Vanity

If you really look at it, the way we tease and colour and cover ourselves (or leave certain bits UNCOVERED) before we portray ourselves to others is amusing. It occurred to me the other night as I was getting ready for a night out. I mean, seriously - I own a million little bits and bobs whose sole purpose is to enhance my physical appearance. And those little babies have their work cut out for them, they really do. And WORK, unfortunately, is what it often is. A LOT of work.

First there is the whole hair removal deal. Seriously, who was it that decided that I shouldn't have a hairy upper lip, and underarms? And arms, and legs, and heaven knows what else...? Of course, I AM the conforming nincompoop who follows the path of looking 'feminine' that many others seem to have paved before me. But seriously, it would be interesting to know how this came about. I know, I know, 'Google is my friend'.

And as for my mane, my locks (which have a mind of their own) have been coloured, and been subdued under several heat treatments. I have a crazy mane of hair, and as I don't want to look like a witch doctor who couldn't quite carry off her rastas, I regularly have to straighten my hair using those hair straighteners that I am sure will eventually be the cause of a very bald, strangely shaped head. But here and now, for acceptance into so-called polite society I need this baby to make me blend in with the more normal folk. Of course, water is THE ENEMY NUMBER ONE for straightened hair, and there was one particular outdoor event where the heavens poured forth their tears of comic love, and I could not escape (plus I am a fan of rain, unlike my has-a-mind-of-its-own hair). I'm sure the children I saw from the corner of my eye running and screaming in absolute horror did not do so when my hair sprang forth and helped give shelter to several small animals and birds in the vicinity... I mean, I don't look THAT terrible au naturale, do I???

Then there is the absolute wonder, and potential for disaster, that is make up. I DO regard it with sincere adoration and joy. I would honestly look nowhere close to normal without the stuff. I'm no expert however - I don't know how to make my nose look slimmer, and to hide my three extra chins. But that day my friends, is looming on the horizon. I DO however know how to look awake: hurray for eyeliner, and eyeshadow and mascara! One of my good friends always asks me whether I have slept on the days when I don't bother with it. It cannot be emphasized enough, that looking awake for me is very important. Looking awake used to be at odds some time back however. This was when I was still prone to tears with remarkable, horrifying ease (or had more to cry about?), and before I discovered the waterproof stuff. In those times the choice was either looking asleep, or facially morphing into a raccoon at some point during the day. I have only just noticed that without all these enhancements I seem resemble other animals. All the ones that AREN'T human...

Other adjectives I like in association with my face (especially now that there are days when the word AGEING is scarily easy to relate to), are 'fresh' and 'healthy' - like fresh fruit. That's easily done with the miracle workers known as foundation, concealer and blusher. While they do come in handy on days when one looks starved and sleep-deprived, they need to be handled with care and caution. Abuse may result in one looking like, respectively, a drag-queen with higher than normal levels of testosterone, a ghost playing dress up, or an eighty year old puffing up his/her seventh flight of stairs, on the run from being caught at tweaking a nubile young man's bottom (forgive me, I just watched one of the new Kate Winslet movies). You see what I mean about the potential for disaster (except for those of us aiming for the raccoon/ drag queen/ ghostly/ puffy, lascivious and geriatric look - each of us IS unique, after all).

The final element in this area of enhancement is clothes. I have two gorgeous, and impeccably dressed flatmates, who until recently were quietly appalled by my sense of dressing. It's almost a science, I have learned, and lately, on occasion, I have been given the stamp of approval by one, or both of them. I'm still boggled by all the little rules there are to make this look bigger, that look smaller, and that on the whole make one look BETTER. But the other night I realised, as I was putting on what can only be deemed a 'contraption', that there is a little engineer waiting to be born in every woman. In order to wear the damn garment(which I have no logical explanation for having bought in the first place), and make sure it looked presentable and wouldn't get me arrested at some point in the evening (due to accidental indecent exposure) I used many, many tools. Some were predictable, but others, I think, were pure genius. One of the items was a REALLY complicated item designed by the good people at VS. To give one an idea of just how complicated it is, suffice to say that it comes with its own little manual. The other items included head pins, tape, staplers, string and a scrap of black material. I was THIS close to using permanent glue. The result of using all this paraphernalia, was a little engineering miracle that night, and I am happy to say I did not look homeless and I was not arrested.

It's scary how I make ALL this effort to look more like a... normal person. Especially when I don't believe there is such a thing as a normal person, and I am conversely SO proud of how different I am. In any case, I am more prone to disaster than success in all these ways I try to look better. So if you see a little old lady being chased by an outraged young man, or a drag queen tottering about in impossibly high heels, do spare me a wave...