Cosmetic relationships are as fake as silicone implants

An article – I use the term loosely – I read on the Sun website this evening really evoked in me a great feeling of pity for the tactless plastic acts who unashamedly swear that beauty is the be all, end all of human interaction. As un-pc (yes, I am applying that acronym, for shame) as it may sound, there is a shameful portion of the population who would sooner spend time seeking an aesthetically-pleasing person to scan their goods at a supermarket till than be served by a less-attractive member of staff. Ironically these are the people who are certifiably ugly at the soul, destined to dedicate the majority of their lives looking like a living waxwork model from Madame Tussauds. These people are also the kind who would actually develop from the article I read a series of superficial quibbles about whether the featured celebrity couples were mismatched like the piece impresses, at least as far as looks are concerned.

Initially, after reading the title, Sexy stars date average blokes, I thought, 'oh look, something else detailing the mundane liaisons of famous people with real people'; but after reading I realised it was driving at 'famous people coupled with freaks, geeks and old age pensioners', as if we weren't already aware of the diverse ingredients that induce human attraction. The prime pick of the bunch was Matt Bellamy and Kate Hudson. Bellamy, lead singer of alternative rock group Muse, is dubbed a man of 'brains and talent', as pitted against the other breed whose assets are confined to 'bulging biceps' and 'baby blue eyes'. Quite frankly I'd say there's more of an advantage in being partnered with a man of music than a man of muscle – for one thing, you can't sing a soft lullaby with a twin set of arm canons. What immediately levels this article's stance on image is that I don't find Kate Hudson the least bit attractive, namely because she falls under the bracket of the conventionally pretty woman. What this proves is that, cliché though it may sound, beauty is in the eye of the beholder – and convention only accounts for indiscriminate instances of physical attraction.

Take this shocking epiphany to the next stage and you begin to understand what makes being human so unique. Unlike our cousins in the wild, we can peer past the outer layer we see each day to discover deeper, complicated beauty that is a significant factor in the struggle to obtain a mate in the modern world. Instead of defaulting to our animal instincts and leaping onto the nearest woman with the widest hips or the guy with the broadest shoulders we can employ a little time and effort and uncover whole new tiers of emotional and intellectual involvement with another person. This is interactive stimulation of a higher kind, though, it finds itself in competition with the animal instinct that we were acquainted with in the beginning. The famous (who's heard of half the women in this piece?) females who are apparently so inextricably involved with these 'average' wealthy men are popularly identified as cultural beauties in light of whatever titillating asset they maintain – ass, thigh, hip, chest, take your pick. Interestingly enough, the original stimulation has worked its way back to the top of attractive human factors, and if you consider how much the bodily aesthetic meant to the Greeks in the antiquities (think Plato's perfect forms and Michelangelo's David), it's not surprising how easy this elevation of the natural instinct came about.

Now, in reference to my perspective on the aesthetic, you might call me a hypocrite because I have essentially mitigated the article that I am implicitly criticising. But I am, as much as my own personal photographer denies, no hypocrite; I'll admit I'm all right with words, but a hip-licking hypocrite I am not. If you examine the fundamentals of a successful long-term relationship, human or non-human, you will find an aggregate of requirements that collectively represents a capacity to commit, transcending fleeting sex with appetising knights and princesses. The kings and queens of human relationships are not immaturely clinging on to the faded beauty of their youth, they are locked together through a constant cycle of stimulation that feeds off their transcendent interest in one another – this can work for those who still live in supple skin. You give me a couple of fading stars who claim to be happily married hotcakes and I'll give you a capsule of Viagra. In spite of how joyous sexual arrest is, it isn't the strongest contributor to a healthy, equal relationship – and this is what the Sun's article isn't telling its audience, though, I'm sure the readers who fall for it aren't falling for any talented brain boys.

On a less-in-depth note, I'd just like to mention how awesome some of the example blokes the writer selected for her piece look. Geoffrey Arrend, married to Christina Hendricks, is the spitting image of Moss from The IT Crowd (proof that nerdism doesn't equate to celibacy). Bruce Forsyth, married to Wilnelia Merced, although an unremitting source of annoyance to me, has got the WW2 field marshal moustache down to a tee. Jay-Z, Beyonce's man-booty, wears those killer spectacles as good as he does that wholesome smile. And as for Marko Jaric, Adriana Lima's lad, who wouldn't want to be able to boast they'd tapped a non-video game version of Super Mario?