Bring up the subject of L.A. beauty, and the same few keywords come up again and again: Plastic, blond, tits, Botox, “Baywatch,” fake. And indeed, there’s plenty of that Porno Barbie look flying around Los Angeles; the stereotype exists for a reason. My first few trips to L.A., however, it wasn’t the armies of Pam Anderson-lookalikes that brought me up short, inasmuch as I’d prepared myself for them. No, it was the more generalized self-consciousness of L.A. women that got to me: Everywhere I went, I had the sensation that they were looking over their shoulders at themselves, less to make sure they could see what the spectators saw than to make sure there were spectators, period. Los Angeles is a town where even the people who aren’t actors are, in a way, actors.