"How Do I Love Me?' at Fringe Festival

If she's so gorgeous,
why isn't she happy?

JIM RUTTER

Goethe once advised that everyone should begin each day by hearing a little music, reading a little poetry and seeing a fine picture, so that “worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of [the] beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.”

Apparently, the women of Goethe’s time didn’t look like Aleksandra Berczynski.

During the first ten minutes of her 20-minute one woman show, Berczynski brushed styling mousse through her lush hair, applied makeup in ever finer gradations, took the obligatory “MySpace shot” with her cell phone, and admired herself in a series of mirrors that lined her room. Her teeth shone and her eyes literally sparkled, and hunching up her size two jeans, and adjusting the plunging neckline of a sweater that exposed the curves of her enviable physique, she mimicked poses from the pages of Vogue while Aretha Franklin’s “Respect” played in the background.

I wanted to applaud her flagrant self-indulgence and praise the audacity of a piece that showed (to paraphrase Shakespeare) “what nature herself hath wrought,” while simultaneously asserting, “Here is what you should watch, here is the art for you to gaze upon.”

In a civilization that seriously considers banning thin models—because of their influence on other girls—I found in Berczynski’s show a refreshing attitude toward the idea of physical beauty. I felt this way, that is, right up until the moment she opened her mouth. To complain.

Does Paris Hilton do poetry?

I didn’t mind Berczynski’s initial words— the first of three Shakespearean sonnets— nor how she recited them (picture Paris Hilton on poetry). What bothered me was where she took the piece from there.

Starting with the obligatory plight of young women—“Why do guys shit on me?”— Berczynski rambled through a laundry list of complaints: “Why am I so ugly?” “Why can’t I be that girl who can walk down the street with her head held high?” “Why do my arms look like mattresses hanging by my sides?” And, finally, “Why am I so depressed?”

In a phone-call monologue that expressed her final complaint, Berczynski informed us that her low self-esteem drives away all her friends. When she broke down, despairing about loneliness, I was truly touched. On the other hand, I understand her friends’ point of view. Beauty might often be a double-edged sword for young women, but I want to hear a pretty girl complain about having good looks about as much as I want to hear a rich heiress complain about her wealth.

Comfort from Shakespeare

Far from affirming her attractiveness, Berczynski presented one of the most self-indulgent cases of body dysmorphia imaginable. Katherine Heigl would have an audience in stitches if she ever rambled on like this. Come to think of it, Berczynski’s piece could be the most unintentionally funny piece in this year’s Fringe.

Though most of the show sounded like the reflections common to diary entries, Berczynski used the “how” of the title to develop a process for her own self-acceptance. Reciting aloud Sonnet #54—the Shakespearean equivalent of “Beauty is more than skin deep”— she finds in this oft-repeated statement a way to value herself beyond her misperceived shortcomings against what are alleged to be only cultural standards of attractiveness. As the Bard said, beauty is. The rest of the world—even the beautiful—have to find a better way to constructively deal with it.