I saw a striking woman, and thought that I would write a paean. I thought I would describe her – her hair, her clothing, her curves, her features. As I looked at her though, as I took her in, I was struck: what made her so striking was none of those things. What made her striking was, surprisingly, her gently pockmarked face, scars from long-ago acne, making her otherwise pretty, but somewhat bland, face much more… interesting.
Perfection is beautiful. But imperfection? Imperfection is hot.