Writers and visual artists are often asked this question; Where do you get your ideas?
I’m one of those people who is never short of ideas. It’s bringing them to fruition that challenges me most. But, if you’re a writer or visual artist, engaging in new experiences can spark an idea for your next project. It’s these little artist dates, a concept I first read about in Julia Cameron’s excellent book, The Artist’s Way, that infuse my creativity. Even if you are not an artist, stepping outside of your routine can help you get creative in your personal life, maybe even helping to solve a problem that has you stuck.
When Dave was building our kitchen cabinets, I went along with him to the hardwood outlet in Enfield, Connecticut. It was an afternoon well spent. The Hardwood Outlet is nothing like your local lumber yard or a chain home improvement store. From the moment I stepped through the doors, the scent of freshly milled wood filled my nose. I walked along the rows and rows of woods and read their names.
The names, so beautiful, were like words in a poem:
Spanish Cedar, White Oak, Lacewood, Eucalyptus, Cypress, Q-sawn Sycamore, Poplar, Walnut, Red Maple Curly, Sassafras, Maple Birdseye, Hickory, Basswood, Cherry, and Flame Birch. I thought of the forests these woods lived in and I loved that the Hardwood Outlet was committed to buying only sustainable wood, grown and harvested in eco-friendly forests.
All the wood was sold by the board foot. The old man running the place leaned in to me,
“You’re very smart to come with your husband. No man should be allowed to come in here without his wife, too tempting!” He seemed surprised to have a woman wandering the wood.
Sadly, this hardwood outlet has closed up shop, but since then, I’ve treated myself to an assortment of artist’s dates. An heirloom garden seed festival, a talk on Samuel Clemens, a dog groomer’s, a Jewish deli (even though I am not Jewish), and a state fish hatchery. Artist Dates don’t have to cost you anything, but they should help you step out of your everyday humdrum.
I’d love to hear your ideas for artist’s dates in the comments.
This morning, the girl at the McDonalds drive-thru handed me coffee without making eye contact. She wasn’t being rude. I don’t think she could see me. At some point between yesterday and today, she’d caved to the latest beauty fad, blinking from under an absurdly thick fringe of false eyelashes. She had to grope around for my hand as she passed me my change.
There’s a hard truth around every beauty fad; if you want the real thing, in this case, authentic Kardashian lashes, you have to spend a boatload of money. If you don’t have a lot of money, you have to try to make it happen on a thin paycheck.
I used to be that girl. My reach wasn’t for eyelashes, but blonde highlights. At sixteen years old, I noticed the Marcia Brady types in my school seemed happier. My part time job as a nurse’s aide was barely enough to pay for my car, let alone salon highlights. I bought a box of hair dye at the drugstore for three dollars. The girl on the box looked like Farah Fawcett. This was going to change my life.
But, like the girl at McDonald’s, I had mixed results. First of all, I made a mess of my mother’s new bath rug. That didn’t go over well. Two weeks later, my friend noticed a swatch of hair at the back of my head that had turned an alarming shade of granny apple green. Chlorinated pool water and blonde hair dye led to a chemical reaction on the back of my head. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t pretty at all.
So, yes. I feel an alliance with my friend at McDonald’s. If I was young enough for false eyelashes, I’d be just like her, making do with a cheap set bought at the five and dime. Then I’d go home and have to glue them on as best I could.
Being a girl doesn’t come cheap.
A full set of extension eyelashes applied by a certified eyelash technician (yes, there is such a thing) costs anywhere from 175 dollars to 400 dollars plus a tip. Monthly maintenance will run you 55-75 dollars a pop.
Eyelash extensions come in a variety of thicknesses, from lashes as thin as a pencil tip to something that looks like my 1970’s fringed jean shorts. They’re either applied in a strip or single tufts. Some false eyelashes are made of mink (yes, mink!) while others are made of human or synthetic hair.
The eyelash technician glues the extensions to the natural lash line, which takes 12-24 hours to fully cure. During that time you can’t get your eyes wet. No face washing. No swimming. And no watching that last scene in Pretty Woman when Richard Gere sweeps Julia Roberts off the balcony. If your boyfriend breaks up with you on the day you get your lashes done, let’s hope he wasn’t worth crying over.
Once your lashes are ‘cured’, you’ll be instructed to avoid rubbing your eyes. Super long lashes require a daily brushing with something called a ‘spoolie brush.’ At night, you’ll have to lie flat on your back like Sleeping Beauty. No side sleeping and no mashing your face into your pillow.
There are health risks, including the risk of losing your own eyelashes or the very real risk of eye infections like pink eye. Some adhesive products contain formaldehyde which, quite honestly, I didn’t research the effects, but can we agree it can’t be good to put formaldehyde near your eyes?
Every new beauty fad comes with an unspoken promise; do this, buy this, wear this, and you will be desirable. If only you do this, you’ll be pretty. If only you do this, your life will improve. If you do this: you’ll fit in.
It’s easy to blame this over-reaching on men and the culture of beauty around women. But, I don’t think men are to blame for this. I believe it’s all on us. Most men I know wouldn’t turn down a date with a woman because her lash length wasn’t up to his usual standards.
My oldest daughter was home for a visit from Montana. “You know,” she said, as she laced up her hiking boots, “I feel if women just stopped buying into it, we’d all be so much happier.”
So true. I don’t feel pressure from men to get a perfect pedicure. I feel pressure from women. If I want to be accepted into the Girls Club, I have to wear the right clothes, have the right hair, or turn my eyes into a Venus fly trap, never mind that I’m blinded in the process.
I know that even feminist types want to be accepted into the Girl’s Club. Don’t tell me they don’t. Successful executive women wear pencil skirts and high heels for a reason. They want others to notice their narrow waists and slender calves while they make important decisions on company policy. Even Gloria Steinem wore a fetching pair of strappy sandals while carrying a sign on a stick that said, “We Shall Overcome.” Puleeeeze.
A couple of weeks ago, I did the most informal survey of all time. I asked the men in my life to weigh in on the Kardashian eyelash craze.
This comment from my husband who just celebrated his sixtieth birthday. “They’re kind of distracting. Unnatural. I’m afraid they’ll poke their eyes out.”
And this from a 30-something year old guy. ” On some girls they look okay. I don’t really think about them.”
My litmus test for beauty these days is simple. Feeling good about myself shouldn’t hurt or come with risk of injury. Feeling good about myself should…well…feel good.
But this requires an awareness of why we buy in. As I get older, some of the women I know are getting work done; bottoms lifted, tummies tucked, lips plumped. That’s not a beauty fad; it’s an expectation in some circles.
But, that path is not for me. I don’t have enough self-restraint to start down that slippery slope. I won’t know when to stop. My eyes would search my body’s landscape for every little thing that needed improvement. Pretty soon, I’d have to re-mortgage the farm to pay for the upgrades.
Here’s my litmus test for beauty trends: I ask myself why I do it. Is it for me? Or is it for them? Who are they, anyway? Am I enjoying whatever it is I’m doing?
If we’re doing it for men, we should know that most men don’t judge women as harshly as we judge ourselves and each other. What a man appreciates, is a woman who likes herself, who takes care of herself, who laughs at his jokes, essentially, a woman who is confident in her own skin. Men can’t always put their finger on what it is that makes this one or that one stand out, but I bet you they never say…it was the eyelashes.