This morning I am overwhelmed with the desire to wear lipstick. That just won't fly at work in the G@tes building and I don't want McCoot seeing me as femmy in any way. Isn't that sad?
I'm putting it on anyway - I can wipe it off before he gets there. But what a funny impulse!
For some reason also as I pondered the important question of lipstick, an image of various teachers in my junior high and high school popped up. My perception as a child of the strange ways that adults dressed. their often elaborate hairstyles that clearly took an hour to do every morning and needed constant updating in bathrooms -- but why? it didn't help them look any less gnarly. The specific teacher that came to mind was Sra. Powell, who was short and huge-bosomed and maybe a little fat and forty. I liked her - she wasn't as bitter as the other Spanish teacher, Sra. Winz1nger, who had an even more elaboratly curly hairstyle - on a very bad wig. The Powell's main feature: wearing huge chunky necklaces. And they were really huge. And there were all different ones. I realized from my reading of my mom's fashion mags that this was to "bring the eye up" and make her feel taller and less fat or something. But instead, it made her look like a St. Bernard dog with tits.
On the other hand, I wondered, "what is her goal"? And figured it was to look like a fairly respectable middle class professional lady who maybe had a bit of a hippie-ish past and wanted to be just a tad unconventional. So-- success on one level.
The thoughts about femminess, style that should not be, lack of style, retroness, dressing in the decade you're happiest, the way my grandma goes to get the 15 hairs she still possesses "done" at the hairstylist (and "done" a la 1935 marcelled!), dressing so that it doesn't look like you pay attention to how you dress, but really you sort of do anyway, the significance of jeans, and how one appears in the eyes of cynical children shall probably continue all day on my back burner...
why?
oh well.
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