Fiona McCade: Don't stand so close to me, best friend or no

Published on Monday 18 May 2009 18:49

I couldn't help feeling sorry for Nicole Kidman's little sister when the siblings stepped out together on to the red carpet at an awards ceremony recently.

Antonia is 38 and looks lovely. But she looks 38, and it can't be easy trying to grow old gracefully when your older sister already appears to be half your age and getting younger by the day.

Naturally – if that's the word – I wouldn't dream of suggesting that Nicole has had any work done, but she lives the Hollywood lifestyle and obviously the endless facials and pampering have added a certain freshness to her complexion. In fact, her complexion is so fresh she's starting to resemble a pixie in a wind tunnel.

Remarkably, for a 41-year-old, she still hasn't got a line on her face. Antonia, however, has, and I take my hat off to her for not succumbing to the temptation to compete with her big sis. It must be difficult to accept that, in a couple of years, your sister will look more like your daughter and I thank my lucky stars that I don't move in the sort of circles where my wrinkles would be a matter of national debate. You have to be a very strong woman with a lot of self-belief to keep your face when all around are losing theirs and getting new ones.

I'd always assumed that my ordinary lifestyle would exclude me from any celebrity-type one-upmanship, but I was wrong. The ghastly spectre of cosmetic enhancement has entered my life and it's been quite a shock. Last week, I was perfectly happy with myself. (OK, maybe a few bits and pieces weren't quite as far north as they used to be, but what the heck, I felt I was doing fine.) This week, I'm feeling decidedly second-best, because my Best Friend has bought herself some brighter, better, whiter, lighter, sparklingly spotless teeth.

BF is only a few months older than me, but her teeth are ten years younger. She's an actress – wouldn't you know it – and when she turned up and dazzled me with her new gnashers, she explained she'd had them done because: "It's what everyone else is doing and I can't afford to lose out on good parts because I have old-looking teeth."

But you didn't have old-looking teeth, I moaned. You had perfectly lovely, pearly-white teeth that nobody over twelve would be ashamed of. "Maybe," she replied, "but everyone I know is having them done and if I hadn't done it, I'd have been the only one with ordinary teeth." I kind of understood. In a room of ordinary teeth, the beaming, bleached smile is king; but when everybody has beaming, bleached smiles, you can't beat 'em. You have to join 'em, or you'll end up playing tramps for the rest of your career.

Usually, I wouldn't mind what happens in the corridors of Equity. If teeth-whitening is de rigueur in the acting profession, so be it; but I do mind when it starts to filter down to my merrily low-maintenance lifestyle. BF can't switch her smile off when she's with me any more than superstar Nicole can look less amazing when she's standing right next to her civilian sister. From now on, if I hang around with BF, whether I like it or not, I will be her snaggle-toothed, tombstone-mouthed friend – although, at least that will stop me smiling too much.

The domino effect of cosmetic procedures has finally reached me. It is no longer something I read about in Heat. The horror has entered my existence and I have to decide: does it stop with me? Do I refuse to be pressured by what I believe to be an unreasonable expectation of perfection? Or do I succumb and join the Pearl Drops brigade, keeping safe within my ring of confidence, knowing that I have the brightest smile anyone could possibly have?

Luckily, my wallet is making the decision for me. I can't afford the luxury of a smile that can compete with car headlights. But what if I did have the cash? Would I succumb? If BF had Botox, would I follow her there, too? Until BF unveiled her glow-in-the-dark enamel, I thought I had a lovely smile. Now I only have a lovely smile if I don't stand next to her.

I have decided to make a T-shirt for me to wear when we're together, which reads "My friend's had work done" on the front, and "But I haven't" on the back. I think it's the only way that I will be able to bear everybody thinking that I am her oldest, and her oldest-looking, friend.