What is Beauty?

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality o'ersways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?

                           (William Shakespeare)

Or could this be true?

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know;
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

Look at your watch.

Just how happy will cosmetic surgeons, cold cream peddlers and Vogue publishers be? They'd welcome a brand-new, self-conscious "old and ugly" cash cow with open arms. After all, men aren't supposed to see past the smooth skin and stylishly vacant stare...

Look closely.