Looks faded, now I’m truly happy

Julia Stephenson, author

AS A plain-looking, mousy-haired schoolgirl, my close circle of friends all possessed fine qualities such as loyalty, good humour and great kindness. We called ourselves ‘The Weeds’, while we dubbed the gorgeous girls who poked fun at us ‘The Groovers’.

Fast forward to my 20s and I blossomed into an attractive blonde. Suddenly I had the beauty and confidence to change ranks and join the good-looking crowd.

I associated with head turners such as socialites Beverley Bloom and Lili Maltese, hanging out at exclusive nightclubs. I gravitated towards young women who were at least as attractive as I was, who could get me into the best parties and whose glamour, by association, somehow increased my own.

Doors open incredibly fast when a group of stunning women stride up to them. And it was not only enormous fun, but incredibly empowering, too.

One particularly gorgeous friend got me into the best events Cannes had to offer — I’ve lost count of how many yachts I’ve sipped champagne on and have turned down more dinner party invites from handsome men than I ever found the time to attend.

But those attractive women never truly knew me the way my dear friends do now. Back then, our friendships were based on the beautiful veneer we all shared — we didn’t bother to chip away to see what might lie beneath.

Today, I’m 53 and my beauty is fading; the currency that my youthful attractiveness once bought me has been spent and there are no more glamorous invitations.

But no matter, because once again I find myself with an inner circle of girlfriends whose compassion and dependability transcend the fickle value of looks.

When my mother died suddenly five years ago I shut myself away, too numb with grief to know how to ask for comfort and help.

Many people s t ayed away during that difficult time, not wanting to disturb me. Thankfully, my dear friend of the past 17 years Joyce — a member of the same Buddhist group as me — knew me well enough to see I did need people to intrude and that this wasn’t something I could endure alone.

Joyce appeared on my doorstep, uninvited, and stayed until she was sure I could cope. That, to me, epitomises friendship of the most valuable kind: someone who knows what you want and need from them without you ever having to ask. Looks don’t play a part in that.

Now, I while away the hours sharing my deepest thoughts and fears with the women I’m closest to, and I feel grateful to have them in my life.

I couldn’t tell you whether these wonderful women are attractive on the outside because when I look at them I see only the beauty within.

Meanwhile, I feel sorry for the girl who took me to Cannes all those years ago and showed me such fun: she’s still hanging on in the party circuit, even though age has stolen her looks and she’s more likely now to be led away by the bouncers than led onto the dance floor.

I won’t pretend I didn’t have the time of my life during my years when I had beautiful people as friends, but I honestly couldn’t be happier now they have gone.