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March 18, 2007

1091: Choose my color, find a star.

A lot of people claim to never leave the house without makeup. Truthfully, I don't believe it. As someone who prepares for the gym by employing foundation, pressed powder, brow pencil, four shades of eye shadow, eyeliner, an eyelash curler, clear brow mascara, and a few coats of black eyelash mascara, I feel qualified to comment on this. I very rarely encounter anyone as committed to makeup as I am, with the exception of the transvestite I often pass during my lunch break who clearly shaves his hairline -- that's big time commitment. (Beautiful stranger, I salute you.)

I think most people claim to be attached to their makeup because it's part of how they'd like to be perceived by the outside world. It communicates something about the care they take in their personal presentation and the way they hope to differentiate themselves from others. To people who actively avoid makeup (and for whom doing so is a point of pride, genuine or otherwise), it's easy to misread people for whom makeup is a daily ritual. It seems more like a reflection of self-centeredness or insecurity than a channel for self-expression; maybe in some instances, this is true but I know of more instances where it's not.

I don't like makeup because I don't feel fit to be seen by the outside world without it. I don't like makeup because I want to be adored. I like makeup because I love the Eighties too much.

It's true. For some reason, people think that if you spend too much time in front of a TV as a child, you grow up wild and dumb, without any capacity to learn or become a productive member of society. Perhaps in the absence of a supportive family for whom education is a priority, this might be true, but I think my brother and are evidence that you can watch TV and not be forever impaired by the experience.

Sure, Chris and I only really discuss things through movie quotes and pop culture references, but that says more about us as people than it does our upbringing. However much time we spent watching Transformers, we both managed to go to good schools and come out ready for the working world. I might be able to name all of Jem's glamorous friends (and hot enemies) but I also know how to read. The fact that I spent a large part of my youth in front of MTV does not mean I am completely useless; it means I thought I'd marry Adam Ant.

Good thing I didn't, right? He's gone from looking nuts to actually being nuts. What a shame.

How cute is it that Sofia Coppola based her Count Fersen on Adam Ant?

She looks so happy there! She must not yet have realized how terrible Marie Antoinette was going to be. Jamie Dornan, looking a bit like he belongs on a nickel, is blissfully unaware of the fact that not only does he have to make out with Kirsten Dunst, he will have to do so in a movie only slightly more watchable than Boondock Saints. How sad for them both, but for the moment, they're content to live in giddy, Eighties-loving ignorance.

It is with a similar state of mind that I (despite continuing to deny being anything but a kid) have grudgingly entered adulthood(-ish... I'm not quite there yet). Based on my MTV edu-mah-cation, I truly thought that the adult world would stay in the Eighties and wait on pause for my arrival on the scene. I was, of course, quite wrong about that. On the positive side, cell phones and shoulder pads are a lot smaller. On the negative side, I can't quite get away with going to work dressed like a Robert Palmer girl.

To be honest, part of me doesn't quite understand why. Some girls think it's work appropriate to wear low-rise jeans that (horrifyingly) permit their girl-flab to spill over the edges and the backside of their underpants to be revealed. Needless to say, I don't. Some girls think sundresses are office-appropriate as soon as the sun comes out, but in the history of my employment, only the death of our AC in 90+ degree weather has brought about the baring of my bright-white shoulders. I aim to look professional -- but does that exclude looking like my name is Rio and I dance(s) on the sand? Isn't it bad enough that I have to wrap myself 5 days a week in Banana Republic sadness? (I exaggerate, but you know what I mean. Does anyone ever like their work clothes?) I feel stifled.

Why can't we look the way we feel? Every day would be like Halloween, but whatever. Maybe we'd all be happier bringing out our inner-Pete Burns...

Love him. Love him. But not as much as this joker...

My pale, pretty, platonic soulmate. -- but just like Adam Ant, Boy George has gone a little sad and puffy. I don't love them any less, of course; it's just that life (work obligations, age, etc.) sometimes dictates the condition of our outward appearance in a way we might not have chosen for ourselves. But if sitting in front of our big, awkwardly colored 80's TV taught me anything, it's that you can always imagine your world differently -- and sometimes you can make it that way.

Posted by ashley at March 18, 2007 06:46 PM

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