If there were some sort of contest for the person who has had the most "beauty disasters", I think I would have a good chance at winning. I actually think I could possibly be up for the Beauty Disaster Lifetime Achievement Award.
For some reason: possibly society (always safe to blame society), the way I was raised (sort of doubt it), vanity (who knows).....as long as I can remember, I have been on a quest to improve or change the way I look, not that I am one of those people who thinks she is hideous or is trying to turn myself into the perfect Barbie Doll being. But somehow I am never quite happy with the way I look.
The first beauty disaster I can remember was when I was a young teenager. I just knew I would look so much better if I had blonde hair. Not sure if it was my obsession with wanting to be Farrah Fawcett, or the alleged fact that blondes have more fun. Anyway, those "Sun-In" ads got me. An average looking young woman on the beach (probably Malibu) with average brown hair (hey just like me!), would be holding a plastic bottle of Sun In and effortlessly spray it into her wind blown hair. Next scene: after being out in the sun for only an hour or more, she was transformed into a beautiful blonde! That could be me, that could be me!
Except, instead of Malibu Beach, I had the sun from my backyard deck in Sterling, Virginia. And, it wasn't so effortless to spray in. Many precious summer vacation hours were wasted in my 4' x 4' blue shag carpeted bathroom trying to apply this wonder spray. The worst part - that after hours out in the hot Virginia summer sun, I ended up with red hair. My Mom referred to it as "brassy". I didn't know what brassy meant, but I could tell by her inflection, it wasn't a good thing to have.
Oh, so many beauty disasters in that house in Sterling circa 1978. At that time no one really talked about skin cancer. The longer you could stay out with baby oil slathered all over your body, the better. I was determined. I wasn't going to start slow, first sunny day I endured the heat for over 3 hours. The next day at school I was described as a lobster. I actually wish I looked as good as a lobster. I was bright red ......ugh.
The next thing I wanted to try was leg waxing. Who wants to deal with those pesky razors every day, or worse hairy legs? I went out and spent all of my lunch money on the first leg wax kit I could find. I followed the directions, really I did, but somehow the wax wouldn't come off and it was an Army green color. I spent literally hours trying to get that stuff off. Luckily designer jeans were "in" then and it was my little secret. I honestly don't remember how I ever got that stuff off, but safe to say, I haven't been investing in leg wax since - razors are much less risky and less painful.
Towards the end of high school I started to realize (despite my continuous attempts), that Sun-In just wasn't all it was cracked up to be. I would go for the real deal - a home highlighting kit! I scraped up enough money for the kit, got it home and excitedly tied the plastic cap around my head. The next step was taking this strange little crochet needle and try to pull strands of hair out through the plastic cap. This task was not only nearly impossible to do by yourself, but painful! I figured there must be a better way. I decided to simply apply the white paste-like substance myself.......FAIL! I ended up with the chunkiest streaks of white hair on top of Sun-In red hair, on top of mousy brown hair that you have ever seen.
My first summer home from college, I decided that this quest to be blonde was nearly impossible for a "do it yourself - er " like me. I got together some of my hard earned summer job money and marched myself into Dart Drug (which was eventually bought out by CVS, or Walgreens or some such drug store chain) and bought some brown hair dye. I must of somehow been mislead to think that my original hair color was much darker than it really was, because I ended up with the beauty disaster of all beauty disasters. My previously light brown/sun in red/ home highlighted hair turned black. Yes, black. Well, at least a very dark brown. I remember exactly what color it was because at the time my then boyfriend is my now husband (Erik), and it was the same color as his!
I went into my summer job the next day and the other employees thought I was a new hire - really. I saw myself in the reflection in the elevator going up to my job and I didn't recognize myself! I was constantly in tears, Erik was sympathetic, my father said, "what happened to your hair?", my step mother recommended I use dish detergent to try and get the color out and pointed out that "at least I have dark eyebrows", and when I went back to college, Erik's friends said, "what happened to Butler's girlfriend's hair?"What a nightmare.
Things didn't get much better when I became an adult. As Erik and I became parents, I was determined to save money and therefore do it yourself beauty became more tempting. I did finally figure out the correct highlighting kit to buy and how to apply it without my hair turning out to look like blonde polka dots on brown hair. I also knew the exact time it took for my streaks to turn the perfect shade of blonde. Despite my new found knowledge, one day I was highlighting my hair figuring I had enough time as my toddler was in front of "Barney" (a good half hour at least). After applying the solution to most of my head, I had a bad feeling. I looked over the railing from our upstairs hallway to the downstairs family room and my toddler was gone! Completely forgetting about my hair, I went running down the stairs. I found him in the other part of the house, behind the living room couch eating an entire bag of Oreos. Not only did he need a bath, there were crumbs all over my living room! The perfect timing of my high lighting process was the last thing on my mind.....which became obvious after I cleaned up the living room.
Since the highlighting solution was on my head a good half hour longer than it was supposed to be, 3/4 of my hair was VERY blonde...the other parts, not so much. Being an adult did afford me the luxury of calling my hair salon and getting an "emergency" appointment.
Still you may think, she was young, she must have a clue now that she is middle aged....well not really. In the continuous quest for self beautification, I have realized that my skin is way too pale. I know not to go out in the sun, so what is the next best thing? Self-tanners of course. After a number of self tan disasters such as stripes, orange knees, brown palms; I decided to go to a professional spray tan salon. The first few times I left with good results, but last week the door to the vestibule inside the private spray tan room wouldn't close. Instead of notifying the spray tan professional, I was lazy and just went ahead with the spray process with the vestibule door partially open. The next day, to my horror, I discovered a dark brown line starting at my knee and traveling down to my heel. Yikes! I had two awards ceremonies in a few days where I had to present awards in front of an audience of elementary and middle school students and their parents - wearing a dress was a must. Thank goodness for black tights.
So in the future if you see me wearing tights in Florida in the summer, a hat in an inappropriate place, heavy make up to hide a sunburn, or hair parted in an unusual way, just smile and realize I have been the victim of yet another beauty disaster.
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