Last week, I was telling on myself and my first major makeover.
On the Saturday morning of the big event, I gathered my entourage: Mama, Shelley, Anna and Pete. I think my grandmother and I'm pretty sure the Capells showed, too. I’m sure they expected the same show that they got when I got my ears pierced!
I can’t remember now where I shopped for my makeover outfit. I remember it being VERY preppy. Blue linen shorts, hurauche sandals and a crisp white blouse with dotted with bright blue whales. I felt very buttoned up and the shorts were high-risers (fastened above my belly-button with pleats). I was generally well-dressed at school, but preferred tee shirts and Umbros. At the time, the fashion was to wear Umbros with boxer shorts underneath. The boxers were always color-coordinated with the Umbros with just a fraction of an inch hanging out the bottom and the top.
My next stop was Merle Norman. My makeup was classic 1989: blue eyeliner, blue eye shadow. I thought I looked ravishing.....and hey, it matched my whale of an outfit.
The final touch was my hair. I met my stylist (I want to say Jonathan or Benjamin) at his booth in the salon. He washed and toweled my hair and we walked to the center court of the mall. Today's court is filled with a carousel but, back then, it was a tiled penny pond with a waterfall and as a backdrop. He sat me down in the chair, covered me with the cape and began to clip. And cut. And snip. And comb. And cut some more.
I think he clipped about four inches off so that my hair fell to my chin. He teased the sides and back and gave me wispy bangs (as opposed to the all-one-length barrel-curled version that I rocked for three years of high school). And, as the hair fell all around me, I felt myself fighting the tears that wanted to fall down my face. There is something heart-breaking about losing your hair as a teenager in the South - even when you choose to do it.
The crazy thing was that I couldn't see a thing! There were no mirrors for the hair or the outfit or the makeup - so I couldn't see it all together. As the emcee announced my name, I stood up and gave a shy little wave. Pete took my picture with my stylist and I gave a stoic little smile. Mama thanked Benjamin or Jonathon or whatever his name was and we returned the outfit to the store.
The end was not disastrous. It just felt that way. I think there is a certain fearlessness that came with it. I am no longer afraid to chop, cut, color or experiment with hair and makeup.
I think he clipped about four inches off so that my hair fell to my chin. He teased the sides and back and gave me wispy bangs (as opposed to the all-one-length barrel-curled version that I rocked for three years of high school). And, as the hair fell all around me, I felt myself fighting the tears that wanted to fall down my face. There is something heart-breaking about losing your hair as a teenager in the South - even when you choose to do it.
The crazy thing was that I couldn't see a thing! There were no mirrors for the hair or the outfit or the makeup - so I couldn't see it all together. As the emcee announced my name, I stood up and gave a shy little wave. Pete took my picture with my stylist and I gave a stoic little smile. Mama thanked Benjamin or Jonathon or whatever his name was and we returned the outfit to the store.
The end was not disastrous. It just felt that way. I think there is a certain fearlessness that came with it. I am no longer afraid to chop, cut, color or experiment with hair and makeup.
