I Feel Pretty

I may have mentioned this before. Or maybe I have alluded to it, but, I am in the beauty business.

I am getting so tired of television commercials trying to define what is beautiful by using perfectly airbrushed models with skin that looks like plastic and hair so shiny it cannot possibly be real.

The commercial that set me off and inspired me to write tonight (I have not had the inclination of late) was for mascara. It showed a very young, very made-up model with very nice lashes. Perfect and full and of course, fake. Then they simulated application of their magically magnifying mascara and her lashes were so long and full that she could barely open her eyes. And they were completely fake! Possibly lash extensions with two or three sets of false lashes and then computer generated into huge bug-like things. This did not look pretty to me.

Then there is the commercial where the model talks about her age spots and wrinkles and how the high end cream she uses all but eliminated her dark spots. This miraculous occurrence took place on the face of a model who could not have been more than twenty-two years old!

Are we actually buying this crap? Does anyone think that those "women" are old enough to have dark spots and wrinkles? Do we really think these lotions and serums and creams work? Lots of us do. They lie to us and we eat it up! We spend our hard earned money on these potions and lotions because we think it will help bring us nearer to our never-ending quest for perfection.

But who defines what that perfection is??

The advertisers who hawk their wares on TV? The ad men and women who dream up these ridiculous ads?

Then there are the celebrity endorsements. Halle Berry is beautiful. I will not take that away from her. But she puts a huge dollop of make-up on her fingertips and it blends flawlessly into her already flawless skin. I have been a make-up artist for almost thirty years and I have yet to see any product do what so many of these commercials claim. Especially on a woman in her mid- forties.

I am all for enhancing what we have and looking pretty. It's my job. It's my life.

But at what cost, beauty?

We shouldn't need to pay such a high price for prettiness and get only disappointment and insecurity in return.

Why can't the advertisers show real people with all their flaws and say "This won't make you perfect but it can make you look better."

I have been doing hair and make-up for almost three decades. I have seen many trends come and go. But the classic beauty of a woman isn't so much in her perfection. It's more in maximizing what is lovely and minimizing all the rest.

Audrey Hepburn and Grace Kelly are two of my all-time favorite actresses and both very beautiful in their own right. They both had a glaring flaw that most of us never even noticed because their natural beauty shone through. And also photographers and cinematographers were well aware of it and knew how to film them to not show this feature that made them less than perfect. They both had very strong, square, almost masculine jawlines.

I know, I know. In the world of "flaws" that's not so terrible. But Grace Kelly had approval over her photos and most that accentuated this manly feature were destroyed.

Marilyn Monroe was considered flawless in her time. When she was discovered, she was very photogenic and perfectly beautiful. But they still fixed her nose and her chin and bleached her hair. I am so glad that she at least kept her curves.

So many true icons of today are less than perfect. But I believe that they have something that so many of us lack. They are, most likely, comfortable in their own skin.

And yet the commercials and the magazine ads, even many articles in newspapers and online, make us feel inadequate and inferior and therefore more self-conscious. And so we buy what they're selling; literally and figuratively. We believe their hype and we spend billions on their empty promises.

To me, each face is a canvas. I can enhance the pretty parts for you but I can't always fix what's inside. So many times I have had people who are not ugly but not attractive either, sit in that make-up chair and tell me to get out my magic wand. That's when I look for it. I look for the spark that will ignite the prettiness. It's always there. It's rarely failed me. A little concealer here, a little shimmer there, and Voila! BEAUTY! Just from me telling them how this little bit of sparkly shadow in the corner of their eyes will make them look bright and awake, this bronzer will give them a honeyed glow, not too much mascara but enough to open the eyes, follow the natural curve of an already perfect top lip and they are transformed. Magic happens.

The prettiness was there the whole time. The confidence enhanced it; not the make-up. They think  something miraculous happens. And it does; their inner light shines and they are, indeed, flawless.

In a world where women seem to be under so much pressure to be perfect and pretty all the time, I am grateful for the opportunity to tell so many of them that they are already beautiful, they just can't see. I see it because I am a trained professional. And, lucky me, I actually get to show it to them!

Now, if I could only make dumb people smarter...

Let The Games Begin (Not the ones that start with an H!)

It began a few months ago. The ads began creeping into my sight-line. First on cereal  boxes; then on radio and television commercials and magazine ads. Those unmistakable five, multi-colored rings are iconic to the the entire world. I am sure there are very few people on this great planet that do not recognize the Olympic rings when they see them.

It is one of my guilty pleasures, watching the Olympics. I am especially intrigued by the not-so-famous sports such as curling in the Winter Games and water polo or hand ball in the Summer Games.

I fall in love with the Olympic Villages where temporary housing is set up for the athletes who will compete in the games.  I admire their commitment and their voracious need to completely out-do themselves and possibly end up being the best in their sport. And yet, miraculously, they are not afraid to take the risk in front of the entire, critical world.

I watch all opening and closing ceremonies in awe of the spectacle created by thousands of performers, musicians, and the athletes themselves. I love the fashions that are specially designed for each country's athletes.

There is usually a song that is performed by the host country's most beloved artist. Awe inspiring lyrics set to soaring melodies meant to make us cry and ache to be young again. I keep the Kleenex handy.

I used to be one of those people who watched and longed to be an Olympic athlete. I have not one shred of athletic ability but that  never stopped me from dreaming and picturing myself in a skating costume or those cool outfits the cyclists wear.

Millions of kids around the world will hopefully be inspired to get up off their couches and dedicate their lives to being the best in their chosen sport. At it's worst, it inspires them to get up. At best, it inspires them to be more than they can even imagine...to best their own best and to be a good sport and lose graciously.

This year, the backdrop is one of my favorite cities in the world. London. I will constantly be looking for the places I visited. I already saw people interviewed near a tea shop I visited near Tower Bridge. I will constantly be calling out to my husband "I was there!" And I will do it every time I see a place I visited. Every time. Poor husband!

I will pick my favorite gymnast and my favorite diver (they are not always from my own country) and I will cheer them on and weep when they weep. I am just that kind of dork. I can't help it. 

I remember, as a child, watching Olga Korbut and Mark Spitz and Nadia and Bruce Jenner and countless other young, strong, dedicated human beings from all over the world. I would spin in my hallway like Peggy Fleming and Dorothy Hamill. Or so I thought.

I was inspired then and I am sure that I will be when I watch the events unfold for the next two weeks. I will get chills when I hear the Olympic theme and I will suddenly become interested in kayaking and beach volleyball and shot put!

The whole world will be watching with me. Records will be broken. Precedents will be set.  Some will be victorious. Some will be vilified. Most will just be grateful for having had the opportunity. And I will be honored to see it all.

Do watch with me!

Blog, Blog, Blog!

So, I write. Not as often as I should. Not as often as I am inspired to. But, I write. 

When I was in second or third grade, my teacher told me to write my stories down. Over the years, I have. I've written fiction. I have volumes of journals. I have chronicled my angst in spiral notebooks. I even started a romance novel. It sucked.

But lately, I have been doing more reading than writing. It keeps me out of my own head and away from my own problems, albeit temporarily.

Today, I found myself reading a magazine article about this "amazing, dynamic, healthy, super-woman doctor" who is apparently a dynamo at every single thing she's ever done in her whole entire life and how inspiring...yadda yadda yadda...blah blah blah. At least that's what my brain heard!

I am so tired of reading articles about how if we just believe it we can accomplish it! It isn't easy but we've still got to try! Just cut down on carbs and you'll feel so much better!

Is that all? Is it true that all I have to do is eat a certain cereal for breakfast, call a certain weight-loss guru, buy that DVD where everyone is dancing like they're on Broadway, sprinkle something on my food, cleanse my colon, buy a sleep "system" for a good night's rest, and I'll be solving my own problems and those of the entire world?? Can it be as easy as adding Chia seeds to my morning smoothie??? Seriously. Chia. Like the pet.

I am not extraordinary. I don't have it all together. I don't balance my life very well. I eat crappy and don't get nearly enough exercise. I hardly ever recycle. I want to change this but it's easier not to. I will most likely never publish my life story. Unless there is suddenly a need for people to become uninspired.

I am just your average fluffy girl longing to know what it is like to be thin forever; take exotic vacations; write witty and intelligent articles for some trendy magazine; and be inspiring to someone somehow.

I'll settle for my little life and my tiny contributions to society, but, just once, I'd like to know what it's like to live on the other side of the rainbow. For now, I am and ever shall be a fluffy girl (woman, really) who sometimes writes and wonders if anybody reads.

Throw This At The Wall And See If It Sticks

So, for the past twenty seven years, I have been doing what I do for a living. I am a hairdresser. I am in the business of making people feel better about themselves. I am in the business of making people feel special. I am in the business of listening.

I have been listening to my clients for a long, long time. I am rarely surprised when I hear some of their stories. Some of my clients I have known for fifteen years, twenty years, two years. Some were children when they started coming to me and now have their own children. I have witnessed women and men going through divorces, coming out, getting fired, getting married, getting Chemo, getting pregnant.

Somehow, you manage to enter these people's lives and become part of all their major events. My boss wrote an essay about this exact thing that was published in a magazine. As hairdressers, we see it all. The good, the bad, and the ugly. We are in all the photos and videos. We are there for all the memories. And through it all we try to make it all seem prettier than it really is.

I cannot tell you how many women have sat in my chair and complained about their hair and then said something like  "I know it sounds silly to think about how I look when my mother is dying..." or something like that. She feels undeserving or guilty. How you look is 80% of how you feel.

I have had women tell me of their miscarriages as they were experiencing them. "At least my hair will be done when I go for my D and C."

I have seen women and men beat all kinds of odds and succeed at work or at school or at parenthood or landing a job.

Over the past few months I have watched some of these average people, mostly women, live their average lives in extraordinary ways. They have gone through losing a parent or both parents, losing babies, losing grandchildren, losing their homes, watching their parents deteriorate in health, getting diagnosed with cancer. Some of the things were minor; a hip or knee replacement here, a heart attack there.

Some things were even happy; a child graduated from college, grandchildren were born, houses were purchased, anniversaries and big birthdays were celebrated.

And, somehow, we have become integral parts of each other's lives. I am always with them in some way...I cut those bangs that are annoying the heck out of them; I put those highlights in that made their hair look so cool in that wedding photo; I did that up-do and glued on those lashes that made their daughter look so grown up at her sweet sixteen.

I pray for them, I laugh with them, I cry with them, I keep their secrets. It is a two-way street. They do the same for me. Not all my clients get to know me this intimately. But there are some very special people who have wiggled their way into my heart and gained my trust and we are there for each other. 

It's kind of a strange relationship. It can seem a little one-sided as I tell it here. I don't just call them up out of the blue and ask how they are (although I may text one or two). They don't call me at home for appointments. But for that half hour or hour that we share, we are connected in away that most people don't get to connect. I don't just touch their lives, I physically touch them...that's very intimate...more intimate than a bartender or a therapist. So, quite often, they let me in.

I have been so blessed to be given this gift. This gift of a career that has put me in the path of so many inspiring girls and women and even a few guys. I try to remember every day to be grateful for all that I have been given and taught and shown.

I have been given the rarest of gifts...I have been able to see beauty at it's most raw and basic level...I see the light in the eyes of a bride on the day of her wedding and she doesn't even have a stitch of make-up on yet. I have seen the raw emotion of someone's tragedy and witnessed them find the strength and resolve to get through it. I have been witness to people surviving breast cancer and divorces and custody battles. I have seen the radiant glow as a mother-to-be drags her swollen feet and her swollen body in to get one last blow-out and pedicure before the baby comes. This, these peoples' lives, this is what is real and true. We live, we die, we get sick, we have good things happen, and we survive tragedies.

And we get our hair done, no matter what. Thank God.

Happy Birthday

So tonight I went to a 50th birthday party. It was for my sister's high school classmates from 1980.

I really didn't know too many people who were going. I knew many of her classmates from stalking her yearbook that I was forbidden to even look at when I was in 9th grade (yeah, right!). I pored over every page! There were pictures of these kids who looked so grown up to me. When you're fourteen, three years older is practically a lifetime!

I always wondered why all the boys in her class were so cute and almost all the boys in my class were puny or lame or both.

Seeing all these people tonight, I realized how different that gap becomes as we age. It's barely perceptible at this stage. But the cute boys were, for the most part, handsome men and of course most of the women looked like they hadn't aged in the past thirty-something years.

But it was a delightful evening and I felt at an advantage because I didn't know too many of these people and I could be an observer.

I watched as people looked at each other for a glimmer of their eighteen year old selves. When none was found, a name was uttered, the light of recognition followed by laughter and genuine camaraderie.

This was a fitting way to spend my Saturday night as it is my birthday weekend. I became aware of how precious time is. I think I've known that for a long time. But, I really saw it tonight. It was not a clingy, desperate sort of precious. It was more of a "Why the heck did we wait so long to do this?" sort of precious.

I smiled the whole night. And these people were strangers to me. But yet we are connected by a tiny thread. We all went to the same school and grew up in the same small village and had the same teachers. We didn't go through anything life-altering together. But we have a common bond.

I am not one to pine away for my "glory days" since there was very little glory in my high school career. So much of it was just awful. But I forged friendships that I still have to this day. And we did go through life-altering times....deaths, births, weddings, illness.

Upon seeing my 50 year old sister and her 50 year old classmates together tonight, I realized that, however tenuous that thread can become, the connection isn't going anywhere.

So, on my 47th birthday (technically less than 24 hours away), I will think of all the tiny threads that are stretched out across this country and even across this world...of people who I rarely see but touched my life nonetheless. I will remember that we are all connected and I will send a wish out into the universe that we will never forget these tiny, common threads that bind us together. 

Happy birthday to me!

"The Weather Is Here, Wish You Were Beautiful"

March came in with a whimper. Record highs and early pollen counts. It looked pretty when the daffodils in their pretty bonnets were so anxious to turn the faces skyward soaking up the warmth.

Now they look brown and shriveled. I know how they feel.

Early Spring is nice. Warm days just around the time we changed the clocks so we had longer days. Only they didn't last. The freeze came and March started acting like the bitch we know she can be.

Now it's gray days and cooler temperatures. But the early bloom doesn't seem to care. Magnolia and apple blossom alike, are in full flower. The trees are red and the willows are turning more verdant. They just couldn't wait.

I love how everyone speculates. We had a mild winter and so what will the consequences be? As if we have any say in the matter!

People try to hold back mother nature and anticipate what her next move will be. Alas, to no avail. If she's gonna slam you with a Tsunami, there is very little you can do about it except hope to be up high.

Last Fall I watched rivers in Pennsylvania, Upstate New York and coastal New Jersey overflow due to heavy rains, wiping out whole towns. Terribly tragic.

Instead of wondering when the next proverbial shoe will drop, why aren't we embracing this glorious gift that God gave us...a mild Winter and an early Spring. Maybe that's our gift for the tragedies of the flooding in our area.

When will people realize that the good things and bad things in our lives don't necessarily come with price tags? Maybe it is all just random and we should vow to embrace the bad along with the good instead of waiting for it all to come crashing down on our heads!

Because, eventually, it all comes crashing down anyway. It has nothing to do with what we think we deserve. It's all so much bigger than we are.

Acceptance is one of the hardest things for us to...well...accept in our lives. We need to stop worrying and start living. Enjoy the good and surround ourselves with love when the bad stuff comes.

I'll have to try to remember that when my soul feels like the shriveled daffodils.

"Playground in My Mind..."

So I had some unexpected time this morning and decided to go grocery shopping. I asked my husband if he'd drive "Miss Daisy" so he said only if I make a stop at the dry cleaner. No problem.


We set out on this dreary Spring-like morning ( I say "Spring-like" because it is not  quite official even thought the daffodils and crocuses are sprouting up everywhere!) and he took a route I was hoping he wouldn't. He passes my old house. In order to avert my eyes from too many painful memories, I look around at the surrounding streets. Madonna comes to mind. "This used to be my playground..." 


I saw the places I know like the back of my hand. I don't think there's one bit of my little village that doesn't hold some kind of acute memory for me. The sights, the scents are all there. 


Places I used to play, hide out, make forts, ride my bike. Even the places that  don't even exist anymore I think of as "the vacant lot where we used to play kickball" or where the A&P used to be. There are new facades or completely new buildings but they are all still fresh in my mind!


Where has that time gone? It would seem that the past 30 years are somewhat of a blur to me. And at other times, I feel every memory as if it all just happened. 


My first days of school when we would all pose for pictures with our new book bags and lunch boxes. First grade I had a Bugaloo lunch box and thermos.


The first signs of Spring when the days were longer and the air smelled so sweet and fresh.


The endless summers at the town pool and Robert Moses beaches. 


The hottest days in our apartment complex when the super would turn on the sprinklers and we'd go out in the middle of the grass in our bathing suits! Grass that I am sure hasn't felt the patter of little feet in decades!


Hearing my mother call my name out the kitchen window to get washed up for dinner: "Cyyynnnnnnthiaaaaaaa!" It was the only time she called me Cynthia.


My poodle Guy chasing cars. 


My brother fashioning ramps to do Evel Kenievel-type stunts with his bike with the banana seat.


An abundance of cousins and aunts and uncles and extended family and those who were not blood relatives but were family nonetheless.


Crossing Carll's creek and my library books not quite making it.


Ice skating on the "big" lake and the little ones.


Swimming in the canal. 


Clamming and fishing and crabbing.


Hanging out in a bar drinking root beer and Shirley Temples and having endless quarters for the jukebox. I loved Bad Bad Leroy Brown and Dark Lady. My father loved big blondes.


My first records, friends, crushes, heartbreak.


I am at an age now where most of my life has been spent as an adult yet these are the things that I hold on to. These are the things that come back so brilliantly that I wonder if they actually happened.


 We lived in an apartment complex and there were a lot of families.  First, Sally and her dad lived downstairs then Helen and her husband and the boys. Charlie was my age and my first real crush.  Joanne and Barbara and their "mysterious" (mysterious when you're seven) older brother Bobby, Lori and Lisa, Donna and Dawn.  The fire changed everything. Mr. Palmer and his daughter. There was the blind lady. The super and his  family of boys.(If there were sisters, I don't recall.) Darlene and Vinny and Little Richie. They had a cousin we called Tuna Fish. Betty, the nice lady that lived next to Joyce and Vito and taught me how to crochet and made a fancy crown for my First Holy Communion. Cathy and her sons. She used to cut our hair. The druggie lady across the way who had a kid that I stayed with sometimes while she went out (Until my mother told me I wasn't allowed over there anymore). I was probably in second grade! The lady who had an English setter named Cindy. I think the lady's name was Mabel. Guy and David. Connie. Chris and Danny. The other Joyce with the two boys. The kid who hit me in the head with a rock and my mother had a huge fight with his sister in front of half the complex. Bonnie and her sister who had CP and their creepy brother Kenny who told a story that gave me nightmares well into my twenties. Hemena (think that's her name). The lady that died (at least I think she died). I remember when they took her out she looked green! 


I wonder if this memory is real: I remember summer nights the families would take their lawn chairs and blankets and portable radios and the adults would laugh and talk and we would be outside in our pajamas. Some kids were catching fireflies or doing cartwheels or playing Parcheesi. The adults were most likely drinking.


Those days were magical to me. I can hear the sound track of seventies music playing in my head. I can hear Paul Simon singing "Late in the evening...and the music's seeping through." (The song is not from the seventies but the imagery takes me there.) I remember falling asleep to lilting laughter of adulthood. I longed to be grown up and and stay up late laughing "the way some ladies do..."





It's Springtime! Get out in the world and re-live your childhood!