The Tortuous Road to Beauty.

"Beauty must suffer". That was the mantra us ladies heard growing up in the time of Hollywood glamour movies. How that translated to the young set was girdles, prickly brush curlers, garter belts with metal that embedded into your skin, and shoes that killed your feet. 
First the girdles; they felt like they were three sizes smaller than you were. You had to wiggle into them while holding your breath. Sometimes they rolled from the top and you had to surreptitiously  pull it down. Eating with them on was an invitation to a stomach ache. The irony was, back then, we had small waists and flat stomachs, and really had no need.
Brush curlers were the bane of my existence. In order to put some curl into a stick straight head of hair I would roll the rollers all over my head. The brushes would snag and prick but the hardest thing was to sleep with them. The metal would make valleys on my scalp and there was no position that could alleviate the pain, remember the mantra. The next morning taking them out was another form of torture as the hair stuck to the bristles. In the end the curls were short lived and died a quick death once out in the light of day.
Garter belts; no panty hose then. The nylons came with seams that needed to be straight or you would look misshapen. They were attached with garter belts that had metal snaps that dug into your skin without mercy. Ladies wore nylons. You wouldn't think of going bare legged.
And then there were the high heels. This was a must since we wanted to look grown up and gorgeous. It was like walking on a tightrope and finding the center of gravity. One hour of wearing them was equal to a day climbing the Himalayas in your bare feet. It was utter relief to kick them off when your show was over.
I think beneath all of this voluntary suffering was the unspoken hope that perhaps, just perhaps, like Lana Turner you might be discovered and land in Hollywood as another "glamour girl"