They Say Beauty is an Inside Job

My first major makeover was in the spring of my senior year of high school.  I had been growing out my hair for months – maybe years – and I was tired of the whole bangs-and-pony-tail look that I sported. I admitted as much to the man who styled my hair and he invited me to be a part of a makeover show.

Let me preface this next part by saying that my stylist worked in the mall. His invite included a new outfit, a makeover at Merle Norman and a stylish new cut all in the middle of Wilmington’s Independence Mall. I was flattered and probably accepted immediately.

Let me also say that my luck in said mall was not the best. When I was thirteen, my birthday wish was to have my ears pierced. My entourage: Mama, Anna, Tina and Kristen all came at the Rings & Things – an ‘80s version of Claires; complete with orange shag carpet and mirrors lining the ceiling. It was on the ring of stores around the very middle of the mall near ‘the Hardee’s entrance’. It just so happened that anybody in the mall could watch the torture in the piercing chair as they walked by. It was not surprising that we were joined by our other friends, Lisa, Julie and Sherry Capell as they were doing some back-to-school shopping.

I’m not big on needles and that includes the very large nail gun that was/is used to pierce ears. I picked out my brand new golden bead earrings (that matched my add-a-bead necklace), sat in the chair at the front of the store and waited as the woman prepped the aforementioned nail gun. She marked both of my ears with green sharpie ink – making sure they were even holes. She sanitized the earrings. She aimed. She fired. She shot.

I was fine, really, I was. Until I heard my mother say, QUICK! Do the other one. Now! Now! Then, the world kind of got fuzzy as the girl quickly reloaded and shot through the green ink in the other ear. Before I knew it, I was on the floor of Rings & Things being hugged by orange shag carpet and watching myself in the mirrors above. I did not look well. Julie’s face came into view as she started singing the Kermit the Frog hit “It’s Not Easy Being Green”.

In an attempt to get me out of there, the torturer suggested that I get some fresh air. I don’t remember how I got outside but I soon found myself sitting on the curb outside of the Hardee’s entrance under an umbrella in the rain (sounds like a good country song, but wait, it gets better). There was a security guard hovering above me, talking to Mama. “Ma’am, I’m gonna have to get your name and number. There was a little ole lady who stopped and slipped onaccounta your daughter and she might sue the mall.” Turns out I puked in a similar shade of the orange shag carpet in the middle of the mall.

On the Saturday morning of my big makeover event, I gathered my entourage: Mama, Shelley, Anna, Nanny and my boyfriend, Pete.  I'm pretty sure the Capells showed, too. I’m sure they expected the same show that they got when I got my ears pierced! 

I can’t remember now where I shopped for my makeover outfit. I remember it being VERY preppy. Blue linen shorts,hurauche sandals and a crisp white blouse that was dotted with bright blue whales. I felt very buttoned up and the shorts were high-risers (fastened above my belly-button with pleats). I was generally well-dressed at school, but preferred tee shirts and Umbros. At the time, the fashion was to wear Umbros with boxer shorts underneath. The boxers were always color-coordinated with the Umbros with just a fraction of an inch hanging out the bottom and the top.

My next stop was Merle Norman. My makeup was classic 1989: blue eyeliner, blue eye shadow. I thought I looked ravishing.....and hey, it matched my whale of an outfit.

The final touch was my hair. I met my stylist (I want to say Jonathan or Benjamin) at his booth in the salon. He washed and toweled my hair and we walked to the center court of the mall. Today's court is filled with a carousel but, back then, it was a tiled penny pond with a waterfall and as a backdrop. He sat me down in the chair, covered me with the cape and began to clip. And cut. And snip. And comb. And cut some more. 
I think he clipped about four inches off so that my hair fell to my chin. He teased the sides and back and gave me wispy bangs (as opposed to the all-one-length barrel-curled version that I rocked for three years of high school). And, as the hair fell all around me, I felt myself fighting the tears that wanted to fall down my face. There is something heart-breaking about losing your hair as a teenager in the South - even when you choose to do it.

The crazy thing was that I couldn't see a thing! There were no mirrors for the hair or the outfit or the makeup - so I couldn't see it all together. As the emcee announced my name, I stood up and gave a shy little wave.  Pete took my picture with my stylist and I gave a stoic little smile. Mama thanked Benjamin or Jonathon or whatever his name was and we returned the outfit to the store.