This song is so ridiculous I couldn’t resist. Christina Aguilera’s “Vanity” (featuring images of the Evil Queen from Sleeping Beauty)
I’ve been thinking about the concept of vanity a lot lately. It’s a term that usually takes a negative connotation but for me it all depends on your point. We are all vain. Some people more so than others but we are all vain.
We care about how we look and hope to be considered attractive. You can go as far as plastic surgery or just spend an extra little money on that hair gel that “really” works for “your” hair. (Unless you’re like Suave or my brother, and then you may pay a little extra for the best shave gel or blades to keep your head “smooth.”) I know that I feel better when my hair is permed, eyebrows arched, toenails painted, legs shaved, clothes fitted, shoes unscuffed, jewelry matching, perfume on, etc. I spend a lot of time (and money) on maintaining what I have or distracting from what I don’t. Nice butt? Pencil skirts. Long legs? Slim pants. Small chest? Ruffles. No upper lip? Play up the eyes.
Now do I work that hard every day? No, I don’t have enough energy for all of that. Although I value being well put together, I do my best to just look put together, not obviously spending 45 minutes on my hair, 30 minutes on my makeup and an hour assembling that ensemble. (Hint: It helps when your entire wardrobe is black, white and grey. J ) Regardless, I get upset or feel bad when I look in a mirror and my hair’s doing something crazy, my mascara has smeared or I get a run in my stockings. And if it’s not something easily fixable, it can bug me for hours.
But if it’s just caring about how you look why consider it vanity rather than just looking good? Because my mascara is just as unnecessary as a nose job. It simply costs less and doesn’t involve cutting and therefore is more “normal.” If I can’t be happy with the way I look clean faced and in sweatpants (or god forbid naked), everything I do to look better after that is due to vanity. I go to the gym to look good in my existing clothes, not for my health. Therefore it’s vanity. The things I do to my hair are not good for it but I’ve convinced myself harsh chemicals and prolonged heat make me pretty. Vanity. Acne is not unhealthy but it sure is unattractive, so two face washes (one for deep cleaning and the other exfoliation, haha) and two acne products later, I’m closer to clear. Vanity. Showering should be sufficient but perfume lingers (in a good way). Obviously my eyelids are not a dusty lavender with dark brown shading but it matches my outfit. Crooked teeth don’t affect my well-being, just my self-esteem. So thousands of dollars and years in braces later, I can confidently smile. Vanity.
My point: vanity is normal. And although we all get annoyed at the people who constantly strive to prove how attractive they are or drive us crazy with their complaints of a lack of beauty, we’re all there is some way. When we step out of the shower, into our closet, in front of a mirror, out of the salon/barbershop, into of the tanning booth, out of the gym, or into a dressing room. So when I get annoyed at those that go overboard, I have to remember it’s not hard for someone to tear apart my regiments.
TLC’s “Unpretty” (Remix featuring 2Pac – His rap really doesn’t fit but that’s kind of why I like it…)
Sitting under the dryer at the hair salon, I can’t help but wonder “Why am I doing this to myself?”. Every 4-8 weeks, I’m paying someone to straighten this, highlight that, thread those, wax that. On special occasions, I pay more to have this cut, those painted or that lasered. (I’m no longer just talking about the hair on the top of my head.) To keep in line with the costly exterior upgrades, I also pay to have access to those weights and run on that treadmill. In short, I’m a normal, healthy, self-conscious, vain 25-year-old woman.
Now, I understand all of these “services” are voluntary but I see most of them as necessary to stay in line with my contemporaries and expectations. And to be completely honest, I feel better about myself and my appearance afterwards. No one believes my hair’s naturally straight with red highlights, eyebrows perfectly arched, or that my toes naturally appear in various shades of reds and purples. BUT I imagine more people would notice bushy eyebrows, kinky (and not in the attractive afro style) hair, and a mustache. I do what I can and what I think I need to. (Sometimes not the same things.)
A few months ago, I went to see Chris Rock’s documentary “Good Hair”. If you’re at all interested and/or curious about the processes, costs, stigmas, and assumptions about black hair, I’d highly recommend the film. As my friend and I found ourselves laughing and nodding our heads in agreement with the commentators, one particular moment, or better statement, stuck with me.
A well-known, arguably renowned, hair stylist preparing for a major hair show and competition decided to go the extra mile for vanity and try Botox. The costs and pain were worth it for him to look his best. After the procedure, once the bleeding had stopped, he looked in the mirror and said, “I don’t feel as beautiful as I anticipated.” I couldn’t help but laugh and wonder “Do we ever?”. This man’s in the business of making people look and feel better and he’s still unsatisfied with himself. Of all the people, shouldn’t he have more realistic, and therefore more achievable, expectations?
For good or bad, God made me whatever I am. While I’m not considering anything as drastic as plastic surgery (although an upper lip and cup sizes proportional to my backside would be nice…), my actions are, in effect, trying to improve on His design. He loves me hairy legged, nappy headed and ashy. I should be able to too. And you know, I do love myself. I just like myself more well put together. Hair, make-up, outfits, shoes, they’re all a front. The question really isn’t “if I’m putting up a front with my efforts” but “if I can accept and admit a front’s all it is.”
Not anticipating beauty (just hoping really hard for it),
I wish there was a video for this version but alas, just the song.
India.Arie “I Am Not My Hair” featuring P!nk (Please note they both punctuation in their names. Haha)
I recently had the pleasure of having dinner and with two British gentlemen during a conference. While the conversation covered a number of topics, we spent quite a bit of time on race relations and related issues. I foresee any number of future posts inspired by this conversation. One comment in particular made me think about my overall experience with my hair.
One of the guys (of Asian descent, while that distinction is not necessary, I believe it helps add a little color to the story, no pun intended) asked me innocently but pointedly if my hair looks like that in the morning. At first, it took me a moment to grasp his meaning. Of course, I’ll need to comb it but for the most part, unless sweat or water are a factor, I don’t have to do all that much to my hair. Only having to wash it once a week, I generally just get up and go.
Of course, he didn’t necessarily mean the “morning” so much as was my hair naturally straight. completely unashamed, I shook my head no and explained that it was chemically straightened and that my roots have to be processed every 2 months. When asked why I did this to myself, I explained that it’s been this way since age 12 and that “going natural” would require cutting it all off. I’m not entirely confident I could pull off the little boy look. The other gentleman spoke of a woman he’d dated from the West Indies (I believe) who’d decided to “go natural” and how he’d quite liked it. This comment is also important but I’ll get into that later. The most important thing to take from their comments was that while they accepted it, neither understood the need/desire to permanently breakdown the chemical bonds of my hair.
So why do I relax my hair? (You’ll commonly hear black women refer to perming their hair. Our perms are actually relaxers. They straighten, not curl. The processes do different things. A perm creates temporary bonds. That’s why the loosen up over time. A relaxer on the other hand breaks down bonds. There’s no coming back from that. It’s permanent until you cut the treated hair off.) There’s no need to really dig into the history. In the early 1900s, both commercial relaxers and hot combs (the precursor to the Chi) were unleashed upon the general public. Needless to say, black women around the world have been straightening their hair for 100 years. Walk through any African-American self-help section in a bookstore and you’ll no doubt find some book about the black woman ideal and our struggles with our hair. History and magazines tell us we straighten our hair to emulate the Caucasian ideal. But I’m not also bleaching my skin, my hair will never make it past my shoulders, and I’m obviously not going to be able to pass for white, so why do I relax my hair?
There’s no simple answer to that question. The closest I can get is fear. I’ve never known my hair to be any other way. Sure, throughout my childhood, my hair was “natural” but it was still straightened. The hot comb usually came out on Saturday so you’re hair would still be presentable on Sunday for church. I’ve always strived for long, straight, full, beautiful hair. As I came to accept my hair would never look like Tatiyana Ali (Fresh Prince reference for you) or Naomi Campbell’s, I decided to do the best I could with what I had. For 13 years, as funds and availability allowed, I’ve paid someone to burn the hell out of my scalp to straighten the “new growth” aka my roots.
In college, I remember getting into a debate with an African-American male administrator at a conference funny enough about race and ethnicity. While in a group circle to discuss the sessions of the day, he launched into a tirade about black women relaxing their hair. With his age (50s-ish) and “participation” in the Civil Rights Movement, he felt completely justified in lecturing us. (I’ll have to say that I believe he just saw a collection of early 20s black women as easy targets to vent. His wife had bone-straight, chemically-altered hair.) Although a few of the women in the room had natural hair, the general consensus among us all was that to relax or not to relax was a personal choice, usually driven by taste and convenience. The same reasons I could use to explainrelaxing my hair, another women could use to justify going natural. And you know what? More power to us both.
The struggles I remember with my hair during childhood are not necessarily what I’d endure now. For the most part, the issues arose because someone was trying to keep my hair straight and “manageable.” Rain, sweat, swimming, basically anything involving moisture turned 30 minutes worth of straightening into a dual-textured, frizzy mess. I’m not sure I’d experience the same battles now. If I were go natural, my hair (texture-willing) would be worn in such a way that water would not by my enemy. What a novel concept! (Washing my hair once a week really limits my water-based activities. Sure, I could wash it more often but I’m not really willing to go through the 1 1/2 hr washing-drying-straightening-curling process more often. Some people find the once-a-week thing gross. Please understand that my hair does not get oily or greasy. I actually have to put the moisture into my hair. Washing it everyday would require buckets of leave in conditioner or cause it to get brittle and break off. Trust me. Once a week is the way to go for me.)
I’ve recently begun to contemplate just being bold and cutting it all off, starting over. Aside from the initial shock, I’m trying to imagine how bad it could be. Aside from the extreme possibility of resembling a little boy for several years, I’m at a loss for “good reasons” not to do it. Well, of course there’s always the possibility that I’ll absolutely hate it. Slow hair growth makes this decision especially difficult.
If I ever choose to take the plunge and rediscover my hair unaltered, it will be for no reasons other than vanity and ease. I would love to not hide from the rain, go swimming at will and not have to burn my ears accidentally or scalp intentionally every 8 weeks. But I also like running my fingers through my straight, although short, hair and blending in. Natural hair seems to make a personal and/or political statement I don’t really care to make. Me going natural would not necessarily mean I’m trying ot be “more black” or embracing my cultural roots by growing out my physical ones. For good or bad, my roots are just a part of me that showcases my melting pot heritage. Relaxers or afros, they all seem to define or explain everything and nothing about me.
Wishing my hair would grow faster so this decision wouldn’t seem so monumental,
About a year ago, I was talking to a male friend. We were just chit chatting, waiting for other people to finish or show up, I don’t remember exactly. Anyway, we started talking about working out. He has been known to be somewhat of a gym rat if the mood arises. As I’ve said before, I know that I need to work out to look the way I want but I don’t love it. And because of that lack of love, my gym kicks go in waves. At that time, I was on a new one, only a few weeks old. After talking for a little while about what we do and don’t do, blah blah blah, he threw me a curve ball. As calmy as ever, he looked me up and down and said, “You’re working out. You must be having sex.”
Now, sex is natural and beautiful and all that loveliness but it’s still something I consider to be private, for me and everyone else. I had no idea how to react. At that time, I wasn’t even talking to, hoping to flirt, or anything else with anyone, let alone concerned about anyone seeing any part of my body not already visible in work clothes. The comment just blew my mind. Is this why men or everyone thinks everyone else works out? Is there anything wrong if that is the reason? What are your real reasons for working out?
I’ve already admitted that my main reason is vanity, not naked vanity, just the normal kind. I want to be a size 8 (occasionally a 6 or 10 depending on the cut). I think this size looks good on me. I’m still relatively young and have the available time and resources to exercise. I really have no excuses not to. I’ve never been the type to really complain about my current size/body but sometimes those glances in front of the full length mirror cause an unpleasant double-take. What’s a girl to do? Complain or sweat? I complain enough about other things. I’ve decided to spare the people around me from another unnecessary topic.
Possible Reasons for Quality Time on the Elliptical Machine:
1.) Health: Okay. That’s an easy one. Who doesn’t want to be healthier? The problem is that most of us aren’t willing to sacrifice to be healthy. We’re just waiting for the big pharmacy companies to come up with a pill, or better yet a one time shot.
2.) Vanity: Yes, I’ll claim that one. We all want to look better than we currently do, even the people who already look amazing. But not everyone’s got Giselle’s genetics or LL Cool J’s personal trainer. For most of us, our appearance is extra, not a part of our job description. Famous people are famous for a reason. We’ve got to stop comparing. I’ll never look like Beyonce. I’m just trying to look as good as I can, regardless of those around me.
3.) Muscles: Yes, this is tied to vanity but there are some people who work out for a particular goal, competing and such. No real comment on this one. But all of those sinewy muscles and veins popping out kind of grosses me out.
4.) LGN Diet “Looking Good Naked”: I’ve got to admit the name is a new one for me but needs no further explanation. Although, it seems that people are fueled by this motivation until the couple gets really comfortable and starts to gain together…
5.) Special Occasions and Summer: Closely tied to the LGN Diet, often times people work out to fit and/or look better in certain outfits for certain occasions; weddings, reunions, bathing suits, vacations, etc. This motivation is generally temporary.
6.) Fun: Heaven knows why but some people actually enjoy exercising. I wasn’t blessed with that gene. But if you’ve got it, rock it, I guess. I was blessed/cursed with the “eat good and sleep well” gene. (Note: Eating good does not necessarily mean healthily, just tastily…)
I didn’t really have a purpose for this post. I just really wanted to write about the new term I learned, the “Looking Good Naked” Diet.
Wondering why everyone else at the gym is working out,
I’m on a fresh gym kick right now. I’ve had this gym membership for about two years and every few months, something prompts me to re-engage w/ the elliptical machine. (Usually when my pants are uncomfortable.) I’ve often said that I go to the gym b/c I like my current wardrobe and want to compliment my closet rather than start over with a larger size. However, I wonder just how true that is. Would I be as bothered by baggy booty from losing 23 lbs as I seem to be about the virgin-ing muffin top from gaining those 23 (seeming all in one location) in a year?
You see the problem is that I was not properly equipt for this particular issue. From age 4 to about 15, I was an absolute STICK. Looking back at pictures, it was kind of sick. No matter what I ate and how little I did, I was thin. I graduated highschool at 5’9 and under 130 lbs. Somewhere in college, I filled out and became “normal.” I can handle normal. I’ve been told it looks good on me. I’ll take it. (It’s very convenient that my shoe and pant sizes are now the same.)
Every time I’ve been back in the gym for a few weeks and see a slight bit of progress, I’m really tempted to just stop there. I mean I’m just trying to tone up, not lose any weight. (Well, that is until I really gained more than 5 lbs….)
So, I have bad knees and shoulders. And I refuse to watch what I eat any more than the short trip it takes from my plate to my mouth. Yes, diabetes, heart disease, and obesity run in my family. Yes, salt and butter are my favorite ingredients for any meal. Yes, I know that genetics are not in my favor. BUT somehow that collection of facts is not enough to get me into the gym on a regular basis. But give me a muffin top sighting or mid-30s looking thighs 10 years too early and you’ll soon see me huffing and puffing, breaking a sweat on the leg press with my iPod in its armband and my red Nalgene water bottle at Gold’s Gym. (Correction: I don’t sweat, I glisten. And by glisten, I mean sweat like a pig 5 minutes into any workout. It’s really unattractive but I digress…)
From apples to pears, I see the shape of my future in my family. And one day I’ll be comfortable enough with myself and/or my body to not immediately react to muffin top. For right now though, I’ll submit to vanity and work to remain a salted, buttery piece of corn on the cob. (Shout out to all Iowa babies!!!)
The Truth: According to Jo'van 