reindeer pants

Half hoping for a round of applause because I’ve finally remembered to apply my deodorant before putting on my shirt, I'm about to celebrate successfully painting on my liquid liner when I stop. I’m tired of doing my makeup, yet I always do it before I leave the house. Every day. Sometimes even when I stay in. What am I doing?

We put on makeup, do our hair and make sure that our pants don’t make us look like we’ve just scotch taped that donut (OK, two donuts) we had yesterday to our butts. We pluck, pencil, suck in and spray until we don’t even know why we do it.

This morning I had to stop and ask myself who it is for. Who am I so intent on impressing that I wake up a full two hours before work in order to get ready? For my neighbor who is I sometimes say hello to if he is walking his pug when I leave my apartment in the morning? The Starbucks barista who I unabashedly flirt with over my eight dollar grande, no whip, non-fat vanilla latte? Do I seriously think that a piece of hair out of place is going to make a difference? Yeah, I’m sure he thinks, she wore THOSE earrings with THAT shirt? Now I can never ask her out.

Recently, I was unexpectedly visited by this guy. I answer the door, zero makeup save the remnants of mascara smudged into shadows ‘neath my eyes, hair in what was once a ponytail, now a half-hearted attempt to keep in out of my face, wearing none other than my most comfortable reindeer pajama pants. Reindeer for goodness sake—white ones splayed across a background of crimson.

Holy crap, I think, I’m a mess. All my carefully chosen outfits lay just outside my reach in the other room. My makeup taunts me from its hiding place. However, as I—unadorned—sit there, it becomes increasingly obvious that he is not put off by my disastrous state at all. He takes no notice. Well, almost none. Nice pants he smirks. Smart alec.

Reindeer pants aside, he has not noticed nor does he care one iota about the fact that my hair could nest a small family of birds, that my usual rosy cheeks haven’t yet been dusted on. For all the time they spend talking about hot girls, they really could care less about your lipstick. He cares about your lips, my friend--and perhaps the flavor of your chapstick.

What a guy does notice is how you feel about yourself. All a girl needs to do is walk into a room to get a guy’s attention. The question is: how are you going to keep it once you’ve gotten it? How is he going to know that he’s an idiot if he walks away without talking to you? Smile at him. Look him in the eye. Don’t stare him down, but let him know you are there. Self-confidence is sexy ladies. Trust me on this one. I don’t have thighs the size of Popsicle sticks or waist length Shakira hair to work with. But I’ve got the confidence to know that he will notice me. And if he asks to buy me a cup of coffee, fantastic. If not, well, I’ve lost absolutely nothing.

So, where does that leave me? Ah, yes, in front of my mirror. Will I continue to spend a full hour in front it every morning? Absolutely. But you can be sure it’s not for him. I do it for me. I will be neat, clean and preferably ironed. I am aware that in my every day interactions, people look at me, and when they look, I want them to see the best version of me possible. I’m not seeking to transform myself daily into America’s Next Top Model, but in order for them to see me at my best, I have to feel my best. Making sure I have mascara on and my hair combed helps. And one day, he will see me with no makeup on and if he’s lucky enough, I won’t even care.