With a flick of your hair, you turn and face the camera.
Is she or isn’t she?
The whoosh of perfumed hairspray floats in front of you and, as you bob your head, the droplets of lacquer fall upon every follicle. Then, with some amount of combing, of teasing into place, you smile.
So terribly cool, so terribly stylish.
Your face adorns each magazine; eyes wide open, twinkling, smiling at your unseen audience, each of which, even the men, would love to be you, the way you walk, the way you always smile no matter the news, the state of the nation.
Like a goddess, frozen , you remain stylishly timeless, forever beautiful.