It would be a pleasure to provide you with marketable content in a timely and professional manner. My rate is $10 per 200-400 word article. Following is an example of my writing -- though I can easily adapt tone and style to your needs.
BOTOX BLUES
A friend of mine recently relayed to me a tale of cosmeticus ad absurdum. She was invited to a casual Californian soiree of affluent ladies and complimentary drinks. But this was no merry meeting of Mary Kay, nor a coffee-table critique of the latest treasures in Tupperware. Nay, these thirty-somethings were gathered to stick needles in each others’ faces — a plastic prettiness party of BOTOX® blues.
One of the women, the wife of a plastic surgeon, had called together friends and acquaintances in order to peddle the latest in anti-wrinkle injection juice. At half the regular price, a needle in the face might run as high as $80 or more. To purchase the pouty lips of Angelina Jolie, Mick Jagger, or Jimmy Walker, one need only shell out $400 per shot-to-the-mouth. A negligible number for those with discretionary duckets to burn and insecurities to salve.
As margaritas flowed amidst the Kardashian-like festivities, my friend, who had politely declined the elixir of youth, could not help but notice the daughters who had accompanied these women. Assembled nearby, the young girls pretended to inject their less-than perfect dolls. Perhaps they thought their plastic dolls should be more like their mothers — who themselves seemed to yearn for the plasticity of their daughters’ dolls.
Such vanity, however, is not the sole province of women. Men, in our espousal of unpretentious masculinity, can be just as sensitive to the insecurities of our imperfections. From the ROGAINE® of our receding hairlines to the all-terrain HUMMERS of our suburban inadequacies — we too suffer from a fear of the inevitable. We are all subjects of the same consumer-culture that exalts the unattainable archetypes of Ken and Barbie, Adonis and Aphrodite.
Why should we seek the plastic perfection of a fiction doomed to fade? In hopes, perhaps, of finding happiness with, or holding onto, someone who might otherwise reject us? It seems a Sisyphusian effort towards living a plastic life, in search of another plastic person, in hopes of finding a plastic happiness. Genuine happiness comes from within, I’m told — not from the endless struggle of pursuing a culture’s expectations of masculine and feminine ideals.
We are all imperfect creatures — with pieces too small, too fat, too long, too short, and everything else too something and not enough. These are the differences which make us interesting — testaments of our uniqueness and the etchings of time which give us character. We are our imperfections as much as we are anything.
The most powerful forms of attraction are those that transcend a fickle and subjective culture — possessed by those whose sense of self worth is more than a matter of silky skin or boyish vigor. Real perfection comes from loving ourselves, and each other, despite our imperfections. The real tragedy is when we pursue perfection by kneeling at the altar of vanity.