Girl and City

$500.

That is, apparently, the cost of my vanity.

I went for a Japanese Straightening earlier this week. Four hours, $500 later, my hair was sleek, shiny, and pin straight.

It was exactly what I had wanted.

But I felt uneasy. When did I become so vain that I would drop $500 on my hair?

It wasn’t just about vanity, it was also (mostly) about convenience. I may be vain, but I am damn lazy. I want to look like a high-maintenance girl without being one, especially on this Europe trip¹.

I used to have zero-maintenance, naturally straight hair, but after I permed it, it became a frizzy mess that required blow drying and flat-ironing every day. It’s been a huge pain in the ass, and the more I flat-iron it, the more damaged it becomes.
Japanese Straightening is supposed to keep your hair straight without requiring any effort – you can step out of the shower and your hair will air-dry straight, you can put it up in a pony tail and it won’t leave a kink, etc. When I researched the effects of Japanese Straightening, many people said their hair actually became healthier, because the straightening lasts for 6-10 months, so the hair is saved from being flat-ironed for all that time. It sounded like the perfect solution.

After the straightening, my hair wasn’t too different from what it used to be before my perm, albeit smoother and shinier. Given that I had naturally straight hair, the hair stylist said that this will last at least a year for me, and it may revert my hair back to pre-perm conditions, which means I may never have to do this again.

So it wasn’t so much about vanity as it was about getting my old hair back.
But I still can’t believe I spent $500 on my hair.

What’s the most expensive treatment/product you’ve ever given yourself in the name of vanity?

1. I considered the fact that we would be staying mostly in hostels, sharing a closet-sized bathroom with upwards of ten people, potentially not even having a mirror in the bathroom, etc. and I realized that there was no way I could prep my hair for 40 minutes every morning. [↩]

Fashion advice taken from “The Science of Sexy” by Bradley Bayou.

We all know there are certain clothes that look good on us and certain clothes that don’t (well, I hope we know this). But do we know why?

I have been buying empire-waisted tops and dresses ever since they became popular, because I know they look good on me. It wasn’t until recently that I came to understand the why: because I have an undefined waist, so the empire waist draws attention to the part of my torso with the smallest circumference. Empire-waists usually also comes with some detailing across the bust area, which makes my small bust seem not-so-small after all.
I also know I look good in A-line skirts. Why? Because I don’t really have hips, and I have shapely calves, so skirts that flare out to my knees gives me a feminine silhouette (a fuller bottom than my hips would normally be able to provide) and shows off my shapely calves (stilettos help – an explanation for my love of heels).

My body shape is the rectangle, (I essentially have no curves) also known as the “boyish shape.” Is this an ironic joke? I have always been a bit boyish; for my entire adolescence I wished I was born a boy instead of a girl. Now, at the ripe age of twenty, I have finally come to understand why I failed to feel any semblance of femininity in my preceding 19 years. It’s because I don’t look feminine.

Armed with this new piece of information, I have been on the lookout for the cure to boyishness. Here are pieces I am currently loving:

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“So… you have no legal experience?”
“No.”
He cocked an eyebrow as he scanned my resume once more. He was going to dismiss me. In a last ditch effort to make myself seem more qualified, I added, “But I do have office experience. I’m very good at organizing documents, doing research, that sort of thing. And I have great computer skills, since I work in IT. I type really, really fast,” I said while bobbing my head up and down to drive home the point.
He studied me again, one eyebrow still arched slightly higher than the other, and slowly nodded his head. Once. “I see…” he said carefully.
“To tell you the truth, I am really hoping that this legal assistant position will turn full-time after the candidate has been trained. And the problem is, well, by the time you are trained, the summer will be over and you’ll be gone.”
The job posting had said nothing about this turning into a full-time position. It had said that a legal assistant was needed to fill in for someone for a few months. I folded my hands in my lap and considered this new piece of information. “I see.”
“I know that you want some real-life experience, but I really don’t want to train you for the summer and then have to train someone else when you are finally able to do real work for me.”
“I understand,” I said. We were both silent for a minute. I tried one more time. “I will need to intern during the summers while I”m in law school – I could come here every summer.”
But it was clear he wasn’t looking for someone like me. He showed me out of the office without so much as a handshake. As I rode the elevator down, I tried to tell myself that it was his loss – if he wasn’t going to pay me, what harm could it do to have another helper around? I’m a smart girl, I could make myself useful. And yet, he was letting me get away.
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Right now, I am supposed to be downtown, on a patio, sipping margaritas with my girls. I’d be wearing an A-line halter dress with big flowers and Dior sunglasses. Instead, I am at home in a tank top and yoga pants drinking Diet Coke.

It is strange to be grounded at this age. Although now, I think it would be more suitably called “house arrest.”
The short version of the story is that I got into an argument with my mom, who forbid me from leaving the house tonight. I was all dolled up with no one to see me. So, I have recreated my outfit on Polyvore:

Flower Power Cocktails by hyperdramatic featuring Buti handbags

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