main difference being that since cockroaches don't pay rent, they have more disposable income.) Why do you think they made Antz and A Bug's Life? For kids? Get outta here.

So it's entirely possible a large dung beetle could make it in Hollywood. (As witness Ron Jeremy.) But when was the last time you saw an ugly guy starring in a drama? You didn't.

Which means that bugliness compared to ugliness sure has it beat. And I....was ugly.

This revelation came to me when I was shopping at Kroger's this morning. I glanced over at some unattractive guy in the corner and then - like a bad Marx brothers movie - I realized Big Ugly there was me. In a mirror. And there, stripped of my mental illusions, were all my flaws standing out like plaque does on your teeth after you chew one of those little red tablets your dentist gives you to brush better. Balding pate? Check. Bloated paunch? Check. Bad hair, horrid posture, greasy skin.... and I don't even dress well. Oh man.

But terrified, I looked around for someone to compare myself to. And you know what? I wasn't alone. I stood in a sea of ugliness, with homely people on all sides of me squeezing oranges - all apparently unaware that they were vaguely gruesome.

Still entranced by the idea, I took a survey and checked my fellow shoppers:

• 4% Startlingly Beautiful;
• 14% Pretty;
• 17% Cute;
• 63% Transparently Ugly;
• 2% Ugly.

Let's explain.

Startingly beautiful are the kind of people who leave a trail of whiplash injuries behind 'em. Perfect figure, just enough muscles, and given the chance you might crawl over a parking lot full of road salt and glass splinters to strike up a conversation with them. You know the kind. They show up in movies. Sometimes with their clothes on.

"Pretty" and "cute" everyone knows. Pretty is pretty. You wouldn't kill for 'em, but you wouldn't kick 'em out of bed for eating crackers either. Cute is the noncommital version of pretty; it's what you say if someone asks and there's no obvious disfigurements.

Ugly is ugly. We're talkin' the kind of face you might beat to death if you found it on a bug. Street people ugly.

But transparently ugly is a bit different; it's the kind of ugly that's so common you just ignore it. Check the stats. 63% of people are just a little too chunky, or their face is slightly malformed. They're not good looking, or even truly bad looking. They're just there - and the truly unfair part is that, with the exception of one or two horrid features, they could be okay. With me, it's my flabby gut and watery stare. I work on that, I could be cute, even. But I won't, and as such I will be forever ugly.

(Incidentally, being the inveterate pollster that I am, I filtered out anyone under the age of 23. Young people don't realize that it's not going to be like this forever. And when their body starts collapsing like a house of cards, they always have the nerve to act shocked. Bastards.)

Now here's the real test. Look at yourself in the mirror. No, really, go stand there now. Try to surprise yourself. Close your eyes and think about the last episode of Buffy. Now open 'em real quick.

You were scared for a moment, weren't you? You were! Admit it! You're a Transparent.

Don't cry.

No, really, don't cry.

You see, you are not alone. We transparent uglies are the majority. And as such, we make all the beautiful people dance to our tune. We make their lives a living hell... and they don't even know it.

Because beauty is transitory. It takes massive efforts to keep it up, and eventually no matter what you do you're going to wind up with liver spots and a face that looks like a crumpled roadmap. We tell each other that there are beautiful old people, but screw it; Paul Newman hasn't had a new addition to his cavalcade of lustpuppies since The Sting. The people who say he's still gorgeous are old saggy people who think that this is currently the best thing they have a shot at. If you're old and honest, you have a mad-on for Brad Pitt.

And the beautiful people know this. They fight for their beauty to the exclusion of everything else. Beautiful people will never know the joys of scarfing down an entire pint of Ben & Jerry's right out of the freezer. Beautiful people will never be able to hop out of the shower and go shopping in a T-shirt and shorts. Beautiful people can't eat barbecued ribs for fear of ruining their makeup.

Beautiful people don't get to relax.

Now I hear you protesting: "But Ferrett, we will never know the joys of dating Salma Hayek, or attending a Hollywood premiere, or having a complete stranger give us a $10,000 diamond watch." This is true. But you know what?

Most beautiful people don't, either. Most of 'em don't get to be stars. They turn heads for a few years, then age smacks 'em in the ass, then they spend their old age reminscing about how good they used to look.

Relax. You never looked that good. Have a pizza.

In conclusion, just remember. We're here, we're fearsome looking, and we're proud of it. And we may not ever have a movie made about us, but on the other hand we don't have to run under the refrigerator every time a Raid commercial comes on. Thank you.

This has been an article on Tirades. If you enjoy Tirades, perhaps these other articles on Tirades might be of interest?

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