I got new glasses last week. Not only were the old wire frames a little outdated, but the lenses were so scratched up that they made everything look a bit hazy and out-of-focus, which is a bit counter-productive considering that's the exact problem glasses are meant to correct. Since I am a creature of habit and rarely a quick study, however, I seemed unable to remember that the scratches were the problem, and instead was continually thinking I had a smudge of some sort to rub off. In case you're wondering, removing your glasses and polishing them with the edge of your shirt more than five times in the span of one brief conversation does, in fact, make people look at you as though you've just pulled a Melvin Udall and flipped the light switch 17 times in rapid succession. I may have my own set of personality quirks, but engaging in bizarrely repetitive behaviors as a means of warding off mental demons really isn't one of them. Not that I know of, anyway. Therefore, the old glasses had to go.
In addition to crystal clear and smudge-free lenses, my new glasses have those slightly thicker, plastic, tortoise shell frames that are so popular among geeky-chic bookish types (and anyone who wants to look like a geeky-chic bookish type). Tina Fey wears them. My friend Angela wears them. Even Gisele Bundchen in The Devil Wears Prada wore them.
You know who else wore them, though? Rachael Leigh Cook as Laney Boggs in She's All That. As has every other supposedly homely girl in every movie that follows that same ugly-duckling-turns-fabulous-hottie story line. It's a formula that's so well known, it was the major plot of the parody film Not Another Teen Movie a few years back. "Ugh; not her," the stereotypically hot guy's friend scoffs. "She's got glasses. And a ponytail!"
I didn't even remember that I'd actually seen that movie, until I was pulling my hair into a ponytail after work tonight and that line popped into my head. It was the end of the day, so my makeup was nearly worn off, and I'd already changed into my yoga pants and a sloppy gray sweatshirt. As I pulled my hair through the elastic band the last time and let the ponytail drop onto my neck, I realized I'd just given myself a reverse makeover. I looked pretty much like the homely girl in all of those movies before everyone realizes that she's gorgeous.
Of course, this realization would be slightly less disheartening if I actually looked anything like the real Rachael Leigh Cook when I remove the glasses and let my hair down. But I figured I probably shouldn't let that get to me too much. I decided I was being ridiculous and I looked, more or less, just fine. Fine enough for yoga, anyway. That was, until Amy and I decided to hit an area coffee shop after class. Walking from my car towards the building, I looked down at the haphazard and anything-but-stylish outfit I'd assembled: blue tank top, gray hoodie, and baggy polar fleece, accompanied by cropped black yoga pants, black biker-style Sketchers, and, the real selling point of the ensemble, little white ankle socks. Yes, I went out in public in black capri-length pants, black shoes, and white socks. I am a dork. Freddie Prinze Jr. will never ask me to the prom at this rate.