Vanity is so boring
So why do most of us suffer with it? I want to write about either of the Guineas, the first of the Classics in the racing calendar this weekend but I am too jaded to do them justice, so I’ll put that on the back-burner and talk about…
How boring is that? Well I’m bored already actually, but I will press on with the point. The problem is when you are young and fresh-faced (apart from those of us who were afflicted with spots!) you are pretty much good to go with minimum adornment. So why did I spend hours in front of the mirror, plastering myself with make-up. These are rhetorical questions BTW, so no need for question marks. Back in the day I spent hours in front of the mirror smothering from my lid to brow in a rainbow of colours because:-
a) I could b) I had the time to spare c) It was the 80s
Now, when I could do with a good slathering before leaving the house, I have neither the time, the inclination or the interest. The jaded contents of my make-up bag would probably go on strike for better conditions if they could, such is the interest paid to them. I can make an eyeliner last for years. In fact I consider it a failure in the maquillage department if one does not do me, more or less day-in-day out, for about 4 years. That’s disgusting isn’t it?
In my mind I prowl about untouched by time. In the mirror I can see the truth. The badger head is having a good go and getting me again (what you mean I have to buy more Nice’n’Easy – groan), the wrinkles despite what Bootses (we would have said that in the days before apostrophes y’know) researchers say, do not entirely respond (vanish in my book) to their much lauded “Protect & Perfect” serum, my eyeliner still bleeding smudges and, although you can’t see them, I have sodding floaters in my eye.
Ah yes, you know middle age is swiftly encroaching when you are looking forward with avengeance to another trip to the optician. Where you are fully prepared to fling yourself at the opticians feet and beg them to overturn the decision of the last eye-test and grant you that holy grail – a prescription for glasses.
Be gone squinting at the television, get behind me evil headaches, let me see little Arshavin in all his technicoloured glory at the match and banish to the outer edges of darkness my slightly but still ok to drive blurry vision. I don’t even care if the damn things suit me. I favour function in this case.
I was actually going to say the reason for the burning vanity question, before my optical ramble distracted me, is because I have to attend a film premiere tomorrow. It is not my first, I went to a low-key one years ago for Waterlands starring Jeremy Irons (who once came into my shop dressed like a Cossack, but I digress). This premiere is the inaugural event of the first ever Southend-on-Sea film festival. Do you think it will catch on (non-rhetorical)?
It’s black-tie, some effort will have to be made (I even had to RSVP for goodness sake!). The list of can-I-be-bothered before-then looks like this:
- Try on clothes
- Change blue toe-nail varnish to more conventional film premiere colour (red???)
- Buy shoes
- Borrow shoes
- Fade the grey to my natural auburn (ha ha)
- Buy a new eyeliner (momentous decision may not be possible in less than 24 hours)
The film’s called “Shifty” by the way – about Essexes (sorry I’m enjoying that thing) finest. I’ll let you know. And about the Guineas.