Chasing Glitz, Finding Grace: An Anniversary Lesson in True Beauty

“They exchanged the truth of God for a lie and revered and worshiped the creature rather than the creator, who is blessed forever.” Romans 1:25

Last week, my husband and I celebrated our forty-second wedding anniversary. Now, when you’ve been married for over four decades, you’ve survived a lot of things. But the last thing I expected to receive on our special night was a crash course in modern influencer culture.

Because our anniversary fell on a Monday, my husband’s culinary choices were limited, as many traditional spots were closed. Undeterred, he jumped online and found a highly rated restaurant we’d never been to. He told me it was a surprise, so I had absolutely no idea where we were going. I was simply enjoying the ride until we pulled up to the valet and our GPS blared out loud for all to hear: “You have arrived at Sexy...”

I’ll admit, the name gave me pause. Containing the word “sexy” in a restaurant title usually implies a specific vibe, and it certainly shouldn't involve seafood—which was exactly what the second word of the title was. That name should have been a giant, blinking neon sign telling us to turn around because we were about to walk into a toxic environment. But it was our anniversary, so I took a deep breath, adjusted my purse, and walked inside.

Upon arrival, we were greeted by a hostess wearing a skirt so short it defied the laws of gravity. As we were walked to our table, I noticed the dining room was packed with groups of women wearing outfits that looked less like evening wear and more like Victoria’s Secret lingerie. But the strangest part of the night wasn't the wardrobe choices; it was the traffic pattern. I watched in bewilderment as table after table of women would receive their water, glance at the menu, and immediately vanish toward a mysterious set of stairs. I wondered if there was a secret speakeasy or an evacuation drill we hadn't been briefed on.

By the end of the meal, nature called, and I asked our waiter for directions to the ladies’ room. He pointed directly to the top of those mysterious stairs. I was finally about to discover the secret of the vanishing women.

When I opened the restroom door, I was appalled. I didn't find a quiet sanctuary; I walked into a full-blown paparazzi photoshoot. There had to be at least twenty-five women aggressively posing and snapping selfies. They were standing in front of the mirrors, crowding the shell-shaped sinks, and yes, even leaning provocatively against the toilet stalls, which featured a painting of a beautiful mermaid. I actually had to say, “Excuse me, can I get past you to use the bathroom?” to a woman who was treating a commode partition like a Paris runway.

Later, I looked the place up on social media. It turns out the restaurant proudly advertises its restroom as "the prettiest bathroom in the city." I sat there thinking, the world has gone completely nuts. Yes, the marble and lighting were nice, but at the end of the day, it is still a room designed for basic human necessities.

The following day, I went to pray before the Blessed Sacrament in my parish. The contrast could not have been more stark. At the restaurant, there was an underlying, frantic energy—a consuming need to see and be seen, to prove to a digital world that we are having an amazing time. But stepping into the presence of Christ, that frantic noise evaporated into a profound, heavy peace.

As I knelt in front of the Host, trying to quiet my mind, I had a hard time shaking that marketing phrase: "the prettiest bathroom in the city." The restaurant had taken a space designed for the most unglamorous human necessity and tried to dress it up as paradise.

How often do we do that with our own souls? We dress up the fleeting, passing things of this earth and call them beautiful, while neglecting the timeless, breathtaking beauty of God's grace. Looking at the Blessed Sacrament, I realized that the allure of the world is just clever marketing. The true "secret" isn't at the top of a restaurant staircase; it’s hidden in plain sight on the altar.

What struck me most about that crowded, flashy bathroom wasn't just the vanity, but the profound isolation of it all. All those women were packed into a room together, yet no one was actually looking at anyone else. They were looking at themselves through a screen, chasing an illusion of intimacy—seeking validation, likes, and a temporary dopamine rush from strangers on the internet. They wanted to be seen, but they didn't want to be known.

How different it is when we step into the presence of Christ. The world’s version of glamour requires costumes, lighting, and constant maintenance. Heaven’s promise, embodied in the quiet Host, requires nothing but a humble heart. One leaves you empty and chasing the next trend; the other fills you completely. And God doesn’t just see us; He knows us personally.

Sitting there in His Presence, all I could do was give Him thanks for the countless blessings He has bestowed upon my marriage and my family over these forty-two years. My deepest praise was thanking Him for the grace and wisdom to realize that the world will always try to lure us away from Him, enticing us with promises that seem attractive on the surface but leave us entirely empty. Looking at the quiet peace of the tabernacle, I prayed for those women at the restaurant—both the young and the not-so-young—who have traded the awe of the Creator for the admiration of the creature.

Copyright © 2026 Christy Romero. All rights reserved. If you thought of someone while reading this, bless them by sharing it with them.