Psst! Don’t forget to enter to win a copy of Karen Abbott’s hot new book, American Rose.
SO, if you are in the grocery store, pick up a copy of February’s Vanity Fair and take a peek at pages 115 – 116. I’m in there with a posse made up of The Lady Writers of Atlanta . It’s kinda…unreal. You can see a version of it here, as ATL’s Creative Loafing did a story about VF doing a story with us local girls in it. Which, that in and of itself is pretty cool….
Yes, Virginia, it IS the issue with the ubiquitous Bieber boy on the cover. My only regret? Last month’s cover-man was Johnny Depp. What would I have given to be a skinny 116 pages away from him! Alas!
BUT MAN, IT WAS A COOL, STRANGE DAY. We all met up at the Swan House at the butt crack of dawn, and positive SWARMS of glamour teams came charging at us. I needed some serious help, too. Not everyone did. There are some women in that group who effortlessly have a host of things that are so foreign to me they seem positively French: Strapless bras. Skin care routines. Fashion Sense.
But me? I live in the high cotton west of the city, and most days I only make it out of my pajamas if I put on work-out clothes. My last hair cut was practically a criminal act, performed as it was upon my helpless bangs by me. In my kitchen. With meat shears. I did it while waiting for my glamorous lunch-can of Campbell’s Won Ton to boil. So. Let’s just say, some of us needed a bit more spackle than others.
This is a pic a friend snapped with her cell phone. Yikes, but I sure am NAKED. Not my usual attire. Or look. And what it took to get me from ME to THAT cleavagey, sleek haired object in the diamonds was…magic. That and a herd of crack professionals.
There was a Hair Team with a Hair Team Leader and a slew of Hair Minions. He would come by, and make decisions, and then his righteous hair army would carry out his orders, and then he would come back to check and polish and be SURE. When he got to me, his eyes may have slightly widened at my meat-sheared bang-age, but he had enough poise to avoid an out-and-out visible flinch. Still, I suspect he may have been flinching on the INSIDE.
He had this rich delicious chocolate voice and hypnotic eyes, and he dazzled me by waving glinty scissors about in a mesmerizing fashion, and before I knew what was what, he had me agreeing to let him cut it however he liked. I sat there, DAZED, while whole SWATHS of my hair went slithering into my lap. The remaining befuzzled, dry locks were spritzed and tonged into smoothocity and sleek submission. My hair? Will never look like that again.
*I* will never look like that again. After hair there was a Face Team Leader and his posse who created a new complexion for me and gave me ACTUAL LIPS, glossy, fullish looking ones—-a thing I have never had before.
Then the CLOTHES Team Leader WEDGED me into a skin tight dress I later found out cost—literally—seriously—MORE THAN MY CAR.
Granted, I bought my car used, but GENTLY used. It was a year old with less than 10 thousand miles on it when we got it, and the dress COST MORE THAN IT. My shoes cost more than a new transmission and a set of fresh tires would run us. I didn’t even ASK about the Jewelry—-when they started taking pictures of us holding the pieces we were to wear, I knew I didn’t want to know what it cost. Insane.
Even more insane? I was sent to march across the damp Swan House lawn in these transimission-n-tires priced pink satin slingback platforms with SIX INCH SPIKES ON THE BACK, so of course I instantly sunk all the way up to my heels in black mud. It was like I had been NAILED to the lawn by my shoes!
I had the worst time getting down to the shoot, trying to walk on tiptoe in six inch heels… by the time we returned them, ALL but the most shoe-savvy of us had blackened the heels
beyond all reason. And the photographer was having various members of the posse sprawl across the grass or in piles of damp leaves in DRESSES THAT COST MORE THAN A GENTLY USED SATURN VUE.
It was nothing, nothing, nothing at all, nothing—NOTHING – like my real life. And I am glad. It’s very tiring and time consuming, being glamorous. I wouldn’t want to do it every day. Heck, I wouldn’t want to do it once a month. I don’t want to own a dress that costs more than my car. Oh, but oh! The dress, the shoes, even the life….how fun it was to try it all on.