Oh, the vanity!
A few years ago, there was a water disruption issue in New York City that affected everyone’s ability to shower. I did a quick Google search and cannot find the event, so you’ll just have to trust me on this one.
I remember an article in which the author went to the theater and was overwhelmed by the smell of cologne and perfume—no one was showering and everyone was trying to disguise their smelliness in more pleasant smellinesses. As a nation, we are facing a similar crisis of vanity right now—while we can all shower, we cannot get professionally groomed. And yet many of us are about to become movie stars.
Everyone’s appearance has gone to shit as a result of the perfect storm of
working from home—why get dressed? No one will see you & it saves you from doing laundry if you just wear the same clothes, um, pajamas, every day;
lack of cleaning supplies—the stores are picked over—even Amazon is out of toilet paper. You need to conserve your soap, dishwashing liquids, laundry soap, shampoo, toothpaste, you get it;
salons being closed—with social distancing and sheltering in place, even if I could get out, there would be no one willing to get close enough to thread my ‘stache, do my nails, or cut my hair.
I, as a college professor, am going live on camera in front of what should be about 75 students (but will likely be around 30) with raggedy fingernails, over-long hair, bushy eyebrows, and, the real tragedy, a healthy mustache. Oh, and let’s not forget, 4 pounds heavier than I was a week ago.
And, yes, I am probably smelly, too. Lucky for all of my students, there is no smell-a-vision.
I’m trying to disguise the fact that I look peeked, fat, and delusional—where should I look? At students? Camera? Screen—with bright lights & lipstick. But no one is fooled by a knit cap or ponytail and, last I checked, Chewbacca wasn’t teaching comp, though you might think he is subbing for me given my preponderance of overgrown hair.
I am hoping a socially-acceptable level of ugly results from this confinement. That, in the mess that is 2020, we find the grace to accept our fat, mustached, and bushy-browed compatriots as the new normal. Mr. DeMille, I am not ready for my close-up. I am more a stage actress (professor) than a screen one, but, starting tomorrow, I will find my place on the small screen—’stache and all.
