Very Good. I Must Say I'm Amazed.

Shopping and makeovers are great, aren't they? So much money has been thrown away on psychotherapy. All anybody really needs is a makeover and an expensive new wardrobe.

Last night my older daughter was watching a makeover show called "How Do I Look?" This normal-looking, if slightly frumpy girl had been selected by her sorority sisters (that would be the first problem right there) to be done over, because she had glasses, didn't wear makeup, and dressed in T-shirts and sweats all the time.

Disgusting!

The victi^H^H^H^H^H target felt that she was just fine, that she didn't need to get all tarted up and get lots of attention from guys (lesbo!); so her "sisters," with the assistance of the show's fabulous hostess and the show's even more fabulous wardrobe consultant, essentially did an intervention. They gently explained that she was an embarrassment to the sorority and that a cute guy wouldn't even scrape her off the bottom of his shoe. They curled up their faces and looked pained, and hastened to add that they were telling her these things because they really cared about her and felt that she wasn't doing justice to her wonderful personality by looking like such a schlub.

So of course she had to cry a little and thank them for caring so much, and then the show got down to business. The sohos and the mucho fabuloso wardrobe consultant went off, camera crews in tow, to pick out possible new wardrobes for their chastened friend. Meanwhile, she agonized for about 45 minutes, in segments interspersed with fast-paced shopping footage, about her childhood and poor self-image. The fabulous hostess seemed as if she were trying to be very patient and sympathetic, but really wanted to haul back and smack her one.

But of course once the girl had picked out a wardrobe and gotten contacts and had her hair and makeup and teeth and nails and fake tan done, and the hostess brought her out to the applause of the studio audience (wait a minute, studio audience? Where the hell did they come from?), everyone cried with joy at how fabulous she now was.

Personally, I'm inspired. I too could go from a frumpy and self-conscious troglodyte to a fabulous dream girl in just one hour (not counting commercial breaks). See how easy it is to be happy?

Of course, years of psychoanalysis would probably be cheaper.