Let’s Just Say It Wasn’t Pretty
The ultimate lover of life Diane Keaton seems to be able to do just about anything with enough self-critique and self-reflection to never come across as arrogant or self-appointed, and her latest book "Let’s Just Say It Wasn’t Pretty" is no exception. She brought us, "Then Again," a few years ago, and that was more clear cut memoir-esque, but her latest is memoir meets self help meets diary.
Diane Keaton, with Academy Awards and a wide selection of hats, is keeper of some of the most memorable characters ever created on screen. Her friend, and previous lover Woody Allen helped her along this path, but its her tenacity and ability to look at herself with clear eyes that really allows her to write, create, and just be her true self. This, and a perfectly uncomfortable reflective mirror, comes sowed with this book.
Only Diane Keaton can say things like "I’m sixty-seven - what sex appeal?" and share her OCD up and in and out movements and disarray when deciding on whether she should wear a hat on route to seeing an agent. She exposes herself, a valid part of her insecurity no less, and comes down from that celebrity cloud that sometimes feels so untouchable.
In her book she chats style, celebrity, love matters, Victoria Secrets (and all that entails -- even questioning what the Dame Victoria’s secret really is), aging, bowler hats and of course turtlenecks. "Clothing that actually hides the body," she says. "There’s a lot to hide in my case. I’m the only remaining person on earth with this particular look."
Her book’s conclusion is that beauty overall is flawed, and although we know this, there is something secure and satisfying hearing it from one of the biggest silver screen stars on the planet. Yes, you with that scar, that defect, that embarrassing thing you obsess about -- yes you -- are as beautiful as everybody else, in your own way. We’ve forgotten that beauty has nothing to do with make up or glamour -- I say this as the models hop the jet plane next to me and scratch the cover of another magazine I, with a sigh, pick up. I may have been fooled, but not completely. Diane Keaton, an elegant crusader, has come to remind me yet again -- pretty is all in your head.
"Let’s Just Say It Wasn’t Pretty"