On a whim, I typed into Google, "the most beautiful woman in the world." I really did not know what to expect, but the phrase intrigued me: Something within was quite sure there was such a person; on the other hand, I could not conjure that person up.
I only skimmed a few sites. And it was like looking at porn ... very cookie-cutter, repetitive and without imagination. The vast majority were pink people. The vast majority were pretty. The vast majority were not above 40 or below 18. The vast majority seemed to go to the same hair-dresser.
I could see why they had been chosen but balked that a search that included the word "beautiful" was set aside with such apparent ease. Where were the brown people? Where were the Nepalese or Tibetans -- the people I sometimes think are the most beautiful people on earth? Where were the elderly whose faces took my breath away ... or the kids? Where were the artful men?
Beauty is one of my very weakest spots and yet what it is I haven't got a clue. The best I can think of is that it is "to die for" ... literally. Music, art, people ... the air around me evaporates and I am left is some strange, well-lighted place. Birth and death are minor matters. There is just beauty.