It’s not clear whether I’ve become stupider or if the show has gotten smarter (likely both) but all of a sudden Bates Motel isn’t horrible. I might even say it’s good. But more importantly, Norman recently barfed in a Christmas tree lot after realizing his mom married the crooked sheriff (“guyliner” from Lost) for love not just his health insurance so Norman could be voluntarily committed to a mental institution. You know there is Norma Bates/Alex Romero fanfiction.
Extremely tangentially related to Bates Motel, ok, almost not at all, I got my hair cut from the scraggly layers that had developed over the past year at the Queens salon I’ve increasingly fallen out of love with and up to the shortest layer, at a not-that-expensive, been-around-forever Williamsburg salon that still costs 2.5x more. I was imagining an inch longer. I was also imagining not looking like Ramona Quimby, Jane Jacobs (she is the Google doodle today) or a longer-tressed woman on the lam who hacks with dull scissors and uses box color in a gas station bathroom.
Oh yeah, the Bates Motel angle (sorry, so distracted lately). It’s not a hair length you see much on TV and then I noticed Norma Bates had it, blonde, obviously, bangless and more styled. It’s really evolved since the first season. (And then I started watching the second season of Kimmie Schmidt and there’s Jane Krakowski’s character, even sleeker. It’s probably everywhere. I have no idea what I’m talking about.)
While rambling about looks purposely, I want to slip in the fact that the weekend before last I was able to wear the Dior Plastic Shine in Alluring Black that I bought in London in 1995 when my sister got married the first time and have only worn two or three times since. The occasion was a black-themed party a la Korea’s Black Day. Here’s to makeup that’s old enough to drink.
What you can’t tell from either of these photos is that I’m also wearing a very bright green liquid eyeliner. I’m fairly certain I voiced this tragedy a few years ago when the Pantone shade of the year was emerald green and I bought the liner from Sephora. It’s totally visible in person, but my upper lids now sag over the lower in a way I knew would be inevitable since my dad had those eyelids, and in reality isn’t all that new of a development.
I started noticing the puff and droop right after moving to NYC, and at the time a friend referred to the look as “Fox Mulder eyes,” if you need a reference ancient enough to peg to the era. We both decided that by the time it started seriously happening to us there would be dermatological advancements and probably some cheap, painless laser thing everyone could do. Fuck, flying cars. Is this too much to ask?
Regardless, I’m not scared of selfies. Clearly. I will continue until I am unable to take photos because I’ve been blinded by my eyelids have collapsing over my retinas.