Jan. 27th, 2013 12:13 am
twirlgrrl: (Default)
[personal profile] twirlgrrl
This blog post describes my feelings on the subject precisely.  I love it when that happens.

I don't wear much jewelry or make up. I hate spreading greased goop on my face, rubbing it into my pores, so that I sweat, and then painting with my clumsy hand over the top of it. And I've never felt all that much prettier after, though I'm sure I must look nicer. Smoother, at least. 

The church of my youth was against make up and jewelry, cuz it's what Jezebel wore and she was a mega-whore. We weren't supposed to obscure the light of Jesus that would shine through our unpainted faces. 

No one listened to that, of course. In fact the only time my mom DID wear make up was when she was going to church. And...she didn't put it on so good. Her cosmetics were anywhere from two to 12 years old, and she laid on bright colors that didn't match her skin with a heavy hand. Also in a style 30 years gone. I was never interested in that small ceremony of insincerity. 
Orangey red lipstick, thin pencilled eyebrows; the 50's lived on for my mom.

Rings and bracelets get in the way of my stubby little hands doing their stubby little work, whatever that might be. They clack and bang on things, restrict my blood flow and leave imprints on my flesh.  I love only my plain gold wedding band.  And necklaces. I like necklaces. 

But earrings. I don't wear earrings. Not even fun fat retro clip ons. Because of Ma Joad. 

Bear with me. In the movie Grapes of Wrath, the Joad family has to leave their home, where they're starving, in hopes of finding work in California. Ma Joad is in her room packing...which mostly consists of burning her keepsakes and treasures cuz there is no room to take them with. 

Then there comes a moment when she finds these old ear baubles in her treasure box, and her face lights up when she sees them, and you can tell the memories they bring back to her, the dances and the boys, and her youth and beauty and joy. She holds them up to her ear in a smoky little mirror with a smile.

And then her smile freezes, and fades. The look that replaces it Heartbroken. Cuz her reflection. A fat, tired woman, aged from a life of toil in the dirt. Not the kind of woman who can wear those baubles anymore. 

And that damn scene makes me want to cry. And when I put up earrings to my face, I feel like Ma Joad. I look a little like her. They contradict me, draw the eye to my puff and chub and wrinkle. Next to their sparkle I look tired, dull, old and yes, fat. It's too damn sad. Just too sad. 

That's why I don't wear earrings. Damn you, Steinbeck..

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