Beauty is for the insane. This burst of reality came to me while in the stylists chair with a large wad of blueberry (for a blonde ...go figure) colored goo in my hair, fashioned Don King-style. This goo was intended to return my locks to the glorious hues of yesteryear. You see, Mother Nature has been messing around with my hair color recently and I don't particularly care for her choice so I decided to take matters into my own hands. But that's another story.
Of all of the beauty routines, hair is hands-down the most frustrating. Women have a special love/hate relationship with their hair, evidenced by the fact that hairstyle magazines outnumber even pro wrestling magazines on the newsstands. In my more-than-twenty-less-than-thirty and a half years on earth I've done the gamut - cut, feathered, frosted, moussed, colored, teased, and permed. I've confidently trotted to the hairstylist with photos of Christi Brinkley, only to leave looking like something out of a Halloween flick. I'm not laying blame - I suppose you can't construct the Taj Mahal with paper mache'. But I'm a hardy soul, and there's always a new glossy photo to give me hope.
But this last round of traipsing between swivel chairs for wash/cut/color/condition gave me plenty of time to reflect on what I was doing. Where on earth did this madness start? And just why are women more prone to these afflictions than men?
Men and women start off with the same morning routines, the usual shower and shave bit. But that's where the similarities end. Women then squirrel away in the bathroom to begin the Jekyll and Hyde transformation.
First you need astringent to make your face squeaky clean. Follow this with moisturizer which replaces moisture the alcohol astringent sucked out. Now that your face is really clean, you take the pancake batter stuff and smear it all over your face, effectively smothering your pores. Tweeze out the teeny hairs in your eyebrows, then take the eyebrow pencil and sketch them back in. Next comes the heavy duty coloring - lips and eyes. Should it be Crimson Peach or Saucy Sienna? Or if you're feeling frisky, try Electric Cobalt. Since I flunked Coloring Inside The Lines class in school, this part has always left me stymied. I can certainly feel Tammy Faye Baker's pain.
We have eyelash curlers which look like medieval torture devices. These squish your eyelashes so they'll look darker or fuller. But it still isn't dark or full enough, so it's mascara time. Should it be waterproof, lengthening, thickening, smudge-proof, lactose tolerant or fat-free?
Once you complete the cosmetic alteration phase, you move to clothing. A lot of this stuff doesn't make sense, either. Take so-called "intimate apparel." Truthfully, a bra is simply a nylon binding device. It doesn't matter whether it pushes, pulls, minimizes or maximizes or can balance your checkbook - it still ain't fun to wear. And just what's the purpose of thong underwear? Remember grammar school "wedgies"? Thongs were designed using the same principle, so don't try telling me you're wearing them for comfort. But you've got the matching bra/panty set, so you're ready in case you take a lunch break at the local strip club's Amateur Hour. And for a final beauty feat, encase your legs in colored nylon mesh, slip on your pencil-heeled shoes and totter out to meet the day.
Meanwhile, men fall at the opposite end of the beauty spectrum. OK, maybe some get perms or wear toupees. But most just need to remember to shave and bathe on a regular basis. Some never really grasp the shaving task, and constantly appear in the morning with little pieces of toilet paper stuck to their face. The real lazy ones even forego shaving completely. But whatever little they do, women fuss over them like it's a big deal. "Oooohh, you smell so GOOD!" Sure he smells good, he's clean! Geez, is that such a stretch? I say send him off to the salon wearing his thong and Bowie Knife stiletto heels while clutching a glossy photo of Tom Cruise, and then we'll talk. After all, true insanity should be shared.