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February 17, 2005
You Vamp!
I suppose there are bigger problems in the world (and Lord knows I’ve had my share), but I am having a fashion crisis, and instead of worrying about Iraq, Finn’s inability to pass his 9’s in the Multiplication Mad Minute, or the weird bumps on Drew’s chest, I am focusing on another dilemma.
Bill and I are going to New Orleans this weekend with nine other couples to celebrate a friend’s 40th birthday. I’ve got my clothes picked out and have scheduled a highlight, manicure and pedicure. On my lunch break, I stopped by a boutique to get a bottle of my favorite nail polish: Chanel Vamp.
It’s the most wonderful color nail polish ever invented: a rich dark chocolaty-red, almost black, and I have been wearing it since the mid-90’s. I started wearing it before anyone else in the tiny kingdom, and my mother was appalled. She told me I looked like Dracula, not a businesslike lawyer or a nurturing mother. I ignored her. I have great fingernails and I keep them short and manicured. That way people can focus on my hands, not my teeny tiny titties.
Soon after I started wearing it, Chanel’s Vamp polish became all the rage, and I was the cool trendsetter. I even found a wonderful bargain substitute for Vamp: Revlon’s Vixen. But this weekend there will be lots of people to impress, and it’s almost my birthday, so I decided to treat myself to a bottle of the real thing.
A handsome man named Paolo was working the counter at the boutique. “I need some Vamp,” I announced.
Paolo sucked in his breath and looked at my nails, which are currently Vixen with a few chips. “Let me see if we have some.”
He rummaged through a drawer and then said,”No, honey. We’re all out. You know Vamp’s been discontinued.” He looked at my nails disapprovingly.
“What?” I yelped. My voice echoed through the store.
“Darling, Vamp is over,” Paolo said dramatically. “O-V-E-R. It’s been over for years. Everyone’s doing the nude nail, or the french manicure. See?” He pointed to the nail polish display. There were testers of all kinds of light colors that ranged from pale white to pale pink to pale tan. There was also one tester left of Vamp. The other testers had been used, but the Vamp was pristine. Paolo saw me looking at it.
“Look,” he said. “No one has touched that bottle.”
Down deep, I knew Vamp wasn’t as hot as it had been. Every week I pore over the pages of my US Weekly. It has been a long time since a celebrity on the red carpet has had colored nails, but no one had declared that Vamp was officially “OVER” except for Paolo. Still, if it were really hot, US Weekly would be full of pictures of celebrities with Vamp nails.
I picked up a bottle of Beige Naturel and held it up to my hand. “This looks awful,” I said.
“Ooh, it does,” Paolo said. He picked up Pink Mink, Natural Pink and Jasmin and held them up against my nails.
“These are all going to be very hard for you to wear, since you’re a Vamp girl,” he said. “But you’ve got to pick one. You can’t do Vamp. It’s toast. Finito.”
I stared at him in disbelief. Paolo was essentially forbidding me to wear Vamp. His message was clear.
“Paolo, please,” I begged. “Look how great it looks with my skin and my wedding ring.”
He examined my hands critically. “Honey, I see. In its heyday, you could wear Vamp better than most. Too bad it’s over.”
“Vamp’s my THING,” I said, pleading. “It’s what I wear. We have a long history.”
“Too long,” Paolo commented. “You pick. I say you do the Pink Mink.”
I picked up a bottle of it and looked at it hopelessly. “I don’t think I can do it, Paolo,” I said.
“Oh, darling, you can do it. It won’t be easy, but you’ve got to suck it up,” Paolo said.
“But other people have their things,” I pointed out. “Elton John has his glasses.”
“Honey, Elton started wearing contacts years ago,” Paolo said.
“Well, Rod Stewart has that hair. That’s his thing. And Prince always wears purple. He’s worn it for decades,” I said.
“And Prince and Rod Stewart are style setters? No way, honey. You’ve got to get a new thing. You don’t want to be granny with her beehive hairdo.”
I didn’t really think that was a fair comparison. Beehives have never been trendy in my lifetime.
“Look, darling, you go to the nail salon and try on some lighter shades and see what you like. It won’t be so bad. You owe it to yourself. You can’t be fabulous everywhere else and have the dark nails. It’s like dragging toilet paper on your shoe.” Paolo turned away and started rearranging the fragrances.
I put down the Pink Mink and looked at the Vamp tester. Paolo must have felt sorry for me, because he took out the Vamp and handed it to me. “You can put it under your pillow, honey, but don’t put it on your nails,” he said. “Come back when you’re ready for Jasmin!”
I know you’re thinking this is a lot of ink and energy devoted to a bottle of nail polish. But really, to me, it’s about much more than that. I have to do something to keep myself from becoming just another minivan driving soccer mom. I’m cooler than that. I desperately need the minivan, and I have to carpool to practice, but I don’t have to conform.
And until now, my Vamp nails have been a way to express my individuality. They scream: “Don’t screw with me! I may be a mom, but I still subscribe to Rolling Stone! I read great books! I cook like a big city chef! I know the lyrics to every No Doubt song! I wear miniskirts to the baseball field! I’ll eat fried octopus! I look hot in a pair of Gap Long and Lean jeans! I just might have a hidden tattoo!”
At least, that’s what they say to me. To Paolo, apparently they scream, “Here comes granny in her beehive hairdo!”
That night, as I was tucking Porter in bed, he snuggled down with Panda Bear, his rocket and my red turtleneck, which I would reclaim and wear if he didn’t love it so much.
Then it occurred to me that while Porter had to give up Naked Baby, he didn’t have to give up all his bedtime companions. Maybe I didn’t have to totally give up my thing, either. Surely there was something between Vamp and Beige that would satisfy both Paolo and me.
I went early for my manicure so I could test a few shades while I was waiting. Melon of Troy was too orange. Alpine Snow was invisible. Aphrodite’s Pink Nightie, despite its racy name, was geriatric. Then a great red caught my eye. If you were comparing nail polish to food, Vamp would be a Hershey Bar, and this color was more like a red hot. It certainly was not the wimpy marshmallow color Paolo was pushing, but it was many shades lighter than Vamp.
I turned over the bottle and read the name: “I’m Not Really A Waitress.” I started trembling– not too long ago, some magazine (maybe even US Weekly!) had decreed that “I’m Not Really a Waitress” was a classic shade. “Classic” means it never goes out of style, and even Paolo couldn’t argue with that.
So I am writing with “I’m Not Really a Waitress” on my nails now. It’s a small concession, but a concession nonetheless. These nails may not shout as loudly, but they still proclaim: “I might be a mom and a lawyer now, but I once was a waitress, so I know the importance of tipping! I expect good customer service, and I send beautifully crafted complaint letters when I don’t get it! I read the New Yorker every week! My husband and I have a passionate relationship! I’m a woman with blue values in a red state!”
Porter had a period of adjustment after Naked Baby’s kidnapping. Like Porter, I’m still getting used to the change. So far I like it. Dare I say it? It’s my new thing.
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February 19th, 2008 at 9:56 am, My Tiny Kingdom » Hey! You Do Too Much! Says:
[...] years ago in My Tiny Kingdom: You Vamp! Posted by Anne Glamore @ 9:56 am • Those Crazy Kids, Deep Thoughts, Frolic and Detour: [...]