Tag Archives: Beauty

Beautiful TMI

“Just because chorus girls have to shave their legs and underarms is no reason why women in general should turn their nose up at the practice” Florence Courtenay, Physical Beauty (1922)

One of the things neither HGB or Arlene discusses is how to take care of body hair.  I imagine they trust that ladies are shaving their arms and legs, but they don’t give any discussion to maintaining the downstairs carpet.  Of course, every modern ladies’ magazine in the whole universe treats you as if you’re some kind of monster if your batch is anything but smooth, and it’s one of the few things I actually have image issues about.  I just can’t bring myself to shave it all off or wax–trim, yes, but not yank it all out by the roots–and I occasionally panic that this means I am an unsexy freak.

ImageHOWEVER, they both say to give a man what he wants, and I’ve found a quote from one of the sexiest men in the entire universe, Walton Goggins, that puts my anxieties to rest and pretty much settles the discussion forever: “Can I tell you how much I miss pubic hair? To me, if the size of a penis dictates virility, the length of a woman’s pubic hair dictates her femininity.” (New York Magazine, Jan. 14 2013). 

This, of course, from a man who once uttered the words, “Eatin’ ain’t cheatin’,” securing my permanent spot on #TeamShane,  so his declaration to let it all grow is that much sexier.   After all, isn’t the real heart of this project to be feminine for the man I adore?  (So what if we’ve never met and probably won’t ever–a girl can dream, can’t she?)

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Wolf Whistle

For the first time since I started this project, I got wolf-whistled today by two shirtless construction workers (oh WHAT a cliche) from about 700 feet away.  But it wasn’t like I was even wearing a cute dress or high heels–I had on black slacks, a polo shirt and Laura Ingalls boots.  From the 500 feet away that they were, I’m surprised they could tell I was a girl.

I suppose I was a little flattered even though I disagree with wolf-whistling on principle.  I’ve been feeling a little less-than-beautiful lately; on Saturday I was visiting Pete, Eeon, Bridget and Jim, and Eeon put on some old Triangulon Home Movies from college.  He had this footage of me and Jim just talking in the dining hall of the student union, and all I could do was stare at myself on screen like a big idiot.  I was so beautiful!  My hair, waist-long and tied back with a funky headband I made out of a pillowcase, perfectly framed my pale, sweet face, my unlined eyes, my unworried mouth.  I looked like Geena Davis, and better still, I had this aching vulnerability to my movements, this strange tenderness, a shyness clearly barricaded behind the glass facade of a brash conversation about the long-closed adult video store on Amsterdam Ave in NYC.

People tell me I’m pretty now and I believe them.  But for the first time in my life, I became very aware that I am growing old, and that my face, my body, are changing and will continue to change.  All the cosmetics and the new hairdos can’t hide that forever; even if I could find that sweater and that hairband, I wouldn’t be able to recreate the Me that I was.

And you know what?  That’s okay.  I can live with that.  I was just glad I had the chance to peek back at myself with all the same friends (and new ones) present, groan at my terrible Ninja Fighting skills, and once again enjoy Fighting Fish:

All that, my friends, is infinitely more important than beauty.

Eeon’s finding me a screenshot; I’ll add it as soon as he does.

Lemon Face

A slice of lemon daily rubbed on the lips just to cause tingling leaves them pleasently red”  Cora Brown Potter, The Secrets of Beauty and the Mysteries of Health

Another food-based treatment that doesn’t really work.  My lips looked no more red than before, and plus, if you’re all lemony, what man is going to want to kiss those luscious red lips?

Don’t Mess With My Mouth

I’m in NYC for a few days, and finally decided that if anyone was going to teach me about makeup, it was going to be Sephora,  My favorite lipstick, which I never wear because it’s pretty intense, came from Sephora, a present to myself for my first publication sale to some nerd magazine about chem-free college dorm life (Oneida 4 A-L REPRESENT!) and I am finally able to afford maybe one little treat for myself.

I went into the store at Union Square and was immediately terrified.  Too much color.  Can I wear green eyeliner or will I look like a bad drag queen? (not an awesome one like Miss Uschi)  What do I do with THAT cream?  OH GOD HOW MUCH STUFF DO I HAVE TO PUT ON MY FACE?  Moisturizers, primers, glitter, bronzer . . . I almost had a panic attack standing in front of the Urban Decay stand.

Luckily, Desiree, who was wearing insane purple glitter eye shadow and rich dark red lipstick came to my rescue.  “You’re beautiful, and I’m going to tell you straight because you’re putting your trust in me,” she said in a thick, sassy accent  She even sat me down and dusted my face with Bare Minerals primer powder, smeared some bronzer on me and turned me loose in the mirror.

I could not believe what I saw.  I was beautiful.  I was a knock-out.  I looked like a doll.  My skin was even, flawless, perfect.  Wow.

I didn’t buy the primer.  Not at $27, but she packed a sample up for me and I’ll try to find a similar one back home.  But she showed me this awesome Moxie lipgloss which satisfied my desire to look like a dame while not leaving thick smears of dark red lipstick all over my coffee cups, and I picked up an electric blue eyeliner pencil because HECK YEAH.

I will probably never be a heavily made-up dame.  Desiree was cool with that.  She didn’t try to dump a bunch of products I would never use.  She showed me some tools for beauty and, better still, taught me that I had the power to use them.  And damn if that lipgloss doesn’t bring out my big wet smacker (easily my best feature)