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Weekend: Beauty: WHAT I SEE IN THE MIRROR
DAVID DICKINSON, The Guardian - United Kingdom
Published: Aug 11, 2007
When I look in my mirror for my morning shave and brush-up, I like what
I see. OK, so it's not as young as it once was, the hair well salt and
peppered and receding a little at the temples, but it's still a full,
strong head of hair.
My complexion is olive; I only have to walk through the sun to top up
my tan, which has almost become a trademark. Terry Wogan swears I'm
dipped in tea, but the key to your reflection in the mirror has to be
your genes. As an adopted child born out of wedlock in the war, it took
some time to find mine. With a mother of Armenian descent and an
English father, the mixture has always served me well and I would not
wish to change it. Yes, on close inspection the bags under the eyes
could do with a bit of attention, but who's going to take the chance
under the surgeon's knife when you could wind up looking cross-eyed?
Certainly not me.
I've always been aware of my appearance since I was a little boy.
Brought up in a working-class home, I had a good old-fashioned granny
to guide me: "So clean your fingernails, David, sharp crease in your
trousers, polished shoes - never let them get down at heel - and change
your underpants every day just in case you get knocked down." Teenage
years of rock'n'roll style, Tony Curtis and Beatles hairstyles, sharp
suits, collars and tie. . . that's why the students call me The Duke.
Look back to the mirror. Shaved, teeth brushed, hair combed, splash of
my favourite Italian aftershave - and I'm ready to go in 15 minutes. Am
I afraid of getting old? Hell, no. I'm 66 in August and feel as cocky
and confident as I did at 21.
DAVID DICKINSON, The Guardian - United Kingdom
Published: Aug 11, 2007
When I look in my mirror for my morning shave and brush-up, I like what
I see. OK, so it's not as young as it once was, the hair well salt and
peppered and receding a little at the temples, but it's still a full,
strong head of hair.
My complexion is olive; I only have to walk through the sun to top up
my tan, which has almost become a trademark. Terry Wogan swears I'm
dipped in tea, but the key to your reflection in the mirror has to be
your genes. As an adopted child born out of wedlock in the war, it took
some time to find mine. With a mother of Armenian descent and an
English father, the mixture has always served me well and I would not
wish to change it. Yes, on close inspection the bags under the eyes
could do with a bit of attention, but who's going to take the chance
under the surgeon's knife when you could wind up looking cross-eyed?
Certainly not me.
I've always been aware of my appearance since I was a little boy.
Brought up in a working-class home, I had a good old-fashioned granny
to guide me: "So clean your fingernails, David, sharp crease in your
trousers, polished shoes - never let them get down at heel - and change
your underpants every day just in case you get knocked down." Teenage
years of rock'n'roll style, Tony Curtis and Beatles hairstyles, sharp
suits, collars and tie. . . that's why the students call me The Duke.
Look back to the mirror. Shaved, teeth brushed, hair combed, splash of
my favourite Italian aftershave - and I'm ready to go in 15 minutes. Am
I afraid of getting old? Hell, no. I'm 66 in August and feel as cocky
and confident as I did at 21.