O Vanity

During my last several weeks of stress I did what I always do under similar circumstances – jettisoned every task and activity that wasn't absolutely necessary. For me, this includes shaving my legs. I haven't been much in the habit of shaving them anyway, most of my life – I did it for about two years from ages 14-16, and then again once or twice in college (one of those times, I remember, I did it in the sink in the lobby bathroom of my dorm building, when I was 18 – my boyfriend assisting, first with electric buzzers and then with copious amounts of soap, water and disposable razors). I did it for one spring about six or seven years ago, as a birthday present to my mother ... and then, two years ago, for some reason I started doing it again.

But I don't like doing it. It takes too much time, too often, and then within another day or so, there's stubble. Still, the month or more it takes to grow it out from the prickly and itchy stage, through the sticking out in all directions stage, and finally into the soft, organized, laying-down-flat-and-smooth stage – is unbearable.

Since I was so distracted by anxiety anyway, I hardly noticed the first two stages. And then, since it was already too long to easily shave, but not yet long enough to be comfortable, I decided, "Why not get it waxed?"

Normally I don't go in much for any kind of beauty ritual that requires maintenance. That's why I hate shaving so much, and why I rarely wear makeup or do my nails or even use moisturizer on any kind of a regular basis. It's why I wear the same clothes over and over again, and eat the same one or two different things for breakfast almost every single day of my life. Not having to make a new decision every day about small things like this helps me keep my mind calm and my energy available for other things – things I enjoy and want to be engaged with. I like my routines. And the ones I like the most are the ones that have to do with Not doing things.

So I liked the idea of Not shaving my legs for six weeks, while at the same time Not having to deal with prickly, disorderly leg hair. Two "not"s in one!

It's true that it hurts. The aesthetician was super nice, as such women almost universally tend to be – powdering my skin and giving me a little leg massage to relax the skin before she started. The wax was pleasantly warm but not hot enough to be uncomfortable, and when she rubbed the little cloth strip into the wax, to get the hairs good and embedded in the wax – that was pleasant, too. Then – rrriiiiiiipppp!

I've heard people say that that first rip always brings tears to their eyes. That wasn't my experience, but it did hurt more than I expected it to. The first few strips were the worst. After that I knew what it was going to feel like, and I just laid there and endured it. Doing the bottom half of both legs, plus knees and feet, took about a half hour and cost just about a buck a minute. More than worth it in terms of the time I hope to save over the next several weeks.

So far, a mere five hours later, I'm happy with the result. The skin on my legs still feels a little warm and tender, but she said that will pass by tomorrow (I took some ibuprofens to help with the inflammation). There are still a few hairs left, the ones that are too short to get caught in the wax. I will either shave those myself later, or live with them for awhile just to see what happens. Maybe I'll go in and do it again when they get long enough.

A new look?
While I was in there I decided to do another silly, vain thing: have my eyelashes dyed. I had it done professionally once when I was in high school, and during my 20s I used to do my own – very dangerous, the official sources said, with a very real risk of causing blindness! I never had that problem, but it was kind of a hassle to do. So for another twenty bucks, I let her go to town.

When I used to do my own I always used dark brown dye, since black (I've always thought) is too harsh and domineering to wear on the face, for someone with my coloring. I should have mentioned that to this woman today. When they were done she squealed, "Ooooh, you look goooood! You're gonna loooove this!" and excitedly handed over the mirror.

I held it up to my face and saw ... well, not exactly Alice Cooper, but wow – I was suddenly deeply validated in my belief that heavy black lashes are just a little too much for this particular face. She did a good job of it, though, much better than I ever did – the color goes right down to the lash line and even stains the edges of my lid where the lashes meet the skin. If I went in for that kind of thing, I would be very pleased.

Luckily, eyelashes grow fast – so I'm not stuck with this look for long. Maybe a month. In the meantime, I got out my old metal lunchbox full of drugstore makeup when I got home and have been playing around with eyeliner, kohl sticks, shadows and a bunch of other fun stuff I'd kind of forgotten I had. Maybe tomorrow I'll actually go back to Long's and pick up a few new items to try. Black nail polish? Blood-colored lip glitter? Gothy white foundation? A little spiky leather jewelry? Do they have that at Long's?

Come to think of it, I do still have quite a bit of leftover spiked jewelry from college, and a beat up old 25-year-old motorcycle jacket I'm finally small enough to wear again. Maybe a brief 80s revival would be just the ticket!

Anyway – I'm enjoying feeling back to myself again enough to care about such frivolous things.