Godammit, I’m Mad!

Today I went to my favorite beauty supply shop, on a street in a wealthy community where everyone is too thin and the people sitting outside Peete’s Coffee are talking to their agents on their iPhones. It’s a great shop that carries every obscure brand you’ve ever heard of and the sales people leave you alone unless you want their help.

I picked out two hair products that won’t have any effect on the quality of my hair, but I enjoy the process of wasting money this way. At the counter, a woman was asking for help with her eyebrows. She was explaining that her eyebrow has a cowlick and nothing she’s tried could solve the problem.

I was fascinated. The sales person was eager to help, and obviously relished the opportunity. She suggested eyebrow gel, but the woman said that gels haven’t worked. I managed to suppress my urge to butt in. Personally, I swear by Lancome eyebrow gel in Brunet. It grooms the brows nicely and makes them look nice and full.

The sales person suggested mustache wax to tame the problem hair. I thought this was a great idea, even though I know you can actually get eyebrow wax at Bloomingdales or somewhere. It’s probably the same stuff, right? But the woman balked at mustache wax. She changed the subject to the dark circles under her eyes but continued to complain about her eyebrows. They were the bane of her existence, she said bitterly.

Finally, I couldn’t stand it. “Just pull that fucker out!” I snapped helpfully. Everyone turned to look at me. The sales woman smiled and said, “You’re so funny!” the way people do when they’re shocked by your candor. The eyebrow lady whined, “No, then I’ll have a bald spot!”

Now that I was involved, I offered a barrage of solutions but the eyebrow lady shot down each one. I began to realize how agitated she was. Maybe she didn’t really want help. Now she was complaining about the concealer she’d been offered and she refused to try the moustache wax.  The sales woman turned to assist another customer and the eyebrow lady announced that she would try a department store, where “someone has the time” to give her their “complete attention.”

I realized that she was nuts. Not in any dramatic way, but still nuts. One of the things I love about the beauty supply store is listening to women explain what they’re looking for, in a beseeching tone that reveals their absolute belief that something will make them beautiful and happy. I find it so poignant. The belief and the hope in that beauty supply store could fill several churches.

The eyebrow lady was an anomaly that almost ruined my pleasure in wasting $42. Almost. But when she left the store, everything was restored to normal.  I was disappointed that the nail polish I wanted was discontinued: it’s called “Bring on the Bling” and I tried it on last week when my BFF was having a manicure. It was like an entire Mardis Gras in a bottle.

Thank god I can still enjoy beauty products and I’m not a crazy eyebrow lady. That is my affirmation for today.

I knew immediately that Jean-Paul Gaultier’s spring 2012 couture collection was a tribute to Amy because I did the math. Behive + eyeliner+”Marilyn” stud = Amy Winehouse.

What a wonderful feast of crazy hives and mish-mash of retro vampy girly excess!

It makes me happy to know that Amy’s influence will live on. Her swagger and her vulnerability, her beautiful voice, her tiny little body supporting all that hair…she will haunt me forever. This collection is an homage that’s right on point, as Amy liked to say of her beehive.

Lindsey Wixson is especially adorable in her purple hive and I can’t get enough of her.

Check out the beauty details here.

Also, did everyone see the new Karl Lagerfeld stuff at net-a porter this morning?  Horrible, right? What is he thinking?!  Please let me know if any other runway shows are worth looking at. Right now, I only have eyes for Amy.

Earlier tonight, I got my hair trimmed and felt pretty smug. I asked my husband to take a picture of me. I’m not sure whether this look says “groupie” or “hooker,” but I was pleased either way.

Hours later, I felt like this:

I saw this image on TV and said to my husband: “Look honey, there’s me.”

He didn’t know what I meant so I had to explain, “I’m a big sinking ship laying on its side and nobody knows what to do with me.”  He took the wise option of going to bed.

It’s so hard to maintain a feeling of okayness.  Know what I mean?

An article in the New York Times offers an affectionate tribute to Amy Winhouse’s style, giving her credit for creating a unique look based on several Bad-Girl templates.

The article reminded me of how many girls still try to imitate Bettie Page. There are millions of clones out there with dyed black bangs and deep red lipstick, all going for the same trampy  rockabilly look. With all due respect, it’s a look I’m really sick of.  I think it should be saved for Halloween or costume parties.

The article also led me to the work of Karlheinz Weinberger, a Swiss photographer whose pictures of sleazy hooligans and teenage delinquents made him famous among artists and intelligentsia. Looking at his work, I finally undertand the aesthetic that Gnarlitude Jen and her ilk are so infatuated with.

Biker paraphernalia, big messy hair, tough sullen expressions, it’s all there in Weinberger’s old photos. It’s a look that I personally affected when I was around twelve years old, trying to copy the tough Mexican gang girls who represented rebellion. By fourteen, though, I was over it.

Today, the only way to be a style rebel would be to dress inconspicuously.

Still, I’m happy to remember Amy as an original force in style as well as music. Her mixture of  50s and 60s influences, punk, pin-up, tough, girlie, retro and rapper, added up to something fresh, defiant and irresistible.

God bless her, and all bad girls everywhere.

Short hair, long hair, it’s all good.

Crazy hair, too.

Oh, fuck it. I really like long hair.

Free speech is the whole thing, the whole ball game. Free speech is life itself. ~ Salmon Rushdie

My friend Romeo persuaded me to attend a cat show on Sunday, and it far exceeded my expectations in every way. The cats were disgusting, and the cat fanciers were totally weird.

If you’re anything like me, and I know you are, you like to explore subcultures. It’s fun being a cultural tourist as long as you don’t get too close to the natives.

I don’t have a camera but I used my cellphone to capture the intriguing hairdos of the cat enthusiasts.

This girl sat next to me as the guy in the top photo assessed some gigantic oversized cats, including two that belonged to her and resembled young grizzly bears.

This shelf-configuration was better in person. Her friend is clearly jealous.

This hairdo was so intricate and the two-tone thing was really eye-catching. This is a true cat lady. I like to think that she bought some of the cat-themed jewelry that dangled from every other merchandise booth.

Ta da! I saved the best for last. What the fuck! I was blown away by this lady. She was like a show within a show. Look at that hair! I got as close as I could, but I couldn’t tell for sure what was going on in that hairnet. She might have actually had a cat in there, or even Daphne Guinness!  Let’s look at her one more time:

While searching for dreadlock remover (imagine a little sad-face thingy here) I came across this wonderful product for use Down There.

“Rid yourself of the unwanted grays and give hair down there a beautiful boost of color that’s destined to brighten up more than your smile.”

Now my only problem is deciding between Black Cherry or Midnight Blaque. I’m leaning toward the latter because of the spelling. The hair on my head, or Up There I should say, is really dark brown, not technically Blaque. I don’t want to give anyone a fright.

The Down There business is topical because I had coffee with my sister today and complained about the word “rump.” I read in The Cut that Kate Moss shows off “her rump” in a new video. I was so upset by this usage that I nearly fired off a letter to the editor. Why “rump” for godsake? Can’t they say “ass” or even “butt” or in the worst case scenario maybe “backside?”

Then we moved on to the word “tush” which also annoys me. When I discovered that there’s actually a song called Tush, I nearly had a stroke. Now there’s a magazine called Tush. It’s a word to use with a two year old, like pee pee, but then it should be dropped asap.

Anytime I hear the term Down There, I think it bespeaks a revulsion for sex and body parts. The GiGi color product manages to add an Australian slant by calling this crap “Color Down Under.” Here’s an idea! Next time you hear someone use the term Down There, scream: “Where, Australia?”

Crystal Renn posed nude in the May issue of French Vogue, and the sight of her public hair has been too much for some people. The comments at The Cut are filled with revulsion for Crystal’s crotch.

Whether the photos are flattering or appropriate or anything else, my interest is in the reactions. What the hell is wrong with people? Those who object to the pubic hair insist that their aesthetic hasn’t been formed by porn. They talk about how nice it is to be “clean down there.”

What isn’t clean about natural hair? It seems very anti-woman to insist on a waxed crotch.  The hair is a sign of adulthood – it’s what separates a woman’s body from a child’s.

I admit I don’t watch porn. It make me too sad. But I’m aware there’s a fatwa on body hair these days. It seems creepy and it seems babyish. It’s as if the very idea of pubic hair is terrifying.

It depresses me to confront the fact that women have yet another reason to feel shame about their bodies. I’m glad that Crystal Renn is breaking barriers, if that’s what she’s doing. If she reads those comments, though, she may feel she’s committed a federal crime by looking like a natural woman.

Opinions, anyone?

Just look what happens when you take away Mrs. Palin’s trademark big hair! It’s like Samson after Delilah got through with him!

A genius over here altered some pictures of Mrs. P by removing the long hair (along with the glasses and trashy earrings.) Voila, she is instantly disempowered.

Without going into my Nobel Prize Exegesis on the subliminal sources of Mrs. Palin’s magnetism (because I haven’t written it yet) I will just say that without these totems, she loses the medley of conflicting archetypes that serve to resonate with both her fans and detractors.

With the Big Hair and other accoutrement’s, she is simultaneously a Vixen, Church Lady, Librarian, Dominatrix, Stripper and Mommy. Take that shit away and  what do you have?

(I know Mr. Duff will have a good answer.)