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emmanation

You like me! Of course, you probably don't know me very well.

Archive for the ‘things I think are pretty’ Category

fake nails and new hair

Monday, November 21st, 2016

I have both of those things, and as soon as I realized it I felt kind of weird about it.

The nails are the press on kind – Kiss French Tip Petite, if you must know. I just superglued them to my real nails, which sounds really dubious, right? Pieces of plastic shaped like nails are covering my real nails.

I don’t have a good reason. I could say it’s because my nails are trashed from improper removal of the shellac I got for our wedding, and that would be true. Of course, the improper removal was on me, because you gotta dissolve that attachment in a serious paint thinner type way and I went the mechanical-force-due-to-boredom way. I could also point out that I’m going to see Crockett’s family in a couple of days, but there’s no one in that family that would respect fake nails more than crappy real short nails.

Mostly they just make me feel pretty.

I have a new wedding ring, and I type all day. I look at my hands, and I like how they look with uniform, shiny, white tipped nails. That’s on me just as much as ruining my natural nails.

My hair is in a shaggy shag shagalious thing, now. I’ve been growing it out for quite some time, and my mom took a pic yesterday during our family thanksgiving. It was long, and voluminous, but not interesting. I wanted more of this, and today I saw my stylist in my last chance before she goes on maternity leave and I got it. I didn’t NEED a haircut, but I paid her a well deserved $87 (including tip) anyway, basically just to make me feel prettier.

I feel guilty and angry and angry about feeling guilty and guilty about feeling angry about both of these things.

I very much want to not succumb to the trappings of the patriarchal definition of beauty. I also don’t want to deny myself something I enjoy because I have doubts about its origin. My desire for pretty nails and hair likely has its roots in man-catchin’, right? But since I’ve internalized that ideal to an extent that I now want it for myself, what’s the right thing to do? I’m not using it for man catching. Crockett finds my fingernail painting and faking and shellacing …. well, I don’t think he finds it much of anything. He probably would think of it as a hobby, if he was forced to classify the piles of tiny bottles and glues. The state of my nails isn’t important to him, for sure.

He probably does care about my hair, but he’s so carefully complimentary that I’m not entirely sure what hair he likes more than other hair. (He’s vocally anti-bang, but I think mostly the beauty that is bangs are appreciated by women.) So technically my hair isn’t for him any more than my nails.

The point is, when you’re this aware of what your choices mean, there are only a few ways to go.

  1. Do what I want, beauty wise, and ignore the kyriarchical implications.
  2. Do what I want, beauty wise, but be fully aware of the roots of those rituals that exist in sexism and oppression.
  3. Stop any kind of beauty routine, because fuck male idiots for thinking that occasionally shaving less than a square foot of face is the equivalent of shaving six+ square feet of skin, moisturizing, blow drying, and making up. Or worse, those that think that women should work harder on their appearance because beauty is what they’re good for.
  4. Maintain the bare minimum level of grooming expected by a woman in 2016 America and seethe every day about not getting to wear fake nails OR let my armpit hair grow loud and proud.

Dunno, guys. I guess I’ve settled into #2 for the mo? But not cozily. I like to feel pretty, I know pretty is primarily a construct meant to keep women secondary, and I can’t resolve the two.

Whatever. It’s Monday! The 21! Eight days left of every day posting, guys. Who knows what gems will surface.

 

nobody puts yeah

Saturday, November 19th, 2016

Jennifer Grey, babe.

THE HAIR.

We’re watching Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, cause I let Crockett pick the movie and he’s done really well lately at committing to one movie quick and making it a good choice. Not, like, a totally outside the box choice – more something if you were flipping through channels and realized it was just starting, you’d stick with that channel for at least one ore two commercial breaks. (When do we as a culture really need to start explaining those references? People like Buzzfeed already are, but the concept of channels still 100% exists. And commercials. I guess anyone who uses DVR instead of the Netflix/Hulu/CW/HBO bastard conglomerate we’ve assembled still totally knows.)

I don’t care what Jennifer Grey did to her nose. It was bigger and now it’s not? I heard that it may have affected her career, but suspect that may just be how much ‘we’ hate it when women make choices about their physicality that ‘we’ don’t agree with (wherein said we is a bunch of men usually who probably think they were special for seeing her cuteness when her nose was a little larger than average and are irritated that she changed so that everyone else (who already thought she was cute) also thinks she’s cute, right?)

I do really love her hair. It must be naturally curly, but she makes it look like it’s not crunchy. I think that’s a hard hard thing when you have curly hair, and she’s been nailing it since 1986.

Jennifer Grey = babe.

 

just hit publish

Saturday, November 5th, 2016

I’m developing a strange desire to get famous.

Strange?

That’s probably not right. Fame is a not insignificant part of the American Dream right? (What’s the rule about capitalizing the Dream part of that, do we do it or not? Is it a dream with a capital D or just, like, a dream?)

I’m developing a perfectly normal for my era and background desire to get famous.

Since I’m not actually *doing* anything to make that happen, second best is when other people who are super duper get famous instead. (As long as they’re not friends of mine. Everyone one I know needs to stay exactly where they are until we can all go together – that’s reasonable and fair right? Right.)

Cases in point:

- Rachel Bloom. Were you a theater kid? Are you watching Crazy Ex-Girlfriend? If yes/no, your inner stage lover is so sad and doesn’t even know it.

- Issa Rae. I’m mad the whole time I’m watching Insecure because it’s so good. (Do I need therapy?)

- Georgia Hardstark. MY FAVORITE MURDER. When someone cofounds a podcast that’s so good you basically make a new best friend based just on talking about it (true story totally happened) … there’s no good end to this sentence. Point made (including the point that my heart is SUPER in this post can you tell?)

Uh… that’s all. Medium famous women who are cool who I want to be like who totally deserve their current fame levels and more!

Good post, Emma. Nablopomo is really bringing out the best in me.

 

hubba hubba

Wednesday, February 4th, 2015

Like the good friend I am, I very responsibly distributed this video to all my girlfriends the SECOND I found it.

Oh, you’d like to know what it is before you click? You savvy interneter you. It’s the Magic Mike XL trailer, otherwise known as Flashdance redux feat. Channing Tatum.

Then Star and I had a conversation about power and objectification (true and accurate).

Then we had this conversation.

Me: man alive
I’m dying over here
the perfect follow up
http://the-toast.net/2015/02/04/channing-tatum-boyfriend/
Star: OH MY GOD HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
I want channing tatum to be my boyfriend for all of those reasons
Me: 
“while welding at you”
I just watched his wife in a lifetime movie this weekend
they seem so adorable
Star: They are so cute
I want them to take me on as their sister wife
Me: awwwww
or neighbors, maybe
I would rather not have channing than share channing
it’s good that I’ve decided that, don’t you think?
so that when it comes up I won’t have to waste precious time thinking about it

I should have titled this post ‘today in realism’.

 

so many tiny hairs

Sunday, September 7th, 2014

Being of Italian descent, there are a lot of ways I could go with a post about hair.

However, today I got the hairs on my head cut. By this woman who I think is the most amazing stylist ever.

This is our story.

Like four years ago, the daughter of the family that owns me and Crockett’s favorite restaurant showed up with an amazing haircut and I complimented her on it and asked who did it, because I was in desperate need of a haircut at the time. She told me it was a woman named Emmy and I called her and made an appointment.

She’s a teeny tiny brunette woman who, at the time, lived in Nederland (where I grew up). She had my goal hair (which, as always, was sort of piece-y and easy and just super hot) and I was shy and nerdy when speaking to her. She gave me an amazing haircut that I can’t find a picture of. (Facebook, what the fuck are you good for if not for finding pictures of your hair from four years ago?) She was basically like me if I was cooler and had decided to cut hair instead of do math.

She intimated the shit out of me, and by the time I called to make another appointment she’d moved to LA. TO LOS ANGELES. Best haircut I’d ever had in my life and the woman who did it just up and went halfway across the country.

Three years later, I had terrible hair. You can only go to cheap stylists and say ‘please do exactly what I have but shorter’ for so long. Eventually it gets blurred into generic hair shape.

I googled Emmy to look longingly at her portfolio, because I apparently remember a good stylist better than, say, high school boyfriends. (True story – my high school boyfriend’s last name was the French word for something else, and the other day I was trying to see if he’d gotten ugly because dear lord all the rest of my ex boyfriends (Crockett excluded, handsome as ever) have gotten ugly (or they always were? and I just didn’t used to be shallow?) and I googled his name with the English translation for like ten minutes before I realized what the problem was.) She was back in Boulder, so I made an appointment and went. It was right before we went to San Francisco.

Unwashed, unbrushed, amazing.

Then she went and had a baby and stopped working for awhile (and one million congratulations to her for that).

So I waited, and grew it all long, and went to a stylist a friend recommended and medium loathed the outcome, and occasionally googled.

And then.

Unmade up. Super pleased.

Just cut, unmade up, super pleased.

She’s back.

You guys, I don’t know how to explain how important this is. Everyone’s hair is a pain in the ass, and everyone should have a stylist who understands the ways in which that pain exists.

High school boyfriends come and go (patently untrue once high school is over unless you are an adult making EXCEPTIONALLY poor choices but just let me say this) but a stylist who understands your hair and that you like it to be a-little-punk-a-little-shaggy-but-never-ever-like-the-mom-from-the-brady-bunch is forever.