Tunesday : You're So Vain

You're So Vain

(Written and Performed by Carly Simon)

You walked into the party
Like you were walking on a yacht
Your hat strategically dipped below one eye
Your scarf, it was apricot
You had one eye on the mirror
As you watched yourself gavotte
And all the girls dreamed that they'd be your partner
They'd be your partner, and

You're so vain
You probably think this song is about you
You're so vain, 
I'll bet you think this song is about you
Don't you?
Don't you?

Oh, you had me several years ago
When I was still quite naive
Well, you said that we made such a pretty pair
And that you would never leave
But you gave away the things you loved
And one of them was me
I had some dreams, they were clouds in my coffee
Clouds in my coffee, and

You're so vain
You probably think this song is about you
You're so vain, you're so vain
I'll bet you think this song is about you
Don't you? 
Don't you?

Well I hear you went to Saratoga
And your horse, naturally, won
Then you flew your Learjet up to Nova Scotia
To see the total eclipse of the sun
Well, you're where you should be all the time
And when you're not, you're with some underworld spy
Or the wife of a close friend, 
Wife of a close friend, and

You're so vain
You probably think this song is about you
You're so vain, you're so vain
I'll bet you think this song is about you
Don't you?
Don't you?

I don't know why it's so hard for me to get a haircut - or why it seems so easy for everyone else - and while I'd generally like to look more polished than I do, just going with the crazy that grows out of my head is the path of least resistance, and that's what I tend to go with. This past weekend - after not having had my hair cut for fourteen months, and with a gala in Toronto to attend - I took a chance on a new salon, and once again, it was just so hard. I've written before about haircuts and spa days that made me cry or sigh in frustration, and all I can conclude is that I'm being punished for vanity; yet, I still walked into that party like I was walking on a yacht (I probably thought that song was about me).

To be more specific: It was about two years ago that I bought a Groupon for some highlights and a cut - a hairdresser a couple of years before that told me that highlights would disguise my few grey strands, and while I didn't think I would care about the grey, I kind of did a couple of years later - and my first experience with the highlights was a good one. The few blonde strands that she put in were subtle enough that Dave didn't even notice them until his sister pointed them out days later. I'd call that a success. And then, pure vanity, I had those highlights refreshed before we went to Paris for my fiftieth birthday. I had to make my appointment with a different stylist at the salon for that hairdo, and while she ended up putting in way more strands of blonde that time (maybe because it wasn't a Groupon?), it still looked kind of nice, if not at all natural.

Then that salon moved locations - which wasn't a problem for my mother-in-law, whom I had hooked up with this second stylist - but when I tried to call Diane to get another cut and the highlights refreshed before Christmas, I got a complete runaround from the new salon: Diane doesn't keep her book here, you'll need to call her cell; which I did, but Diane didn't call back right away, and when she did, I was working, and when I called her again, I got the voicemail, and she didn't respond to my text, and I gave up. 

So for the gala, I made an appointment with a salon/spa that advertise themselves as "highlights experts", and as nice as the stylist was, I don't think she really got what I wanted from her. One of the first things she asked is if I ever have my hair straightened for these events and I said that while I have before, I never feel like myself with straight hair, "I'm from the eighties. I like big rock star hair." So she said, "How about I give you big loopy curls?" and I said, "Sure. Sounds good." But when she was done and I was looking into the mirror and saw basically straight hair that was more blonde than my natural red (should I have realised that that was a natural consequence of putting in highlights for the third time in two years, or did she go overboard?), I was too stunned to even object. I believe I said, "Well, that is interesting."

When I got home, Mallory took one look at me and said, "I can fix that." And I said, "It is what it is." And since Mal had just come away from the musical - for which she had enjoyed doing people's stage makeup - she talked me into letting her giving me a glammed-up look. Now, I know nothing about contouring and highlighting and whatnot - and Mal has all of that equipment in her makeup bag and could host her own tutorials with expertise - but when I saw myself in the mirror, I felt a bit like a drag queen (which Mal said is probably because I've only seen real glam makeup on drag queens, lol), and once again, I just felt defeated by another attempt at satisfying my vanity: I may have walked into that party like I was walking on a yacht, but I felt like a bit of a twit. Now, everyone told me how good I looked - and especially after having shed no small bit of weight with the boot camp - but I was embarrassed by how much effort it looked like I had gone to because that's just not me; I don't even know how to gavotte.

As for the gala itself: it was fine. Dave had to shmooze his customers, like always, and I had to sit through a boring dinner, talking to these people I see once a year. They changed the format this year, and instead of having a band come out on stage after the meal, people could either stay in their seats and watch them perform on jumbo screens or go out to the main ballroom and stand through the show. I don't like crowds and people enough to want to stand among them for however long, but Dave was excited to go stageside - and I told him to go ahead; I'd stay and watch from my seat. What I didn't realise is that very few people stayed in the dining room - I was the only party pooper from our table - so I quickly moved to a different table with some of Dave's older coworkers, so as not to look like a complete sociopath. We sat and chatted through the Barenaked Ladies' performance, but even these people wanted to go to the other room when Bryan Adams started, so I went out too - and was soon left standing by myself. For his two hour show, I stood in my fancy hair and dress and makeup and fake-smiled in the direction of the stage so no one would know how miserable I felt. Of course Dave didn't know I was alone, but it sure weren't fun. And that's what I get for trying.