A large pack of gossiping girls cuts through the quad. The girls’ ensembles all consist of sweatpants, Ugg boots and _full_ makeup. A boy sitting on a nearby bench looks up briefly from his existentialist novel. His large plastic-frame glasses (no lenses) slide down his nose, so he takes them off and wipes them on his obscure band T-shirt.

The only thing these two stereotypical subgroups have in common are the hours spent in front of a mirror every day before entering the public eye.

College students are more than a little concerned with appearance. Even the “throw-on-sweats-and-go-to-class” charade is a feeble attempt to disguise the true vanity of the young adult. In denial? Consider the weekends: ages spent prepping for football games, outings and after-parties. Just admit it. You care.

Why? Because our society is transfixed by beauty. Beautiful people are sought-after and admired. The average homely citizen can only hope to bask in the glow of a youthful and beautiful starlet—to capture some of that glow for himself.

In 1891 things were no different, and author Oscar Wilde capitalized on society’s weakness. “The Picture of Dorian Gray,” his novel, centers around an unusually attractive youth named (can you guess?) Dorian Gray.

Wilde remarks upon the ugly truth of such a society. The danger, he implies, is not that the homely seek to attain beauty, but that the beautiful can — and do —get away with murder simply because of their looks.

For Wilde, looks can’t compete with purity of soul.

Dorian, therefore, is depicted as both gorgeous and horribly sinful. He parties… _a lot_. He picks up women, stands up women and knocks up women. He is popular in every social circle and, most importantly, he is vain beyond all reason.

Vain individuals cannot bear to lose their looks, and Dorian is no exception. Unfortunately for him, wrinkle creams and Botox were unheard of in the late 19th century. This is where the first half of the title — “The Picture of” — comes into play.

With no available anti-aging product, Dorian does the next-best thing: he sells his soul to remain youthful and beautiful forever. Cheerleaders, take note.

In a complex little bargain, Dorian manages to confer all negative signs of aging onto a portrait of himself. The painting, as opposed to his own precious face, will bear all the hallmarks of sin and age. He will remain forever young and angelic-looking while the painted Dorian grows old and repulsive in his place.

Solid effort, but it does little good in the end. Eternal damnation catches up with the unfortunate Dorian, as tends to happen.

Kids, don’t go selling your souls for eternal beauty. It isn’t worth it.

Wilde’s alarming tale makes this perfectly clear, particularly with the unveiling of Dorian’s transfigured portrait. Nineteen years of misdeeds reveal themselves in grotesque disfigurements: rotten teeth, facial scars, maggots oozing from the forehead. Dorian’s black-as-pitch soul manifest in a painting is not pretty at all.

Of course, there are those who figure it _is_ worth it. Those who would bargain with the devil, if they could. _Just my soul? A small price to pay for everlasting youth and looks. Bring it on_.

To you I say: good luck. Get a nice portrait done, and try exclaiming loudly into thin air that you wish it to grow old and hideous instead of you.

But first read Dorian’s sad sorry tale, and don’t claim you weren’t warned.