– noun. compound produced by polymerization
- adj. superficial, hypocritically unnatural

Trademarked Smiles

It was the night everyone has been waiting for. The moon and the stars were all awake. They trailed on your limo, showering it with light that everyone found so unusual. As your limo stopped in front of the glorious façade, everyone waited very eagerly and all eyes for you to come out of it like a butterfly hatching out of its cocoon. You did not come out as soon as the limo stopped for you waited for your driver to open the door of the car for you. Pleased, you said "Thank you darling". It was quite out of fashion nowadays but everyone did not care. It's you that is the fashion anyway.

You stepped out of your limo dazzlingly slow while time seemed at pause for everyone who was watching you. Everyone was amazed at the sight of you. You were wearing a gown that seemed like a fusion of every known fashion designer out there (from Christian Dior to Jean Paul Gaultier to Giorgio Armani to Coco Chanel – every fabulous designer you could've thought of). Your ears, neck, wrists and fingers were bedecked with gaudy jewels that everyone has never seen before. Of course, no one has ever seen them before for they were exclusively made for you by Tiffany and Co. You grasped on an alligator skin clutch bag on your left hand as you trailed like a royalty. You are royalty, considering the fact that everyone looks up at you as if the biggest star on the night sky. Yet, everyone has not yet took sight of the most stunning thing you have on until you flashed that wicked, deceiving smile on your scarlet puffy lips.

Frantic, the photographers and the paparazzi immediately focused their cameras' lenses at you. They knew they have to get the best photo of you, better than anyone. It was all they need for the magazines they are working for to sell out. And you didn't care too if they are like bees buzzing around you and what magazine they are working for. May it be Vogue or Elle or Marie Claire or Vanity Fair or Mademoiselle or Harper's Bazaar – or virtually any glossy magazine – you posed like the best fashion model, just as long as they feature you on the front cover.

You did not lose that gorgeous smile all those times, mind you, as you continued walking yourself down the red carpet and finally reaching the door that would lead you to the venue of the awarding ceremonies. But sometimes, I still wonder if that golden smile you have worn above your chin is genuine; because maybe, just maybe, it is just made of plastic instead.