My first gray hairs were cause for celebration. My mother, politically liberal, but parentally strict, had forbidden me from coloring my hair “until you start going gray.” So when, at 14, I was able to show her a few silver hairs buried in my thick black mop, I was overjoyed. And, God bless her, she took me straight to the store for the box of burgundy dye that was the obsession of adolescent girls (thanks to Angela on “My So Called Life” of course). By the end of high school, I had grown out a Bonnie Raitt-like gray streak on one side. Keep reading »
Whenever I get on Facebook I feel depressed. I seem to spend most of my time untagging myself in pictures so my third grade boyfriend doesn’t see me looking like I have four chins and a lazy eye. To make matters worse, it seems everybody else is beautiful, photogenic and having The Best Time Ever. Given that I’m generally having a decent time and am at least moderately attractive, I believe the problem is the pictures.
Upon closer examination, most photogenic people (by that I mean anyone under 25) have a sort of signature look, the pose they do in every picture—whether it’s on The Great Wall or at their grandmother’s house—that they know makes them look fabulous.
I have no look. I have tried to create one, but I just end up looking pained. I figure it’s time to go the experts… Keep reading »