Vanity Wars: Her Beauty Below the Knees By "Faith" A boyfriend once said, “I must have a foot fetish. I think your sister-in-law’s feet are so sexy.” Thanks for sharing. My own feet have all the appeal of a ballerina’s high arch jammed into a webbed paddler; great for sports, lousy for Blahniks. In her simple sandals, my sister-in-law exposed a foot devoid of oddness. But the real allure was that spider veins did not decorate her ankles. Callouses were nonexistent. Her feet looked as if they had been buffed smooth and even-toned by rubbing with sheep skin. She polished her nails with barely more than clear. It looked like she took care of herself without being exhaustingly fussy or decorated. There is a tremendous amount of sex appeal in that. Ask any guy. Ask my ex-boyfriend. Here is my theory: from the knee to the toes, it is less the shape of the lower leg that haunts the 99.9% of the population who are not super models than it is the skin. I came to this realization the hard way: I could no longer leave the house without stockings, even in July, even in shorts. I was one step removed from donning an old shift and a pair of roll-down knee-highs. I had to get it together, and over time I developed my own Four C’s: cleanliness, circulation, clarity, and color. Diamonds may be a girl’s best friend, but touchable gams aunt who invites you to all her parties and knows all the best, most available boys in town. Cleanliness: Ride up an escalator in May when sandals start to show or August when summer play has taken its toll. You can see feet at eye level. Heels are white and scaly, from the edge of the sole on up to thick calloused ridges above the heel. Commit this image to memory. I have, and it helped pry some bucks out of my hand to buy things I never thought I would, like a foot bath, salts, and an industrial-strength file (for when pumice is simply too delicate a fix). One pedicure was proof enough for me that there is hope, even after years of abuse. Circulation: As a young child I used to stand by my grandfather and push down on the big blue veins that sat atop the back of his hand. I experimented to see what would happen when I cut off the circulation. Fortunately, I always lost interest in this science project before my grandfather lost his patience. Unfortunately, I have the same see-through skin he had. My twelve-year-old once looked at the back of her hand, and, noticing a few faint blue veins already, said simply, “Thanks, Mom.” I suppose some day I will explore the prospect of having every vein that runs across my hands and the top of my foot removed. In the meantime, I have wasted no time attacking spider veins on my shins and around the ankle bones. “Why do I have these? Am I dying?” I ask. The answer is always be the same: “Heredity. Pregnancy. Other things.” Every third year I venture to the dermatologist and show him all the red or blue vertical lines that spread their own brand of misery in their little lightening pattern. The prospect of making them disappear forever gives me the courage to let the doctor stick tiny needles into the little offenders and pump vein-killing juice about. It hurts, but that’s ok. Sometimes the vein has to be redone, but that’s ok too, because it works. The year my eyesight started to wane was also the year I experienced swelling in my right ankle. “Maybe it’s diabetes?” I asked my nurse friend, somewhat hopeful that the diminishing eyesight was not age-related. “Maybe you’re crazy,” she responded. “Blindness and edema are late-stage characteristics of a serious condition. Your eyesight loss is inevitable, and my guess is that a spider bit you on the foot.” I felt a little foolish, but fortunately not for long. My next venture will be thigh high boots that you pull on, plug in, and let pulse out all the excess fluid. I suppose I could just switch to decaf, increase water intake, and limit my salt and bad fats—but where’s the adventure in that? Clarity: There are no free rides. For example, if you don’t get acne in high school, you get it around thirty. If you are fair-haired enough to never have had to consider a bikini wax, at some point you will be considering Rogaine. “Oh, how lucky you are,” teenage friends used to say, hating me while saying it because they were teenage friends. “We can’t even see the hair on your legs.” Not lucky over time, however. Folks with fine hair are not good candidates for permanent laser hair removal, meaning that stubble will be an issue for me forever. So, everyone else, laser away. I do not know if electrolysis technicians are going the way of styrofoam fast food container salesmen and airplane peanut vendors, but lasers are efficient and tolerable, and worth a consultation with your dermatologist. Lasers are also good for zapping away age spots and other sun damage to the skin of the lower leg. Lower legs, like the face and forearms, get hammered by unprotected sun exposure. Color: The best color for the leg is one color, which requires a bit of attention and lots of sunscreen. For those in need of some pigment enhancer, bronzers and tanners continue to improve, and there is nothing like product experimentation to bond a middle-age mom with her know-everything teenage daughter. Just start every product trial with, “What do I do with this?” It worked with boys when you were young, and it still has a place in your life. Faith refuses to take heredity as an answer. She lives in Buffalo. Vanity Wars: Him A Close Shave Back to the Table of Contents Back to Top