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This weekend, my friends and I (all late 40s to early 50s) were talking about how clueless we are about our fashion and beauty mistakes. We are curious what the fashionista's opinions are on what fashion and makeup goofs that may be aging us beyond our years. We are far from up to date .
2 piece on 240 lb woman
size 8 clothing on a size 14 body
long straggly hair on a 40 year old+++ (tiny tim lookalike)
crow's feet in open toe shoes
tattoos on 40++++ women
I didnt start getting my tattoos til my 40th birthday, and i love them.
That's why it's great we can all do things for ourselves, and no one else
I suppose that your notion of how upper tier people package themselves is derived from People Magazine and Soap Operas. If so, then the absence of makeup probably does seem bizarre to you.
I don't NEED makeup. I don't have blackheads. Nothing sags. There is nothing to hide or to correct. I've detailed why that is, in my previous post. When experts tell you that "beauty comes from within", they are not speaking of spirituality or goodness. They are saying that beauty is a reflection of health.
When I arrived on campus as a 17-year-old, I was beyond hideous. My skin looked like Pizza. I didn't know about Hair Conditioner. I was dressed in K-Mart clothing I'd bought, already worn-out, at a thrift store. I was pudgy, and probably somewhat stunted from malnutrition.
But I had studied the rich. I had poured over old issues of Town & Country and the New Yorker (still classy magazines, back then). In retrospect, my thrift store choices were pretty good: I went for plain, solid, neutral, and strong (white, navy, charcoal...). My look, instead of saying "piece of trash", said "someone from desperate circumstances, who's trying".
I'd been ridiculed at home, for even thinking about College. But there I was, and I was going to make something of every chance that came my way. I was going to see just how far I could go. (At the time, 'far', to me, meant becoming an actual Secretary to some rich person, and having my own glamorous garage apartment).
So, there I was, having persuaded my Advisers to let me postpone 'Health', and go into Bodybuilding 101. I figured that was the best way to stop being so ugly (turns out I was right).
And there he was: the ugliest boy I ever saw. He had Pizza Face, like me, and it went downhill from there. He was stooped-over. He had buzzed hair, betraying Ringworm scars on his scalp. His clothes actually had the beginnings of holes in them. He was tall, but seemed shriveled. Later, I would discover that he'd been bullied nearly to death in High School.
So, in that class full of big blond beauties, that ugly boy and I were a team: spotting each other; workout partners. We quickly teamed-up to explore the Campus. We did everything that was free: Dance workshops; Biofeedback Training... And together, once Work-study and odd jobs gave us enough cash, we started taking vitamins, and learning about Nutrition.
I guess I could have, instead of vitamins, started buying makeup and hair rollers. And instead of forming study groups with the other Economics majors, I could have gone over and joined the Professional Victims and White Hating Race Baiters.
Anyway, in Economics, I fell in with a group of penniless-but-Aristocratic white girls from a region of big farms. They were at that third-rate college because their families had been bankrupted by Johnson's "Great Society". They taught me basic grooming. And they taught me what NOT to do. Makeup, skanky fingernails, high heels... they confirmed what I'd gleaned from The New Yorker: those things were not for the kind of person I was going to be. They let me into their group, and assented to formation of our study groups, because of what my clothing told them about me (poor, but a person of substance).
That ugliest boy married me at Christmas Break. And the combination of exercise, improved nutrition, vitamins, and endless sex (and, in my case, Pregnancy), caused us both to have late-onset growth spurts. By the start of Summer, I was a new mom, married to an amazingly hunky guy.
It's about choices. I could have read movie magazines, instead of Elitist publications, as a child. In college, I could have sat around 'toking doobies' and watching Wheel of Fortune with the Losers of Tomorrow. We could have squandered our money on tickets to 'games', and Van Halen recordings. Instead, we'd go to the Speech Lab, to work on our accents, and, for music, we'd tape Hearts of Space, every Sunday night.
Given our class and race origins, we could have chosen to hang with the Low Riders, and do whatever people like that do, like Drag Racing... whatever. Instead, we worked odd jobs around campus. And as soon as we were able, we bought a horrific 4-plex in a slum near campus. No money for paint: but scrubbing brought in better tenants, who did the painting, themselves. The next year, we bought another 'nightmare' property. By the end of Grad School, we were serious landlords. Leverage, Leverage, Leverage...
We could have spent our spare cash on beer and fancy sound systems. Instead, I would pile into a van with friends from school, and drive to Greenville, Mississippi, for the Steinmart Saks Sales. Those were the days for bargains (long gone). Four bucks for an Italian handbag. Three Dollars for a Scottish Cashmere sweater. Twenty bucks for a damaged Armani suit for DH. A dollar, and I could get him a Fendi tie. I was good with glue and a sewing kit. We were noticed as that well-dressed and polite minority couple. We were invited to the fancy parties given to impress alums. Later, those alums, including Senators and Former Governors, would come over to say hello, when we were out at lunch with our bosses. That's because we had CHOSEN to be fit, and polite, and polished, and to dress well.
One of our study group friends became our Decorator. He helped us upgrade our buildings. He's still our Decorator. Those kindly white girls and we formed a fledgling investments club, while still in school. Penny ante, but a start. We mostly moved to the Capitol, after school, and invested in, and sat on the boards of, each other's corporations. Those associations have evolved, and mostly continue to this day.
I'm sorry that lifetimes of bad choices, for some people, lead to bitterness. I'm sorry that, for some, views of the Privileged Few, come only via Mass Media.
I'm sorry that Media leads one to believe our lives are about Sports Cars, Champagne, Caviar, and 'fine' Cigars. Actually, enclaves like mine are exceedingly low-key. Most people do not drink, and virtually no one smokes. We're mostly Nerds with a knack for business. I fit in with the 'society' ladies, not because I can drink Champagne from those tacky goblets, but because I can shuck off my jewels, jump into my Carhartts, and limb-up a Rhododendron like a pro. I have short nails, and can dig around in the Iris beds with the Biotech Mogul and the Hedge Fund Gazillionairess. Those women don't wear makeup, either.
It's not your fault you don't know that there are plenty of women who shop in Milan, who do not wear makeup. BTW, what's your Skin Carotenoid Score? Mine's in the top Centile...
My goodness, you certainly are casting aspersions, arent you?
You dont know me, you have no idea what my life experiences are.
You might want to work on that self-esteem thing, and while you're at it, you might want to get yourself a sling for the arm that you put out of socket patting yourself on the back.
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