De Ce Monde Secret de l’ Amelie Americaine

Natalie was the name of a very helpful salesperson who spent the better part of an afternoon unlocking the cabinet that stored each pair of glasses, and patiently handed them over to be tried on. She had tact and knew how to gracefully inform me which pair looked right for the shape of my face, and which ones were not so hot. Had it not been for her, I would have walked out with the first frames I tried on. Many close calls and bad choices were averted.

Some of the glasses were just plain funny looking. There was one pair of Chanel frames with a tiny plastic flower perched on the corner. I looked like my mother’s elementary school picture from the 1960’s.

“You look so INNOCENT!” Natalie cooed and giggled.

“I also look like a thirteen year old. No one will take me seriously.” I retorted. It’s bad enough that I’m petite and blond, and have a round, heart shaped face, normally associated with adolescents and toddlers. I wasn’t going to take the chance of being mistaken as someone who belonged to the daily school tour that came into the studio to have their picture taken behind the evening anchor’s desk.

She handed me another pair that had the right shape, but there was a very conspicuous, gold, designer logo on the side, along with some sparkling bling bling.

“I work in newsroom” I stated flatly,”Think classic and black.” Since getting a full-time position at a network, what some might call a “normal” job and a weekly paycheck, I’ve become a little more conservative in dress. I can still wear jeans, as long as those jeans are coupled with a pair of Tod’s and a silk shirt. My hair is pressed. My makeup is done. I can still be myself, but I must be far more put together, than my standard, jeans out of the laundry and a semi-clean t-shirt, hair in a pony tail, production look from just a year ago.

She dutifully continued to hand me frames for over an hour until we both agreed upon a square shaped, black, frame with a small logo on the side. It said everything I needed it to. Namely, the wearer of these glasses is smart yet feminine, insightful but not a know it all, polished, but not a snob. Take her seriously, pay her well, and look into her eyes, not her…. You get the picture.

After being the grateful recipient of Natalie’s fashion advice. I came to the conclusion that I fail, on a regular basis to see myself clearly. Or at least I’ve failed to successfully exude an image that translates to the outside world. I’ve had bad hair cuts aggravated by home perms and red hair dye. I’ve paired florescent green tights with a light grey mini-skirt. I was chased down Astor Place by a male heckler for that one. And I’ve worn clothes that were either too baggy, tight, or see through, all without knowing the offense I was creating when I sported the look.

No one knows what to do with me because the painful truth is I’ve never gotten it “quite right”. The clothes that were great six months ago, have a tendency to morph overnight in my closet into scary creatures that threatened to embarrass, constrict, and fall apart at a moment’s notice. And so I stand with with some reserve and trepidation in front of my closet each morning, praying to the goddess of good taste, to guide my hand.

It’s difficult to match the inside, how I feel, and want to express myself, with the outside image that the world sees. I’m always learning the nuances of this art. My newest motto: start with the classics, get comfortable in your own skin, and hope, maybe, with good glasses, I’ll finally be able see myself a little more clearly.

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