Thursday, 19 November 2009
To echo the fictional Fashion Editor Miranda Priestly, I have
to wonder out loud “is it so impossible for women to complete their look before
they leave the house – are we reaching for the stars, here?”
Having been brought up to consider merely putting on gloves outside the door as “dressing in the street”, I found myself irritated, nay offended, and quite beyond all measure on the bus this morning by an exceptionally aggravating creature abluting in the seat in front of me.
It is not the first time I have been given to wonder when we decided it was ok to complete one’s toilette en pleine air. This specimen, hair-tossing every other second and blanket-bombing everyone around her with ghastly microbes as she struggled to see the full picture in her tiny Bourjois blush compact, decided that the number 35 was the ideal place to apply first foundation, then blusher, dab out a few spots, then slap on some eye-shadow, before topping off with mascara (I willed her to poke herself in the eye). Finally, she stuffed her grubby make-up pouch in a bileous pillowcase of a green bag and brought out a hair-brush to flick more of her dull straw thatch on her fellow passengers. All Divinity be praised, she evidently didn’t think to pack any scent. This was a lucky escape for all concerned, for had she then produced some ghastly High Street whiff in which to embalm herself, I think I really would have kicked her to Kingdom Come.
Nobody else of course, turned a hair. Noses were buried deep in books, or eyes merely rolled to Heaven, but nobody actually said a word to this woman.
We never do. And this is precisely how anti-social behaviour takes a hold and becomes commonplace. Before now, I have sat on hot trains in summer whilst people, and sadly, inevitably women, have actually clipped their toenails, smacking others in the eye with flying nail fragments and defying anyone to protest.
How can anyone imagine this is acceptable behaviour? No wonder men think we’re bizarre. We mince about in uncomfortable clothes, cripple ourselves in vicious shoes, and daub our own faces in public. All these elements taken apart, it’s astonishing that more of us aren’t actually sectioned.
As for my particular entertainment on the bus this morning, I expected to see a stunning transformation when she finally alighted and passed by the window, but was astonished to see her face looked like absolutely nothing had happened to it at all. In fact, all she really accomplished was to mark herself out as a sloppy bint. Everyone knows true chic lies in how little time it takes a girl to look fabulous. Up at 7am, out the door by half-past and looking amazing. I am not remotely interested in cries of “didn’t have time”, “had to feed the baby”, “my husband/boyfriend/other ravished me” (that’s a look in itself, of course) etc etc etc. With the amount of miraculous compact foundations on the market, you can apply your base while you’re sitting on the loo. Have your coffee, fine, eat a bagel (even), but between brushing your teeth and slamming out of the front door, lies a gaping window of opportunity in which you can apply lipstick.
That’s it. That’s all you need to do before you board public transport. If you’re worried about your hair, put it in a ponytail. With a pair of sunglasses, you don’t need anything else until you reach the office and can finish your face in the loo.
Because if you don’t, someone else just might…
(C) Emma Blake - 2009
Having been brought up to consider merely putting on gloves outside the door as “dressing in the street”, I found myself irritated, nay offended, and quite beyond all measure on the bus this morning by an exceptionally aggravating creature abluting in the seat in front of me.
It is not the first time I have been given to wonder when we decided it was ok to complete one’s toilette en pleine air. This specimen, hair-tossing every other second and blanket-bombing everyone around her with ghastly microbes as she struggled to see the full picture in her tiny Bourjois blush compact, decided that the number 35 was the ideal place to apply first foundation, then blusher, dab out a few spots, then slap on some eye-shadow, before topping off with mascara (I willed her to poke herself in the eye). Finally, she stuffed her grubby make-up pouch in a bileous pillowcase of a green bag and brought out a hair-brush to flick more of her dull straw thatch on her fellow passengers. All Divinity be praised, she evidently didn’t think to pack any scent. This was a lucky escape for all concerned, for had she then produced some ghastly High Street whiff in which to embalm herself, I think I really would have kicked her to Kingdom Come.
Nobody else of course, turned a hair. Noses were buried deep in books, or eyes merely rolled to Heaven, but nobody actually said a word to this woman.
We never do. And this is precisely how anti-social behaviour takes a hold and becomes commonplace. Before now, I have sat on hot trains in summer whilst people, and sadly, inevitably women, have actually clipped their toenails, smacking others in the eye with flying nail fragments and defying anyone to protest.
How can anyone imagine this is acceptable behaviour? No wonder men think we’re bizarre. We mince about in uncomfortable clothes, cripple ourselves in vicious shoes, and daub our own faces in public. All these elements taken apart, it’s astonishing that more of us aren’t actually sectioned.
As for my particular entertainment on the bus this morning, I expected to see a stunning transformation when she finally alighted and passed by the window, but was astonished to see her face looked like absolutely nothing had happened to it at all. In fact, all she really accomplished was to mark herself out as a sloppy bint. Everyone knows true chic lies in how little time it takes a girl to look fabulous. Up at 7am, out the door by half-past and looking amazing. I am not remotely interested in cries of “didn’t have time”, “had to feed the baby”, “my husband/boyfriend/other ravished me” (that’s a look in itself, of course) etc etc etc. With the amount of miraculous compact foundations on the market, you can apply your base while you’re sitting on the loo. Have your coffee, fine, eat a bagel (even), but between brushing your teeth and slamming out of the front door, lies a gaping window of opportunity in which you can apply lipstick.
That’s it. That’s all you need to do before you board public transport. If you’re worried about your hair, put it in a ponytail. With a pair of sunglasses, you don’t need anything else until you reach the office and can finish your face in the loo.
Because if you don’t, someone else just might…
(C) Emma Blake - 2009
