Category Archives: effictio

Effictio (ef-fik’-ti-o): A verbal depiction of someone’s body, often from head to toe.

Tall. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Skin the color of Crisco. Tall. Black hair. Brown eyes. Skin the color of milk chocolate.

What is this? What about muscles, and boobs and the nose, and the lips, and the teeth and the ears? What about them? How about feet and ass and shoulders? Are we moving from waypoint to waypoint—headings on a map to acceptance or rejection.

We don’t talk. We look—we don’t look and listen too. We look and fantasize and hope our looks meet some standard—a standard displayed all over the place in media images.

But why? Is there some sort of connection between looking good and being good? And this is the big question: Where does the standard of beauty come from. Why is it’s achievement unobtainable for 99% of us no matter what we do? There’s always at least one glaring imperfection that thwarts our quest to “look good.”

But, since most of us don’t measure up, there are a lot of fellow travelers to choose from. We say “Oh fu*k it” and jump into the pool of uglies that nearly covers the entire face of the earth. That’s where I met my wife: flat chested, almost invisible ass, thinning brown hair, skin mottled with various-sized moles, teeth in need of bracing, elephant ears, size 12 foot, minor drooling. I was not much better: 2 inch penis, balding, chronic double vision, half deaf, walk with a limp, chubby, B.O., nose like a traffic cone, claw hands, skin rashes from multiple allergies.

We took one look at each other and decided we couldn’t do much better than each other. It wasn’t clear who was uglier, so that set a level playing field between us. We quickly learned that looks do not matter on love’s voyage. What matters is character—what induces trust and desire: that makes you glad to see each other, glad to do things together, and want to have a child together. So what if your jeans don’t fit. So what if your hair’s falling out. So what if you’re covered with moles. So what if your hands are like claws.

Our daughter Rushy is pretty ugly. She’s about a 50-50 combination of her mom and dad. We hope she sees her gross body as a blessing, not a curse. So far, she sees it as a curse. Once she realizes the futility of trying to become beautiful, we hope she finds somebody uglier than her to love. In a positive development, she has subscribed to “Ugly Duckling,” a dating site for people that are “hard to look at.”

Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).

The Daily Trope is available on Amazon in paperback under the title of The Book of Tropes for $9.95. It is also available in Kindle format for $5.99.

Effictio (ef-fik’-ti-o): A verbal depiction of someone’s body, often from head to toe.

So much is bound up in what we look “like.” Our bodies are the reservoir: What a babe! What a dog! Nice ass! Your nose looks like a shark fin! Where’s your hairline? You look like an alligator with boobs! You could ski with those feet! You’re so ugly you make onions cry.

On and on they go—rude, nasty, often hurtful. Even brutal. Even the complements above shadow insults: “babe” and “nice ass” aim in a negative direction. Sure, we call people beautiful, and handsome, and fit, and attractive, but it is rare that we say anything about the body that evokes a judgment that isn’t somehow rude or weird, or flattery.

I have a “button nose.” That’s a compliment? I think it’s an insult. Body builders probably have a vocabulary of body-praise that is commensurate with their valued goals—all coming down to “rock-hard, toned and pumped up.” The body’s shape can become distorted—a small head resting on a giant body rippling like a lake of meat.

I think I’m getting lost trying to make a point about bodies, which are usually referred to as such when they’re dead, or depressions filled with water, collections of stars, objects in motion, or medicinal cures as in “anti-bodies.”

My Uncle Willie is a hunchback and proud of it. He has a sweater knitted like a target that fits over his hump. He had his hump tattooed like a snow-capped mountain in a sort of Japanese Mount Fuji motif. When people asked about his hunchback, he would say he was pregnant. Sometimes he would joke and say “I wish I could get this thing off my back.” Sometimes he’d go to Church dressed like Quasimodo, the hunchback of Notre Dame, and yell “Sanctuary” at the end of the service. He would jokingly tell people who asked about his hump that they could touch it for $50.00 cash.

Uncle Willie was a handsome man. He was tall with black hair and gentle blue eyes. He had the grip of a pipe wrench. In addition to the mountain tattooed on his hump, he had an angel with its wings spread tattooed on his chest with “Love Will Set You Free” inscribed beneath it. His face was filled with kindness mainly communicated by his lips always being slightly upturned. Uncle Willie had a pierced ear—he wore a diamond stud that sparkled when he moved his head. He always wore his Rolex. It communicated his wealth which was substantial. Last, he wore black Blundstones giving him a certain “je ne sais quoi” when he wore them with a suit. He had the aura of a movie star.

Uncle Willie has a wife and two children; a boy and a girl. His wife is an attorney and his two children are geniuses. At the ages of 17 and 19, respectively, they had invented an electric heater that can be plugged in the wall and heat your whole house for just pennies a day. They’ve made millions.

Where am I going here? I really don’t know.

I think I’m trying to make a point about the body’s surface and the importance it has in a constellation of critical judgments we may make about our fellow humans. This is probably the usual bullshit admonition about judging books by their covers, but it nevertheless rings a bell. Using the “cover” as a criterion for the next step in love saves time. It may be shallow, but it’s a starting point.

What you see is not what you get in a relationship with another human being. First impressions may last for awhile, but awhile isn’t good enough with something that’s supposed to last until death. Twenty year-old her or him is not 60 year-old her or him.

The saggy boobs and the limp wiener have arrived. Where did your love go? To the soul. To character. To mutual respect. To trust. To devotion. You look at him or her and you see a good person.

You feel warm inside.

Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).

The Daily Trope is available on Amazon in paperback under the title of The Book of Tropes for $9.95. It is also available in Kindle format for $5.99.