ORANGE IS NOT THE ONLY COLOUR
We Irish are not a beautiful race of people. We export our prettiest specimens – Pierce Brosnan, Cillian Murphy, Maureen O’Hara – thereby fooling the world into believing we all look like them. We don’t.
Not that it used to bother us. The rest of us knew we had engaging personalities and were full of craic, sure the tourists were mad about us. Who needed a cute face as well? We were happy to acquire middle-aged spread from 26 onwards, to let our teeth turn yellow and our hair go frizzy.
But now we want it Hollywood: white smiles, manicured nails, sleek hair and glowing tans. It’s the tans especially that are starting to unsettle me.
If anyone commissioned a survey, I’m convinced it would show Ireland has the highest per capita sales of fake tan. We like it so much we’re in danger of turning tangerine – a nation of Oompa-Loompas. “Why do all these women look orange?” I overheard a little girl pipe up in the parish hall on confirmation day yesterday. Out of the mouths of babes, I thought, as her mother hissed at her to be quiet.
The vast majority of mothers, aunts and godmothers queuing for photos with the bishop did, indeed, have unnaturally bronzed skin. If the heavens had opened there wouldn’t have been a streak-free pair of legs in a five-mile radius. The Dads were as pasty as most Irishmen have always been – and thank heavens for some constants. It’s disconcerting enough being confronted by Jodie Marsh clones as far as the eye can see without men getting addicted to fake tan too. A tribe of George Galloways I couldn’t take. Most of those women were as pale and freckled as I am, under layers of fake tan that made them look as though they were reared in the Caribbean instead of Clondalkin.
You see, less is never more – it’s simply not enough. They spray on fake tan and then top it off with more foundation than Pete Burns would use in a week. Mind you, any transvestite would have more sense than to turn his skin orange. Incidentally, I checked out some tanning products and they’re marketed as Self Tan Mousse, presumably because it sounds better than Fake Tan Slap.
Apart from in Galway where they had a little help from the Spanish Armada, we’re not a darkskinned race – we don’t get enough sunshine breaking through raincloud to convince as sun-kissed children of nature. But natural has nothing to do with it and the fake tan habit is starting to become ingrained. It used to be saved for special occasions – weddings and debs – but now most women feel undressed without it. I know some who would rather be late for work or skip breakfast than appear in public without their spray-on tan. Sometimes I feel as if I’m the only pale-skinned woman left in Ireland.
At least when we were willing to be plain it had a kind of honesty. But now we’d prefer to look plastic with gel nails, hair extensions and skin so dark it’s mahogany.
There is a solution but you’ll have to be brave. Just say no.
