*Includes pictures
*Includes accounts of the tower's construction
*Includes online resources and a bibliography for further reading
It may be human nature to strive for perfection, but flaws and imperfections can bring character and create unique, unrivaled beauty in a league of its own. Old scars, burns, pockmarks, and other so-called blemishes of the like serve as reminders of disasters and adversities one has survived, no matter how grave or trivial. The uncooked macaroni shells glued to the card might be slightly askew and the glitter dispersed unevenly, but one tends not to even notice these mistakes, as they have already been won over by the endearing effort the child has put into the project.
Curiously enough, as much as humans steer away from imperfection, they can be inexplicably drawn to it. In 2012, the otherwise obscure Spanish town of Borja was thrust into the global spotlight, and had gone viral overnight. A well-meaning 83-year-old widow by the name of Cecilia Giménez, armed with a paintbrush and a small array of poster colors, trotted up to the 82-year-old fresco in her local church named the Ecce Homo, and gave it the eye-watering restoration no one had asked for. What began as a beautiful, but somewhat faded and spotty depiction of Christ crowned with thorns and dressed in blood-red robes had become an overly-simplistic, ape-like character with misaligned eyes, a pair of dots for noses, and an unfinished gaping mouth. The Good Samaritan's masterpiece was ruthlessly ridiculed and circulated around dozens of social media and news platforms, but the embarrassment would soon prove to be sweeter than it was bitter. Thanks to the accidental publicity, over 150,000 tourists flocked to the village for a picture with the fascinating fiasco, more visitors than the "sleepy town" had seen in over a century.
Perhaps the most renowned of all the perfect imperfections history has ever known is also one of the largest of its kind. Visitors can often be spotted strewn across the lush bed of grass in front of their cameras with scrunched up faces and their hands in the air as if holding up the tower, and striking other versions of the clichéd pose. This architectural conundrum-turned-iconic landmark, of course, is none other than the legendary Leaning Tower of Pisa. Unlike the Ecce Homo, visitors from near and far have been marveling at the tower for centuries, its chin-scratching admirers speculating about just how all 8 stories o