Vanity, thy name is (not) Lucy

Ethel: When you chew with that beard on, you look just like a billy goat.

Lucy: Nobody but a nanny goat would notice it.

None of us are completely without vanity. Even if I'm in such a rush that I leave the house in pajamas, I still manage to dab on concealer and curl my eyelashes. My mother, who's always felt that she's too short (at 5 foot 5), refuses to wear slippers without heels.

We all know Lucy was vain to a certain degree, as this all-too-human trait produced countless great moments in comedy: Lucy disguising herself as member of the chorus line at the Tropicana to spy on Ricky and and a seductive girl dancer; Lucy dressing up in an evening gown and full makeup to serve a seemingly disinterested Ricky breakfast; Lucy overspending on countless dresses/hats/etc.

Despite these examples, Lucy was always willing to sacrifice vanity for the sake of some greater purpose, a rare and valuable quality.

In Episode 89, "Lucy is Envious," Lucy (and, of course, Ethel) dress up as Martians and invade the top of the Empire State Building as part of a publicity stunt. The payoff? 500 bucks, which happens to be precisely the amount of cash Lucy accidentally donated to her snooty ex-schoolmate's charity (she thought she was pledging $5). The Martian costumes were far from flattering, but who cared? Not Lucy. Nor did she balk when Episode 79, "The Million-Dollar Idea," required her to take on the persona of a slurring, unkempt old woman disgusted by Aunt Martha's Old-Fashioned Salad Dressing ("What'sh Aunt Martha tryin' to do, poison me?").

Even less-flattering than the Martian outfits was the long white beard Lucy affixed to her face with spirit gum in Episode 23, "The Moustache." A visual protest of Ricky's new moustache, the billy goat beard didn't come off as easily as it was supposed to. It did, however, inspire Ricky to shave (and won Lucy an offer to play Ricky's father in a movie). But as memorable an image Lucy-The-Bearded-Lady may be, I do believe my favorite Portrait of a Lucy will forever remain her star turn as Queen of the Gypsies in Episode 38, "The Operetta." Far from the charming ingenue role one might expect Lucy to snatch in her self-penned play for The Wednesday Afternoon Fine Arts League, the Queen of the Gypsies was a snaggle-toothed, tambourine-carrying hag...who naturally stole the show.

It's a difficult thing for a woman to do, to deny The Beauty Myth its power. "It's a duty to be beautiful," we are raised to believe, when the truth is our only duty is to be ourselves: Some days a stunner, other days a stooge.

I have a naturally expressive face, I've been told. This rather cartoonish trait is not something I developed on purpose, it's just the way I've always been. So I was rather dumbfounded when, several Christmases ago, an older male relative took me aside to give me the following advice:

"You have a beautiful, classic profile," he said. "But when you make those big expressions, you don't look as beautiful. You should try to keep your face more...still."

He was a senior citizen and it was the holidays and I knew he meant no harm, so I just said "Thank you, that's very helpful" or something like that and walked away. At first, I wasn't sure how I should feel - embarrassed? Indignant? Repentant? No matter what I was feeling, I guessed I wasn't supposed to show it.

Salvation came courtesy of Lucy, as ever. Watching my idol on TV later that week, I asked myself a question. What would have happened if Lucy had "kept her face still?" Not much of anything, I realized - certainly nothing funny.

I'd rather look overly-animated than live an underly-animated life.

Making faces: It's what Lucy would do.