My baby-baby sister took the entire day to fix my dandelion head, and more generally make me over, and I wonder how women--ok, some men too, let's not be reductive and gendered and sexist--keep up with it all? The tweezing and waxing and dying and cutting and trimming and buffing and moisturizing takes ages. Who has this time and focus?
Maybe I do have the time, but this would mean giving up TV marathons, which are very meaningful for me. After all, I create lesson plans and build relationships with my students by understanding the narrative arc of Orange is the New Black. It's not at all self-indulgent. It might mean that I would have to move away from my stare-at-the-wall time, or my IM time, or my texting time, or my list-making time.
I feel shaky like I worked a 10-hour shift at a factory. My shoulders are sore from holding up a 50s style heat parachute on my head. I have a crick in my neck from leaning over the tub to get rid of hair dye. I had to scrub my face with a lye brush to get the mascara off my eyes. And yet, after all of this work, my friend's ten-year-old daughter commented today that my nails are chewed and my pedicure is old. I'm far from done.
Bite me.
At this point, I want to channel my inner academic activist and howl about the arbitrary nature of social constructions of beauty. I sometimes, because there are moments when I'm a pretentious ass, think myself a bit more socially superior because I don't value intense daily beauty rituals. Sometimes I really enjoy dropping into teacher podcast voice and preaching a type of leftist granola doctrine. I go into tangents about privilege and narcissism. I also really like to throw in bits about how the beauty and diet industries work diligently to make us feel like shit so we buy things. And we buy more of the things because it's never ending. As soon as your hair looks right, your nails need to be done. As soon as your nails are done, you really need to buy some Hydoxycut and a tanning bed pass. As soon as your tan is fully bronzed, you need to go in for some vaginal rejuvenation.
That's a slippery slope fallacy, and I don't care, because I deeply believe it.
Yet today, I wonder if it might come down to this: I'm lazy and I find the processes mind-numbingly dull.
Because, in spite of my beauty migraine, my hair looks damn good and it feels great.
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