When I was a little girl, I thought that when I grew up, I’d be glamorous. My mother and her friends had skirts that billowed out around crinolines, wore high heels, and had pointy breasts under sweaters. Although I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around this anatomical anomaly, I had to assume that these points would eventually show up on me, too. But my mother’s clothes hamper revealed the secret, foam tips. Ah, mystery solved. No big deal. Some day I, too, would have bras with foam bullets. But of all the items that made these gals glamorous, makeup was the essential key. And in the way of little girls, I believed that when I grew up, I, of course, would look glamorous, too. It was just what happened when you got older.
It never happened. I was a Tom Boy. I liked climbing trees, hanging out in the woods and streams, following my dog around to see where in the neighborhood he wandered, and rock collecting. High heels, it turned out, weren’t good for extensive exploring; I never liked wearing foam rubber; and too many crinolines just made me feel like I was ensconced in a stale pastry. Eventually a little lipstick was ok, but that was the limit of my experience with make up.
This was the unhampered tenor of my life until, at the age of 60 something and now working as a jewelry artist, I was scheduled to be in a prestigious museum fine art and craft show. I had been in this show before, but had reached the point where I allowed that glamour might be a plus on the occasion of the catered, members-only, opening night preview of the show.
Advanced preparation was needed. I had a friend who knew all about makeup and as an additional qualification, had a business that revolved around interior house paint. Perfect! We took ourselves to Whole Foods where my friend selected oil, foundation, powder, blush, eyeliner, eye shadow, mascara, lip liner and lipstick. All very non toxic and expensive. The oil, I was told, made the application of the next layers easy and would give me “that dewy look”. Privately, I thought it gave me that oily look, but I was the acolyte here. Since my hair is naturally somewhat curly and in any level of dampness, curls backwards off my forehead making me look like a cross between a barber shop quartet member and the little girl in “horrid” mode, we also got hair spray.
This was all somewhat overwhelming and with so many things to think about, I was nervous about remembering what was supposed to go on in what order. Not being proficient at Excel, I made a numbered list. Not excelling at remembering where I put lists, I worried that I might forget to pack it along with the track lights, pipe and drape, rug, tables, extension cords, light boxes, step ladder and all the other paraphernalia that takes anywhere from 4 to 6 hours to set up in order to create a booth. Cross fingers and hope.
The day of the show preview arrives. Packed and ready to go, I drive 4 hours south, find my hostess’ house, drop off my suitcase with the makeup inside and head for the museum. I then spend the next 4 hours working up a sweat setting up my booth, hauling tables around, looking for outlets, climbing ladders, and all the construction work involved in creating a temporary environment that looks like it was just dropped full blown from heaven. With the booth at least mostly organized, I run across the street to eat, race back to my host house, run through a shower and change. I know that very soon I have to swan back to the museum looking as though I haven’t lifted a finger or batted a mascaraed eyelash. It’s time for the final step necessary to Achieve Glamour. I take out my make up and dump everything onto the sink. I start with the oil for my “dewy look.” I then begin to apply all the other things until finally, face completed, it’s time for the hair spray. I thought I had a bottle of mild product, but when I’m done, my hair is so stiff, it would take an ice pick to crack it. So much for “gentle hold”. A final look in the mirror. Wait a minute….I don’t remember that my eye liner was pink? Really, I don’t! Then it hit me. I’d used the lip liner on my eyes. And wait another minute….Why does my face look so white under the rouge.? Oh no, I put the foundation on last. I look like a kabuki actor about to enter stage sideways. I absolutely have to leave now. I have to get back to my booth on time or the show organizers are NOT going to be pleased. There’s no time to do anything about this disaster. I rush back to the museum and do more of a swan dive into my booth than a gentle glide. Note to self: just pretend you’re a grown up in a pointy bra. Pretend you’re wearing heels instead of flat boots for standing around for hours. Ok, I can do this. If anyone notices my face, they are too well bred to comment. Everyone stands around sipping wine and eating crab claws and shrimp. The show is a success. I like to think that my jewelry, not the kabuki face, is the star of my booth and although I am no longer a virgin, I believe I should abandon the idea of growing up to be a glamour queen.
