The Price of Perfection: When the Body Becomes a Battlefield. Thoughts on Death Becomes Her: The Musical
Two women in elegant gowns amidst swirling purple clouds, holding a flask and candlestick. A playful nod to creative healing.

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Two women in elegant gowns amidst swirling purple clouds, holding a flask and candlestick. A playful nod to creative healing.

Thereโ€™s something uniquely uncomfortable about watching a woman sing her heart out while slowly falling apartโ€”physically, emotionally, and metaphorically. Death Becomes Her: The Musical may look like pure comedy on the surface, but underneath the glitter and punchlines, it holds up a mirror to something darker: the cost of living in a world where your value is tied to how young, smooth, and desirable you appear to be.

Madeline and Helen donโ€™t just want to look young – they need to. Because in their world (which isnโ€™t that different from ours), aging is a crisis. Wrinkles are tragedy. And being invisible – especially as a woman.- is worse than death.

That sounds dramatic. And it is. Itโ€™s also true.

When survival means staying beautiful

In the musical, the obsession with staying young is heightened – literally. Itโ€™s loud. Itโ€™s melodic. Itโ€™s choreographed. And it feels familiar. Whether it’s the magic potion or the Instagram filter, the idea is the same: make it look good, no matter how broken it is underneath.

The musical leans hard into satire, but anyone who’s ever stood in front of a mirror trying to erase themselves knows it hits a nerve. Our culture worships youth and punishes aging. Especially for women. Especially when youโ€™ve built your identity around being desirable, stunning, and wanted.

What happens when that starts to fade? Or more honestly – what happens when you think it is, and you donโ€™t know who you are without it?

The musical makes a joke of decayโ€”but itโ€™s not funny when itโ€™s real

One of the most brilliant things the show does is externalize the internal. The characters literally fall apart onstage. Bodies twist, heads snap, paint peels. They are still โ€œyoung, healthy, beautifulโ€ technically – but theyโ€™re also grotesque. That contrast is powerful. It forces us to ask: What are we trying to preserve? Is it beauty? Or is it control?

Madeline and Helen arenโ€™t just fighting off time. Theyโ€™re fighting off grief. Grief over who they used to be. Who they thought theyโ€™d become. What they lost chasing a standard they could never hold onto.

Theyโ€™re not evil. Theyโ€™re just scared. Of fading. Of being forgotten. Of having to live with themselvesโ€”flaws and all.

Why this story still matters (and stings)

Itโ€™s easy to laugh at the absurdity. Thatโ€™s the point. But as the sequins fall and the lights dim, the question lingers: How many of us would drink the potion? Not just to be young foreverโ€”but to feel like we matter?

And thatโ€™s the thing. Perfection doesnโ€™t actually give you peace. It just hides the mess for a little while longer. Eventually, the cracks show.

But maybe showing the cracks isnโ€™t failure. Maybe itโ€™s the start of healing. Of softening. Of stepping off the stage and into something more honest – even if itโ€™s not always pretty.

Because we werenโ€™t meant to be perfect. We were meant to be real.

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