Red Carpet Blues

The girl who can eat all the calories and carbs she wants and
never gain a pound. The guy born into so much money that the only
bill he has to worry about is the hundred in his pocket. The kid
who’s a piano savant before he’s old enough to drive. That one girl
who always manages to show up to class perfectly clothed and
coiffed despite the fact that it’s 8 a.m. on finals week. Some
people just exist to make the rest of us feel inferior.

And nothing hammered that point home for little ol’ me like
getting up close and personal with the fabulous Sienna
Miller. Last Thursday night, I joined the cream of the
well-connected Santa Barbara crop at the opening night of the
Santa Barbara International Film
Festival. Thanks to my job at the Daily
Nexus, I had a lovely little press pass around my neck
granting me access to the red carpet and the opening-night premiere
— although, sadly not to the after-party where my status as a mere
six-months-from-21 got me kicked right off the red carpet. Thanks
to the fine folks at Forever 21, I had a lovely little red dress
granting me a level of glamour far greater than the price on the
tag. And, thanks to a combination of my extreme elbowing skills and
the pity of my new friends on the press line, I had a great spot
granting me a perfect view of everyone from Guy Pearce
and Sienna Miller to Dennis Franz and Alan
Thicke.

Seeing celebrities is always a treat. But I think anyone else
who grew up in the early 1990s will understand when I say that
seeing Mr. Seaver standing just inches away from me was an
experience that can only be described as a pop-culture orgasm. It
was short, but boy was it sweet.
Just as I was recovering and
reminding myself not to yell “sometimes I doubt your commitment to
sparkle motion” as the woman who played the scene-stealing Kitty
Farmer in Donnie Darko rocked the red carpet, there she
was. Gorgeous. Elegant. Effortless. Sienna Miller. With her
perenially perfectly lined lids and her gorgeous Grecian-inspired
gown, Sienna was the picture-perfect stunning starlet as she made
her way down the press line. Bitch.

Now, I’m sure Sienna Miller is a perfectly sweet person. She’s
probably even one of those fabulous famous people who manage to
retain their humility and restrain their egos despite being one of
the most photographed women in the world. She definitely doesn’t
deserve my unbridled hatred and resentment. But, how am I supposed
to react when I see a living, breathing goddess floating down the
foyer at the Arlington without even an ounce of extra body fat to
keep her warm on the cold January evening?

For the record, Sienna has a perfectly proportioned body — which
I know for a fact is true because she seems to have a mandatory
nude scene built into every contract she signs. She’s like a Barbie
doll. Which makes me feel like a Cabbage Patch doll — soft and
squishy, with big round cheeks and funny frizzy hair. Sure, I’m
cuddly, but who would you rather sleep with?

Like I said, some people just exist to make us feel bad about
ourselves. Unfortunately, Isla Vista is full of those people. Rich,
beautiful, and thin people. People who can eat all the Pascucci’s
bread and I.V. Drip cookiewiches they want and never gain a pound.
People who can afford everything at Nordy’s and never need to shop
at Forever 21. People for whom proximity to celebrities make them
feel better about themselves, not worse. Not to perpetuate a
stereotype, but take two steps inside any sorority house in I.V.
and you’ll see what I mean. What’s a short girl with crazy hair and
body image issues she’s been carrying around since the fifth-grade
playground to do?

Well, I work out. A lot. Every day in fact. I straighten my hair
until it is literally smoking hot. I avoid even looking at food
with too much sugar and fat, since apparently that’s all it takes
for my body to gain 10 pounds. And I do the best I can at the
clearance racks at Reference and Angl to approximate the wardrobe
of the wealthy. I know I appear confident — and can seem downright
cocky after a few too many drinks — but I’m an imposter. It’s all
an illusion.

And it’s not easy. It would probably be a lot easier to just
give up. To say screw it and let my body revert back to its natural
build — what my ancestors would have called “zaftig.” To eat all
the Rosarito’s and Deja Vu I want and finish it off with a Cookie
Monster from Silvergreens. To let my hair go au natural
and wander around town in baggy jeans and a big T-shirt. I’d
definitely save a whole lot of time in the morning.

But, would I be happier? Honestly, I don’t think so. Sure,
working out every day gets exhausting and nothing gives me more
momentary pleasure than a big burger from Deja with a side of
mozzarella sticks for added measure. But, that’s just it. The
pleasure is momentary. Much like seeing Alan Thicke on the red
carpet, it’s a great feeling but it doesn’t last long. And as for
my hair, a fro can be cute on some people, but on me it would just
be depressing. So what’s the solution to my Sienna-inspired
existential dilemma?

Like most things, I think it’s probably about finding a happy
medium. That’s the clothing size I’m happiest at, so why shouldn’t
medium work for everything else too? How about a walk on the beach
once a week instead of intensive cardio? A few Oreos on top of my
low-calorie wow cow and a few new pairs of comfy pants from the
UCSB bookstore for those days when I don’t really feel like getting
dressed? I might even try talking to a counselor at Student Health
about my body-image issues — fifth grade was a long time ago after
all. And, in the meantime, I’m just going to have to comfort myself
with the knowledge that I may never be perfect, but Sienna Miller
probably doesn’t think she is either. And at least I’m cuddly.

Photos by Sophia Kercher