Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Here in L.A., everyone thinks they understand the mathematics of beauty. You
know, Clothes. Faces. Legs. Our eyes expertly rove an afternoon mall or a
midnight bar, evaluating the smooth, the tight...or at least, the fashionable.
Tonight I find myself standing in line outside a dance club just off Hollywood
Boulevard. It’s about 11:30, and the line is composed mostly of women 22 to 26,
all trying hard to look beautiful. Strangely, they have each decided to wear the
same tiny black dress, riding high above the hip, along with loose hair,
dangerously high heels, and dark eye makeup.
All the women are pretty...I mean, they aren’t getting in if they’re not pretty...but
tonight their efforts seem, well, too obvious to be called “beauty.” And for a
moment, I consider getting the attention of everyone in line so I can explain the
aesthetic theories of leading Swiss mathematician, Jürgen Schmidhuber.
Page 1 of 4
exactly alike—not to mention sexually available—the women in line have
accomplished this minimum task.
And here I pause to look at a giggling woman adjusting her spaghetti straps, and I
think...no.
When you look at a truly beautiful woman, you can understand how this process
might never cease. Consider, like, Cate Blanchett. Your eye makes its many
saccades, but your perception is a hyperbolic curve which approaches, but never
quite reaches an asymptotic value. Something’s there you can never quite grasp.
Page 2 of 4
And surely, the same is true of mere mortals. I mean, relationships often end when
one person believes they have grasped the totality of the other person; when they
decide that person, no matter how symmetrically arranged, can be too easily
paraphrased.
Just now, for example, a nearby couple begins to argue. Because she’s so tall, she
looks especially absurd in her tiny black dress. He wears worn jeans with shirt-tails
hanging out. Her clothing says, “I am easy to understand.” His says, “I am
unconcerned.”
Aloud, the man replies, “Because you’re not the only woman on the streets
tonight.”
At which, of course, she storms off as fast as anyone wearing stiletto heels can
storm. Which is not, actually, very fast.
Me, I laugh and I turn to look with new appreciation at my...wife, who has, yes,
been standing next to me in line this whole time. She is no doubt unaware that I
have been looking at all these other women; and once again, I see in her face the
many complex data points of a beauty I know I will never fully explore. An
algorithm kicks in, and I say, “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Page 4 of 4