what is glitter if not hope persevering
i was an extrovert in the Before Times, but am i an introvert in the After Times?
I’ve never been into glitter. Catching the light and other people’s attention? In this economy? No, thanks.
Glitter’s just never been my thing. I’m never been attracted to bling, I’m never excited about rhinestones, and something about the texture of sequins weirds me out. When attempting a creative project, I actively avoid glitter, which, as has been noted by comedian Demetri Martin, is the herpes of arts and crafts supplies. In the Before Pandemic Times, I typically skipped over any item of clothing that was shiny, shimmering, or twinkling in any way. Blinged-out shoes? When my feet are constantly blistered and calloused? No way. I was quite sure that anything dazzling was sure to make me look like a disco ball. In fact, I was very sure I could not pull it off and didn’t even make an attempt to do so.
I told myself I’m a matte kind of girl. My clothes and make-up have been (and still are) about 95% not-shiny. I prefer black and darker jewel tones, and an occasional dusty color.
I hadn’t really considered glitter as an object, though, until Caity Weaver’s rightfully infamous investigative reporting about what glitter is made of (please read it if you haven’t, it is delightful).
Glitter is plastic, it’s mineral, it’s shimmer, it’s mica (do make sure your mica-based products are sourced from ethical mines). It’s everything and nothing at once, but it’s in nearly everything and every product we can imagine. Once you see it, you can’t unsee it. It’s in car paint and make-up; NFL helmets and animal feed for scientific research; even matte make-up like the kind I’ve always gravitated towards, contrary to my own belief. Human beings are naturally drawn to glitter from an evolutionary standpoint because we once searched for the shimmer that naturally occurs when the sun hits a water source. Yet for all its prevalence and importance, I sought to actively avoid it when I could.
Don’t get me wrong: there are loads of celebrities and social media personalities and people in my own life who rock glitter and sequins and metallic everything and they look INCREDIBLE. All of this is my own bizarre aversion. I’m the weird one in this scenario.
But the longer I’ve remained in lockdown, with warm weather and cause for optimism that I might qualify for the vaccine soon, the more I’ve become obsessed with glitter. I daydream about going out dancing, something I’d maybe do once or twice a year in the Before Times, in a loud sweaty place full of people (please oh please come back House of Yes), with a face full of glitter and a shimmery outfit. In other words: I want what once felt wildly excessive and outside of myself, because at least then I got to be around other people. I am nostalgic for the glow of a past life that I know full and well I am romanticizing. Much like glitter itself, that emotion is hard to contain.
Likely this has been influenced at least somewhat by my quarantine-YouTube-deep-dives into the “Get Ready With Me” Storytelling trend—history stories, true crime stories, anonymously submitted salacious stories, any story really. While it’s hardly a new YouTube genre, I’ve found myself deeply soothed while watching someone put on a face full of elaborate make-up, typically featuring at least one glittery product or another, while they tell a story. It’s no secret I take great comfort in narrative. I like seeing the arc of a story, losing myself in the details, even when I’ve heard it before. I guess I now associate my love of stories with glitter, as I watch beauty YouTubers gently blend glitter of all kinds onto their eyelids, their lips, the cheekbones.
Nowadays I procrastinate by looking at eyeshadow palettes, desperate to find one that is equal parts glittery fun and serious matte despite the fact that I haven’t worn eyeshadow for over a year (in fact, I’ve recently surpassed my COVID-versary date: my lockdown began on 3/9/20).
I lose myself in possibilities. What if I re-emerge from this pandemic with a totally new sense of style and self? My body has certainly changed from months in quarantine, and so has my outlook on, well, pretty much everything. What if I change my outlook on glitter too? Is there a place for a glittery version of myself in this brave, newly vaccinated world?
I’ve been so anxious about the prospect of the world opening back up. The idea of crowds on the subways or in restaurants makes me nauseous. Attending my first party post-vaccine will be overwhelming. I was an extrovert in the Before Times, but I’m not sure if I’ll be an extrovert in the After Times. I’ve learned to love and cherish working from home, even when I am also sick of it. Have I become an introvert? And if so, is that who I am now, forever?
Look, being an introvert is FAR from a bad thing. It’s merely a very different way to be than what I was before. That is to say I suppose glitter, to me at least, has morphed into a symbol of hope: that one day I will engage in, and enjoy, the happy occurrences from the Before Times that I sorely miss right now.
I miss getting dressed up to go out with friends for birthdays and bachelorettes and all kinds of occasions. I miss staying out far too late at a friend’s housewarming party because the couch is cozy and everyone is laughing and time gets away from me. I miss having the option to go to a nightclub, even if I rarely went to nightclubs pre-COVID. I miss having a drink at the bar and chatting with a friendly bartender. I miss going out for the night with people I love without much of a plan but ready and open to seeing where the wind takes us. I miss sitting down to eat, perusing a menu, a server constantly refilling my glass of water when I’m not looking.
If I want to get metaphorical (and clearly, I do. Guilty as charged.): I think my obsession with glitter is less about looks and more about hoping my old extroverted self comes back in some way shape or form. I don’t want lockdown to have changed me completely. Of course I’ve changed over the course of a year—I would have without the lockdown anyway—but I just want reassurance I’ll recognize myself in the dim light of a bar bathroom, while my friend holds my seat at the bar and watches my drink, our night only just beginning.
As a serious introvert, even I have wanted a night at a bar, glitter on my lids and who knows where else. Can’t wait to read the nervous wreckage of your glittery return!