The Beauty Premium

More than one in five think they would get ignored for a promotion, and 37 percent think management would think they didn’t take care of themselves.

The Above quote comes from the Daily Mail, admittedly, hardly a reliable news source, but there is a comment on this I wish to make:

In 1994 Hamermesh and Biddle came up with what is now known as “The beauty premium” Having analysed the income of employees in a variety of different industries and compared this to their supposed attractiveness, they declared that attractive employees were the receivers of a 5% income bump, they also identified a 9% plainness penalty for the plain janes and joes among us.

Of course within this there is still a gender gap. Handsome or attractive male employers received a 5% income bump whereas attractive female employers on average only received a 4% income bump.

If you take into consideration existing gender wage gaps it means that the most attractive female employees receive the same level of income as their average or homely male co-workers.

A good looking male is likely to make a quarter of a million more then his less attractive co-workers.

A survey conducted last year revealed that most recruitment managers believe that people in search of employment need to invest money in their appearance.

61% of those surveyed claimed that it would be advantageous for a women to wear clothing that revealed her figure in the workplace.

However this is a double edged sword for women. Surveys conducted in 2008 revealed that office workers, male and female alike would view a female employer as more likable if she wore visible make up in the workplace but also that it would detract from her perceived competence. 47% of the recruitment specialist surveys above also believed that it is possible for a woman to be penalised for being too good-looking

The reason why I’m talking about only about women when discussing the beauty premium is because men don’t hit this same invisible wall, this beauty ceiling that women do, for women there is a beauty backlash.

The looks of a candidate when applying for a job are often ranked more important then education by these same recruitment specialists.

I guess it’s true, high school never ends kids.

Truth is, the person I am, the person I am becoming, is not someone I like very much.

Not that I am using the last fifteen months as any kind of excuse, I’m not and it isn’t. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve turned into something of a bitch.

I don’t take drugs; I don’t steal; I don’t whore around or drink too much, I don’t even really lie about stuff anymore -though I still reserve the right to omit the truth when needed- but it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve become a mean mean girl, a bitch.

I shan’t bore you all with specifics but I am using this festive season to come out of the closet and admit I have a problem, that’s always the first step isn’t it? To admit you have a problem?

I’m a bitch. A gossipy; two-faced; snide-remark-making; kicks-you when-your-down Bitch.

I suppose then that this is my New Year’s Resolution, stop being such a bitch.

Kinda funny really.

So, Stop Being a Bitch

Learn Italian.

Stop putting things off.

Write trashy teen novel with which I shall make my millions.

Start standing up for myself more, and also stop being so self pitying whenever I feel I’ve been walked all over.

Learn to knit something more complex than a friggin’ scarf.

Eat healthier, exercise more. (I already know that one isn’t going to fly)

Start reading more decent books instead of the paperback trash I continuously find myself reading.

I’d like to say it sounds do-able, it doesn’t.

(Stop being such a pessimist was going to be on the list but I didn’t think I’d be able to fix that one)

Goats, Benches and the like

"sopra la panca la capra campa, sotto la panca la capra crepa"

This translated roughly means "On the bench, the goat lives, under the bench the goat dies"
It is an Italian tongue twister and has kept me equal parts confused and delighted all day.
Something about this language, I find it endlessly satisfying to speak. As a committed francophile that is a very hard statement to admit. It's not that I ever struggled with french pronunciation per-se, but rather I struggled with the way French people struggled with it. It's a sign of how much they adore their language that they will patiently stand there and correct you nine or ten times in a single sentence, but if you are trying to learn the language, it is nothing less than infuriating.
So Italian is satisfying to learn and the Italians are very satisfying in their ability to allow you to finish your sentence.

Il dolce far niente

So between working two jobs, learning Italian AND still trying to have a social life, I haven’t really had a chance to practice the above. But thanks to Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs and their inability to correctly calculate my taxes; I may finally be able to fund my trip to Italy without fear of having to sleep on floors and eat only left overs.

First stop shall be Bellagio on Lake Como, where sadly all the money in in the world won’t save me from sleeping on a mattress on Sara’s floor for a couple of months. But I’m willing to accept that in exchange for her mother’s cooking. Not to mention the fact that I’ll be working so much I doubt I’ll care where I’m sleeping.

Then to Milan where I shall make a point of trying the very special risotto alla milanese followed by the grand Milanese institution, the aperitivo. One quick flight and then I shall be in Rome, where I plan to spend a week, maybe two, eating gelato on the Spanish steps; sneakily attempting to take pictures inside the Sistine Chapel and generally making a nuisance of myself by getting lost on trams, and getting in the way of drivers on their mopeds. Not to mention the inevitable trip to Da Baffetto that shall have to made in order to try an authentic roman pizza. From there to Istanbul for a few days where I plan to eat my weight in Dondurma and Baklava, finally visit the Blue Mosque and my beloved Hagia Sophia before flying to Kyrenia in North Cyprus where I shall devour trays full of Lahmacun and meet up with my sister and her boyfriend for a final debrief and loll about on the beach before flying home to miserable old London.

Scrap that, I shall have no time to be idle, I’ll clearly be too busy eating…

Can't Get You Out of My Head...

I miss that feeling you get when you find yourself attracted to someone. Not that my life is a barren no mans land. There is after all the arrogant Italian, who even if he wasn’t gorgeous -as it seems all Italians are- I would still probably find attractive just for his attire alone. Then there is the adorable and adorably awkward but charming German boy who blushes every time I look at him like a bride on her wedding night. Finally there is as always a whole host of lovely French boys, and we all know how I feel about the French.

But I miss that butterflies in stomach, nervous, pink gooey feeling. Before I go any further I should clarify that I am a hideous, uncontrollable flirt. If flirting was a competition I would win medals in the sport. I will also pretty much try and flirt my way through any situation. Terrible, I know, possibly a-moral and my inner feminist must be in tears. But, if I can get a free coffee in the morning just by fluttering my eyelashes and smiling like I have no brain, I’ll do it, no need to ask me twice.

But I miss that feeling you get when you really like someone. That pulse racing, nerve wracking stage that happens early on. When everything is still very chaste plenty of stolen glances, loaded exchanges and the odd lingering look from across a crowded room. That is what I miss. When your so head-over-heels for somebody that the possibility of flirting doesn’t even occur to you because you’re too busy trying to recall how to breath, let alone speak.

Every outfit is evaluated before being worn and every sentence rehearsed six or seven times before it ever leaves your mouth.

Frankly, no amount of blushing youths and cocky Italians can really make up for that…

Gold nanoparticles could transform street-lights

Researchers in Taiwan have come up with the most perfect way of replacing your bog standard, ugly, inelegant and energy guzzling street lights. All of this shall be done by implanting their leaves with nano-particles of gold. This shall cause the leaves to give off a soft red glow which shall light the street for passersby below, without the need for electric power.
Not only would this cut down on carbon emissions, cut electricity costs and reduce light pollution, all this without in any way harming people by sacrificing the safety that street lights bring.

Like pretty much every great discovery before it, this one came about by accident, when aforementioned researchers were trying to lighting as efficient as LE D's without using the overly expensive and toxic phosphor powder that LE D's rely on. The gold nano-particles are shaped like sea urchins and are places into the leaves of Bacopa Caroliniana plants (that's the stuff you find aquariums) which causes the chlorophyll to produce a reddish luminescence.
This luminescence will cause the leaves' chloroplasts to photosynthesize, this as you will recall from your high school science classes will result in more carbon being captured from the air while the streets are lit. Their next step is to improve the efficiency of the bioluminescence and apply the technology to other bio molecules.

I for one, cannot wait.

The link to the article is Here

Cirrculem Vitae Infernus

It is exactly 6:06 am and at the age of twenty-one I am writing my first CV. I have been writing it for the past three hours and so far all I really have is my name and by date of birth. I have had some form of paid work since I was sixteen and I have never had to bother with one before now. Do you know why? I shall tell you, face to face I am impressive, I possess rather excellent people skills, of this I tell no lie. People meet me and they want to hire me, regardless of how good I may or may not be for the job. I am just that good. That makes me sound conceited but it's not. I am good at lying and telling people what they want to hear and doing it all without sounding like a brown noser, I am good at that. I am not good at putting it all down on paper. I hate merely having to read CV's let alone having to write one of the damn things myself. fml. I want a job at the V&A and I want to move to Italy yesterday.

Rant over, kids.

Now returning you to your regularly scheduled programs....