Evelyn Hugo and the Curse of Beautiful Women
“There’s nothing less powerful in this world than an ugly woman and nothing more powerful than a beautiful one,” a friend of mine utters in a crowded bar, sipping on her whiskey sour. I look at her for a second, pondering her words. We have been talking about beauty and the injustice of it, her with her hair curled and me in a dress the size of a napkin, which I probably won’t wear again because, let’s face it, it doesn’t do much for my boobs. I can’t help but fixate on the second part of the statement.
It seems to me that there’s a level of beauty required from women to be considered women, or, even, people. There is a connection between beauty and righteousness, in our society, that has been inculcated in our minds from the Disney tales of the ugly witches. Now we have studies declaring that attractive people are more likely to get hired and less likely to get criminally charged. Beauty changes things. A few months ago, “pretty privilege” was the talk of TikTok, referring to the favourable treatment granted to conventionally attractive people. The most compelling examples were of those that went through a so-called “glow up” and experienced the difference first-hand. Of course, most of those were femme-presenting.
Taylor Jenkins Reid’s Evelyn reminds me of Emily Ratajkowski and her book of essays, My Body. They are both aware of the power their body holds. They know how to commodify it to get what they want. And they struggle to understand their position on it. Is it wrong to play the game? Or is it smart to exploit it and abuse it? Something that gets mentioned over and over, in Seven Husbands and My Body and every conversation about Only Fans is, “My body gets sexualised anyways. Why not make money off it?”.
At the start of the book, Evelyn Hugo talks about Billy, a five-and-dime employee that sexually assaulted her, who she continues seeing in exchange for free candy. Recalling the episode, she says
I remember him saying, in the dark, cramped stockroom with my back against a wooden crate, “You have this power over me.”
He’d convinced himself that his wanting me was my fault.
And I believed him.
Look at what I do to these poor boys, I thought. And yet also, Here it is my value, my power.
In this line, Billy gives Evelyn power, power over him. He says it. But is that power? Is it powerful to be able to get things from someone because they want something from you? Or is it purely transactional? It is Billy that has access to the candy, at the end of the day, and the moment he gets tired of Evelyn (which he does), she loses it. Power is not power if it is granted by someone else. If it can be taken away.
The idea that beautiful women are powerful is a wonderful lie meant to keep us busy and quiet and, yes, beautiful. It is a way to say: “See, it’s not a systemic issue, it’s a you issue, you’re just not pretty enough.” In The Beauty Myth, Naomi Wolf goes as far as to argue that the whole idea of beauty was made up to keep women out of the workplace. She explains how beauty is work, a “third shift”, to add to the first (work) and second (housework). This specific terminology haunts me every time I spend time putting on my make-up, shaving my legs, or painting my nails. What would I be capable of doing if I had those hours back? If I didn’t spend that money or time?
I am not sure, and I am not certain I want to know.
What I do know is that Evelyn Hugo wasn’t powerful. Her body and fame and money couldn’t grant her the freedom to be with her lover or save her daughter, or best friend, or herself. They didn’t save her from heartbreak. I know that she had spent so much time working for this power, to maintain it and protect it, that she chose it so many times over what she wanted, that she was a slave to it. She made sure to lock herself in her gilded handcuffs and freaked out every time someone handed her a key.
I know that pretty privilege exists. I know that Evelyn recognised that. That when Celia was dreaming of small-town living, Evelyn knew that things wouldn’t have been easier if they had less money, less fame, less beauty. Beautiful women are stuck looking up at a glass ceiling, but it’s a miracle they even made it to the last floor.
And, finally, I know that despite everything, the first part of my friend’s statement is true: there’s nothing less powerful in this world than an ugly woman.
The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo
Five Discussion Questions
Many have mentioned feeling like the character of Monique was shallow and uninteresting compared to Evelyn’s. Do you agree? What purpose does Monique serve in the book?
Do you think Evelyn was powerful?
Do you think Evelyn was a reliable narrator? How do you think that influenced the story?
How effectively does the book handle race, particularly Monique's race? Was it relevant to the overall story? What are your thoughts on Evelyn renouncing her Cuban identity for fame?
What is your opinion on the twist at the end of the book? Did it provide satisfaction? Did you care about its impact on Monique's life?