Lush None of Your Beeswax - On my first (and only) trip to Aspen, I paid my first (and only) visit [...]]]> Earlier this week, the writers at No More Dirty Looks reviewed five “clean” balms… all of which contained beeswax. Vegans of the world, I submit these five lip balms for your consideration:

Lush None of Your Beeswax - On my first (and only) trip to Aspen, I paid my first (and only) visit to Lush. This creamy, lemony lip balm was the one thing in Lush (or in Aspen, for that matter) I could afford. Throwing down $6.95 for a 10 gram tin sounds expensive, but it’s more than twice the product you’d get in a standard tube— and vegan lip balm is seldom cheap. Cost aside, the one I bought was so gritty that I demoted it to “cuticle balm.” 10 grams of disappointment.

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Merry Hempsters Vegan Lip Balms- A light, smooth, widely available lip balm in a variety of pleasant flavors. But boy howdy, do I hate that logo. Be aware Merry Hempsters also sells beeswax balms, so double-check the label before you buy. Sold in 4g tubes, $2.99.

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Everyday Minerals High Tea Traders – If there’s anything I like less than the Merry Hempsters logo, it might be this label’s headband-sporting pseudo-hippie riding an elephant. Does this make me a snob? At any rate, it’s a good balm— slightly creamy but still light, with a sweet, non-cloying fragrance. Since Everyday Minerals isn’t offering this now, there’s little point in discussing it. Moving on!

Hurraw! Balm – $3.79 for 4.3 grams. Outstanding flavor selection (Almond! Licorice! Root beer!), cute packaging and pocket-friendly oval tubes. These are lightweight balms, not the thick, buttery kind. Great for warm weather or  lips that aren’t chapped, but I needed something thicker mid-winter. The Black Cherry balm is tinted; I sometimes wear it as blush.

Before I ever considered veganism, my favorite lip balm was that ubiquitous Burt’s Bees, its thick, minty goodness housed in a familiar yellow tube. Once my flirtation with veganism began, I worried I’d never find a vegan lip balm that satisfying, that I’d never slather my mouth with a rich, balmy balm again.

Readers, I feared in vain. Lo!

Soothing Touch – Vegan balms with that thick, comforting texture I’d missed. They feel so good. The vegan options are Lemon Cardamom, Vanilla Chai, and Vegan Unscented. I can personally vouch for Lemon Cardamom and Vanilla Chai, both of which are excellent. I bought mine in Oregon, about $3.80 for a chubby 7 gram tube of 70% organic wonder. I can only find these by the case online, so check your hippie mart or co-op for tubes sold individually.

Currently, the Soothing Touch Lemon Cardamom is my favorite lip balm… but I’m saving all my empty tubes for future DIY endeavors.

Do you have a favorite vegan lip balm? Tried any total flops? Do tell!

(At the end of a long day, it’s nice to throw off your clothes, drop your scythe, and lounge on a mountaintop alter with your peacock. Image source.)

The very best thing about blogging is getting to know fantastic people. On November 11, 2006, I posted the following words to [...]]]>

(At the end of a long day, it’s nice to throw off your clothes, drop your scythe, and lounge on a mountaintop alter with your peacock. Image source.)

The very best thing about blogging is getting to know fantastic people. On November 11, 2006, I posted the following words to Myspace. Somehow, Jen happened upon them. We started a correspondence, and soon became NHB friends and two of the world’s most prolific email composers. Soon we branched into phone calls snail mail, too, discussing everything from children to sex to ‘what to do when you lose your religion.’

Here’s the post that introduced me to Jen. It’s not great writing, but it launched a truly great friendship:

I’ve been thinking a lot about Beauty lately. For years, if you want the truth, I seldom last an hour without stopping to ponder something vapid and pointless. I collect books about hair, makeup, clothing, charm and style… I hate to admit to it.

I crave beauty in all things. Once, as I was rambling about how pretty giraffes are, Gregory interrupted to say, “With you, everything has to be pretty.” It stung a little, but I couldn’t argue. I want beauty in everything. Friends, pets, dishes, makeup compacts, writing implements, fruits and veggies…

When people don’t find me attractive, it hurts my feelings to be written off and ignored because of my face. I hate to wonder who could learn to love me if I were prettier, more polished, more graceful. I wonder who could mistake a fancy face for a good heart.

When people DO find me attractive, it hurts my feelings to be praised and envied because of my genes. It scares me to think of who’s imagined they loved me, when really I just suited their image, their ideals. I wonder who wouldn’t want to be seen with me if I went bald, put on weight, dressed differently, etc..

Compliments don’t make me feel more secure, they make me more sure that I’ll disappoint people, that one day they’ll all look at me and say, “Yeesh, what did I see in her?!”

Occasionally, friends or strangers stop me on the street to tell me how much they admire my looks. In a way, it surprises me. I seldom feel appealing, let alone beautiful; I’m scruffy, acne-ridden, poorly dressed, and rarely make much effort to look better. I eat too much. My hair hates me. I can name at least twenty things about my face and body that shame me and make me uncomfortable in public settings.

But in a way, I’ve come to expect the praise. I’ve been getting these weird compliments for so long, I’m beginning to accept the idea that other humans see something in me, heaven knows what.

Spending my days on campus makes the problem better and worse: there are literally thousands of prettier women on campus, which keeps me grounded in reality and grateful for the friends who love my soul. But… being surrounded by thousands of pretty women all day makes me even less secure, I always want to look like them, with their sleek, shining hair, amazing bodies and glorious clothes. I feel frumpy, unkempt. Unlovable.

Once, I had a crush on a very, very striking Italian named Allessandro. He wasn’t classically handsome, but he was so striking… I was always nervous around him, I could hardly breathe. It made my heart ache to realize that he’d never even notice a clunky, messy thing like me. But maybe Allessandro felt the way I have, afraid of people only loving his face and form. Who knows? I’d have asked him, but I couldn’t breathe.

Friends have been hounding me for months to put up new Myspace pictures, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Posting pictures invites more scrutiny, more room to be hit on or written off entirely.

I wish beauty didn’t matter. I wish we didn’t spend zillions of dollars trying to change ourselves. I wish eating disorders didn’t exist, that women weren’t judged so harshly for the way they/we look.

I wish I could take each of my friends aside for ten minutes and tell them how beautiful they are to me, every little detail that makes them gorgeous. I know so many people who can’t see how priceless they are, can’t see the way they sparkle when they laugh, all their adorable expressions and mannerisms, the way their eyes light up and their cheeks flush when they’re talking passionately. I wish they could see themselves the way I see them. But then, that would be placing too much importance on beauty again. Sigh.

Blah, blah blahhh….. Please note that this isn’t a plea for flattery. I don’t want people writing to me and saying, “Guurl, dont you worry any about bein pretty, your beautful! ttyl!” The point is… … I just wish no one cared about my face or form, and that I didn’t care about theirs.

IMPORTANT EDITOR’S NOTE: The instant after I posted this blog, I got a message from a stranger. Here are his exact words: “Hi how are you doing day? Sorry to bother you but i was amazed at your beauty!!!! Would you care to chat a little bit?” His comedic timing is flawless.

(Happy January, Jen! I’d hoped to publish this on your birthday. Close enough for horseshoes?)

My hair is gone, suddenly. I’m adjusting to some changes:

1) Everyone in the world wants to to rub my head. On one hand, I love love love [...]]]> (A flashback to May 4, 2007, two days after my first ever buzz cut. Classy, Myspace-style photo was taken immediately after the haircut.)

My hair is gone, suddenly. I’m adjusting to some changes:

1) Everyone in the world wants to to rub my head. On one hand, I love love love this; I’m a touchy-feely female—but single+introverted, and therefore often craving the human touch. (Note that touch deprivation is a recognized phenomenon, common among those with herpes. It’s not just me, honest!)
On the other hand, being petted makes me feel like a dog. I halfway expect people to stratch behind my ears.
Back to the first hand, I like having people rub my head; it’s fun to see grown-ups (including some university staff and faculty members) transformed into giddy little kids, which they invariably are when they play with my hair/head.

2) None of my clothes look right with my scalp. Earrings look worse

3) Waking up looking like a different person is deeply disturbing. My short term memory is lousy, so I FORGET the baldness at least ten times a day…. I only remember when people gawk at me. Every time I walk past a mirror, I have a heart attack. When I see myself in the morning, I feel sorry for that boy in the mirror with acne and sad eyes.

4) When I’m not feeling like a sad little boy, I feel gorgeous. THIS is a huge adjustment, as I rarely even feel cute, let alone pretty. Gorgeous is more than a little out of the question.
But now I have no hair! There’s nothing to hide behind! I’m twice as naked as most naked people… and it looks nice. Even when I look like a little boy, he looks like a sweet, thoughtful boy. That’s got to be worth something.

5) Getting ready in the morning is a breeze. Priceless.

6) I spend a lot of time noticing hair, still, how much it defines a person’s image. It’s creepy that one aspect of your whole persona can say sooo much about you. I’m not sure what the suedehead look says about me yet. I’m dressing very carefully until I figure it out.

7) Interesting discovery: when I bike, the wind in my hair tickles my head. It feels craaaaazy.

I have to say… I haven’t gotten used to this yet. I spend hours a day running my hand over my head, sprinting to the nearest mirror to see if the sad boy or the model will be staring back at me, gawking at my profile pictures over and over again, trying to reconcile the smooth, rounded head in the photos with the one I live inside….

About the ducking and dodging— several times, friends have come up to give me hugs, and I don’t realize they’re coming for a hug—- I assume they’re coming to feel my head ( like everyone does), so I duck my head down. Then they don’t know what to make of it. Only minutes later will I realize what happened…

(Persis Khambatta as Lt. Ilia. Clearly not me.)

This will sound hopelessly obsessive, but it’s the truth: lately, I have found hair repulsive. Only one girl out of every 20 has hair that’s pretty enough to impress me, [...]]]> (Some internal pro vs. con debating, originally posted 5:19 PM Tuesday, May 1 2007.)

(Persis Khambatta as Lt. Ilia. Clearly not me.)

This will sound hopelessly obsessive, but it’s the truth: lately, I have found hair repulsive. Only one girl out of every 20 has hair that’s pretty enough to impress me, and I find myself wanting to convince anyone and everyone to chop it all off. Honestly, every time I look at another person, I find myself thinking, “What is hair for? How is it making our lives better? Doesn’t stubble feel delicious? I love stubble, I always have…”

This has happened to me before (several times) most notably back in March when I suddenly became obsessed with the idea of head-shaving.

I’m trying to be reasonable about this and think things out logically:

PRO: I can never get my hair to look good anyway, I might as well get rid of it

CON: My major involves performing, and baldness may look worse with my evening gown than messy hair did

PRO: I’ll be doing something I’ve never done before, and I’ve been desperately needing adventure

CON: Maybe there’s a good REASON I’ve never done it before; I could have big dents in my head! Or moles!

PRO: The new look may help me meet exciting new people, artists and free-thinkers

CON: I really, really don’t want that much attention. Even getting a ‘normal’ haircut bothers me, people make such a fuss over hair

PRO: I may look gorgeous without hair. Even just with previous short haircuts, I’ve gotten rave reviews about the shape of my head

CON: It’s more likely I’ll look like a homely, dumpy, acne-ridden, poorly-dressed bald woman… with a well-shaped head

PRO: I already have short hair. Even if I hate the shorn look, it won’t take long to get back to my current length

CON: But then, I don’t even LIKE my current length, I’m trying to get back to the Aging Rockstar look. Shaving my head will only add another six months to the wait.

PRO: As Lori pointed out, I would know who my real friends are

CON: I already know who my friends are, and there’s no one alive I suspect of using me for my looks

Why do I feel so drawn to the idea of shaving my head? Why does hair bother me so much? What am I REALLY trying to accomplish? It’s true that I dislike my hair, and it’s true that I think American women spend waaaaay too much time worrying about their appearance.

I thought about buying a good clippery-razor thing and keeping my head shaved for a year, documenting the changes it makes in my life and the way people treat me. But a year’s a looooooong time, particularly if things go badly. Maybe one of you wouldn’t mind lending me your trimmer?

I also thought about shaving my head, then taking a picture of it every morning to make a video of how quickly hair grows. It sounds like fun, but becoming a skinhead for the sake of a video I wouldn’t even know how to MAKE seems silly.

Sigh. I’ll keep you posted.

(Editor’s note: I got my first buzz cut the very next day. Tune in tomorrow to read my riveting post-buzz cut realizations! Until then, observe Persis Khambatta tearfully watching her hair fall away. Lady, I feel your pain.)

 
Persis Khambatta's Star Trek Headshave by ltahvideos

(Image via this place)

Those who know me know that I’m more than a little obsessive. Every once in a while, I become madly absorbed with… [...]]]> (Originally posted on Friday, February 23, 2007 under the title ‘Baldly Going: Reflections on My Hair.’ I have added gratuitous Editor’s Notes for your reading pleasure.)

(Image via this place)

Those who know me know that I’m more than a little obsessive. Every once in a while, I become madly absorbed with… some… … random thing.

Once it was chandelier earrings; I spent hours searching ebay for the perfect earrings/checking the earlobes of every girl on campus/thinking of nothing else. Once, it was black leather boots. Next, Weird Al. Later, brown skirts. Recently, brownies.

Clearly, there are patterns to my obsession: anything involving personal appearance is destined to plague my dreams. Food, seldom, people, rarely.

It’s good to have a friend who understands these manic bursts of obsession. Greyloon always understood, as did Grackle, for the most part. Shortcake doesn’t get it, being a wash-and-go kind of man. Alas! Greyloon has moved to New York, and Grackle’s in California. I am forced to suffer through this alone.

What’s the latest fixation, you ask? Hair. Specifically, short hair. Very short hair. Yesterday, I discovered baldlygoing.com, and was seriously considering shaving my head to the skin.

(Editor’s note: baldlydoing.com was run by some guy who believed that men AND women looked better with closely shaved heads. If you sent him a photo of yourself, he’d photoshop it to make you appear bald, free of charge. Despite his enthusiasm, I couldn’t help noticing his girlfriend kept her hair long.)

What stopped me? Well, 1) the knowledge that Shortcake would kill me in my sleep and 2) the fact that I’m not quite pretty enough to pull off the bald look. Seriously, folks, I’d have to wear fake eyelashes every day and dress magnificently all the time. Not possible on my current budget and level of motivation. Plus, I really don’t want that much attention from strangers, I’ve never enjoyed being stared at. Being bald would require me to have better posture, have better skin, be in better shape, wear makeup every day or risk being mistaken for a cancer victim….. I’m much too lazy to go bald.

(Editor’s note: back in 2007, I clearly had much different ideas of how women ‘should’ look and what they could ‘get away with.’ In reality, none of my future buzz cuts would be met with false eyelashes or increased beauty work. Turns out you can’t be “too lazy to go bald”  when laziness is a swell reason to shave your head.)

This brings us to Plan B: Short hair.

On Sunday, I attempted to trim my own hair. Always, always, always a mistake for me. I was hoping to just take an inch off the longest layer, but ended up hacking off a raggedy two inches, which Shortcake had to straighten out later. The result: a frumpy-matron length, pyramid-shaped bob. Depressingly ugly. I’ve kept in a ponytail for days, trying to hide my shame.

Now I’m willing to pay for a real haircut. But what look do I want? I’ve spent hours searching for good pictures online (yay for my work!), and last night I finally sprang for a hair magazine to gawk at. I’ve found several haircuts I like, none of which meet with FussFace Shortcake’s approval.

(Editor’s note: this means that Shortcake saw the haircuts I’d marked in the magazine and dubbed them either “unacceptable” or “out of the question.” Not surprisingly, this relationship was drawing to its close.)

Don’t get me wrong, gentle readers: I think long hair is beautiful, to die for… not MY long hair, though. It looks permanently slept-on and rumpled. It can be fixed, sure, but not in less than an hour— and I’ve never been willing to spend 1/24th of my life on hair alone.

So, short hair it is! How short? Tune in next time!

(Editor’s note: It’s next time, and this was the haircut. Shortcake didn’t like it. Truthfully, neither did I; it was a boring compromise. My fascination with brutally short hair lived on. Tune in NEXT next time for the rest of the story.)

 I here admit that I didn’t pop that collar until after the Gambit remark. Observe that my hair does not grow longer, only taller.

Today’s outfit, similarly captured with crummy indoor lighting and bleached to no end:

Back in November, Ian said this outfit reminded him of Gambit. Yes, the X-Man.

 I here admit that I didn’t pop that collar until after the Gambit remark. Observe that my hair does not grow longer, only taller.

Today’s outfit, similarly captured with crummy indoor lighting and bleached to no end:

Sheila‘s been winterizing her summer dresses all week, which inspired me to give it a stab. You’ve seen this dress, but might not see it again; it’s lived a long life for a cheaply made dress, and can’t hold on much longer.

As it’s past midnight, let’s skip wardrobe details. Most of what I wear is thrifted and not currently on the market, thought you might find Derek Cardigan glasses online. Also, behold the aforementioned stank face sweater; the floppy neckline was annoying, so I sewed it down.

And there you have it; digital evidence that I am still alive and have dressed myself at least twice in the past three weeks. May I fall asleep now?

… they sure are entertaining. Kiss me, you  fool!

These trousers, my friend/ are blowin’ in the wind/ these trousers [...]]]> Friday, I busted out some pseudo-manstyle for a job interview. You could describe this outfit as two parts butch, one part femme. Face to face, you’d surely have spotted my makeup, girly shoes, fishnet trouser socks, and five earrings.

These trousers, my friend/ are blowin’ in the wind/ these trousers are blowin’ in the wind

Shirt – New York and Company, second-hand
Vest – Tahari, second-hand
Trousers – Banana Republic, second-hand
Bracelets – Ancient and second-hand

Tonight, I was an extra (“wedding guest”) in a film shoot. This look was two parts femme, one part butch. How so? Because in person, you can tell that I haven’t shaved my legs or underarms in weeks.

Dress – David’s Bridal, second-hand
Shoes – Unisa, second-hand
Anklet – self-made, second-hand chain

Tragically, neither my masculine nor feminine side is a photographer. We have other sterling qualities.

…but I thought my First White Hair should be documented.

When I spotted the hair, I recalled “Silvered Is the Raven Hair” from Gilbert and Sullivan’s Patience. Then I remembered this verse from “I’m Not Running Anymore” by [...]]]> This may be the least compelling photo you’ve seen today:

…but I thought my First White Hair should be documented.

When I spotted the hair, I recalled “Silvered Is the Raven Hair” from Gilbert and Sullivan’s Patience.
Then I remembered this verse from “I’m Not Running Anymore” by John Mellencamp. My mom used to listen to him while quilting:

Well, I look in the mirror -  what the hell happened to me?
Whatever I had has gone away
I’m not the young kid that I used to be
so I push the hair back out of my face
That’s okay, I knew this would happen
but I was hoping not today
Hey baby, I’m not running anymore
But I’m on my way

The relevant verse begins around 2:20. Sing it if you know it!

Note that John Mellencamp circa 1999 appears to have my current haircut. Also, the video appears to be recorded on the square of Bloomington, Indiana. Look familiar, ma?

**UPDATE** A closer inspection revealed three white hairs, all front and center. Shocking!

Do you have any gray hairs? When did they first appear?Tell us a story!