Ambush Makeovers

I remember watching a television talk show where a friend could recommend a makeover for someone that they thought was deserving. On this particular show ( I think it was Oprah) the chosen person was a police officer from a small town. The woman was plain—she wore no makeup and wore her hair simply tied in a low pony tail. I assume her plain appearance allowed the law and order-type work uniform to speak for itself. But the friend thought she saw a glamorous person hiding underneath. So the show ambushed the woman on a secret camera and then dragged her into the studio for a transformation.

And once the makeover was complete the show viewed a split screen of the before and after. The newly made-over woman looked like an entirely different person. But when the   woman walked over to greet the television host the woman’s gait was awkward. From the other side of the television screen the audience could feel the woman’s unease. Because although the woman looked ever so glamorous in her cut and highlighted hair, false eyelashes, pencil skirt and high heels, it didn’t represent who the woman was. And when the host asked the woman if she liked the transformation the woman said Oh yes!—but it was clear she was lying to be polite and not seem ungrateful. There was no doubt that when the woman got back home she planned on washing her face and hair, abandoning the heels, and redressing in more comfortable clothing. She did not wish to look like Heather Locklear in a police uniform.

In my platform playing days I often got to the courts early in the morning—straight from dropping my girls off at school. I never wore make up or did my hair since I was only going to get sweaty anyway and would have to go home immediately afterwards to take a shower. But I was always clean, brushed and deodorized—acceptable enough I thought for a game of platform tennis.

A player from an upper level team, seeing me come off the courts after I had finished playing sped over to me and said with horror  Is that yesterday’s mascara under your eyes? And it most certainly was—there is always a residual even after you wash your face. So she quickly handed me a tissue to wipe away the sweat diluted 24 hr old blackness. And then she said I can’t believe you went out of the house looking like that-- Let me fix you. And then she pulled a lip plumping lipstick with bee venom in it from her Louis Vuitton handbag and attacked my lips before I could thwart her advances. My lips then expanded like two Bridgestone tires and were so numb that I could have received stitches and felt nothing. And then she stepped back and said Now you look better. But I doubted it. I felt ridiculous. Yet because I knew she meant no harm and genuinely thought my appearance was improved I simply said thank you.

Despite my enjoyment of fashionable clothing and makeup I believe it has its place. Sometimes your appearance is a when in Rome do as the Romans do situation. It is not necessary or even appropriate to be glamorous at all times. In fact sometimes being glamorous is a Glamour magazine “don’t”---like when you are playing sports or chasing down “perps.” Sometimes it is okay for your sports attire or uniform to do all the talking for you. Enhancing your looks detracts from your purpose. A lack of glamour provides a clean canvas for the job at hand. And Drones need not wear bee venom—bee venom is for queens only.