Beauty must suffer
I spent a lot of time with my Dad’s parents growing up, my grandma in particular. I called her Nanny and her friends called her Flower Annie. She always wanted a daughter but only had a son so I was her big chance. She took the opportunity and ran with it, turning me into a bit of a dress up doll. There were little socks with lace, patent leather shoes, hair bows, hand embellished overalls, and a new fur coat every year.
Here we are in the winter of 1980-ish. I would like to apologize to all of those bunnies. We were stupid and had terrible taste back then.
Every weekend we had a specific routine:
Friday night: Arrive, stuff self with junk food, watch Hee-Haw
Saturday morning: Watch cartoons while eating breakfast, get dressed, board the bus to downtown Pittsburgh for bargain shopping and lunch
Saturday evening: Bath, beauty, snacks, Dallas, Falcon Crest
Sunday morning: Church
Sunday evening: Epic dinner. If I was really lucky it was triple-breaded chicken that was fried and then baked.
Each part of the weekend had its merits but Saturday evening was my favorite. After watching Solid Gold it was bath time. Nanny’s bathroom was entirely pink. The tub, sink, toilet. PINK. In fact, the background of this website is the exact same shade of pink because it brings back such good memories. Next up was the beauty process which took place while eating candy and watching shows entirely inappropriate for children:
Step 1: “Grease your face.” Translation: Slather face with Revlon’s (tragically discontinued) Moon Drops lotion. Nanny was a huge proponent of face greasing. She was ahead of her time. She was a slugging pioneer.
Step 2: Get out the tangles by force and a wide toothed comb.
Step 3: Section hair, generously coat each section with Dippity Do gel, roll in foam rollers with plastic sides, repeat over my entire head.
After this it was time for bed. Every weekend I complained that sleeping on the curlers hurt my head and every weekend Nanny told me, “beauty must suffer!” She was not kidding. In her mind, looking “put together” was important and that involved curling your hair. Looking put together showed that you cared about yourself. She was always put together. Accessories on point, everything matching, her appearance was well thought out. I have to assume that a lot of this was a generational attitude. She was born in 1922 and had a very different experience growing up, but I also fault the Miss America Pageant for her low-key appearance obsession. Nanny loved watching the pageant because those women were the cream of the crop when it came to being put together. When the pageant was on we ate 100 Grand Bars and took in the spectacle. One year while watching, Nanny decided that my time had come; I should enter a pageant. Yes, me. In a beauty pageant. She convinced my mom to sign me up for one in Harrisburg, PA and the preparations began. I needed a sporty outfit, a bathing suit, a costume, and a talent. I have vague memories of the bathing suit and sporty outfit but I do remember practicing a jaunty swing of my jacket over my shoulder. The costume I definitely remember. Nanny decided I should be a mermaid and that we should have a seamstress make it. It involved many sequins, a tail, and I had a lot of trouble walking in it. My talent was gymnastics. I did a routine that involved doing tricks/flips on a giant wooden drum Pap-Pap made for me (he was a carpenter) while dressed in a spandex outfit with a red feather headdress.* We spent all day at this pageant in a sad hotel. At the very end everyone was called in to hear the winners and do you know how many times my name was called? None. Not even an honorable mention. I was an utter failure in the pageant world. I think that is what is often referred to as a character building experience.
I have a seaweed hair accessory. That was 100% a Nanny idea and a testament to her commitment to a look.
That was my first and only pageant but I often wonder what impact it and the weekend beauty routine with Nanny had on me. For example, I am obsessed with skincare. Leo often hangs out with me while I do my (8-10 step) nighttime face routine and says that I have a lot of lotions and potions. He is not wrong. I own many lip glosses in what would appear to a normal person to be the exact same shade (lies!), and I am very proud to have mastered curling my hair with a flat iron. There are so many possible underlying reasons why I love these things. Off the top of my head: societal norms around appearance, the insane power of the $535 BILLION beauty industry, insecurities, chapped lips,** capitalism.
Is all of this me tightroping? I spend a lot of time thinking about this (while doing my hair) and I’m honestly not sure. It is possible that I do all of these things because I have been completely programmed by societal standards. But I like these things! In a vacuum maybe I would not get pedicures or slap on a hydrating face mask because I wouldn’t even notice my dry-ass skin, but pedicures and face masks are freaking fantastic and I love them so who cares? The entire point of not tightroping is getting to behave in ways that make you feel most like yourself. You get to stop sinking your time worrying about what other people think, embrace your own awesomeness, and do what makes you happy. I will likely keep thinking about this. In the meantime there will be days when I go all in on the fancy lady vibe and days where I look like a troll and I’m ok with that. I’m still not ok with sleeping on curlers though. That is never happening again, sorry Nanny.
*I know. It’s very cringe. Cultural appropriation was not a thing we understood in the 80s.
**After years of extensive research I have decided that the Rosebud Perfume Company’s Rosebud Salve takes the cake but ONLY the one in the tin (even though the packaging is horrible). The tube is different. I will die on this hill.