Chick lit'ing

It's been a long time since I went shopping with a guy, so allow me to sing fulsome praise of Wahj, who, when enlisted on my emergency lunchtime shopping expedition, balked not, winced not, and proved to be an unexpected source of faultless fashion advice. The results: I now have not only a new little evening purse but also a new choker, both of which perfectly match the previously unaccessorised dress that I'm wearing to a wedding dinner this weekend. I mean, I had shoes for the dress, but that's about it --- which is pretty lame considering that I've had the dress since December last year.

Well, today, in half an hour of purposeful stalking about Holland Village, guided by Wahj's unerring sense --- all the more remarkable when you consider that all he knew was that it's a black and red dress, he's never seen it --- I acquired everything I'll ever need to go with the dress. Which just goes to show you that sometimes it takes the ominous cloud of an impending fashion emergency to bring the planets into alignment, so that despite the limited shopping opportunities within a lunch hour's reach of work, you can find exactly what you want.

Now that my Barbie moment is over, let me add a suitably postfeminist (I think) postscript: While we were yakking after lunch, three colleagues were shocked, shocked to discover that I don't wear powder or foundation, don't own any and, most importantly, don't know how to use the stuff. It began with me preening over my new bag, which led to sighs about how little stuff can actually fit into evening purses, and then I said, "Well, I only bring lipstick anyway." Which I rapidly corrected to, "Well, the only makeup I ever use is lipstick anyway." Thence came the shocked looks.

Since the moment seemed confessional, I added that I didn't pluck my eyebrows or know how to use mascara --- or any makeup, for that matter. Didn't know the difference between pressed powder and loose powder, or that it was important to use a makeup cleanser to wash one's face or else the makeup will clog your pores. My redeeming graces: I moisturise after I wash my face and I used to have concealer.

This isn't the first time I've come out to girls about not knowing eyeliner from an eyebrow pencil and Joanelle's blogged about it far more eloquently. Still, it's always fun to watch how people react --- and then to sink into my seat with growing horror as the novelty of "she doesn't use makeup!" turned into an animated debate on the merits of pressed powder vs. loose powder. (I still can't remember the difference.) Y'know, I like my colleagues, I think they're beautiful without makeup --- although based on today's exchange, it could be that I've never seen them without it --- I just never thought they would get round to discussing this topic with the earnestness more often seen in clergymen discussing doctrinal minutiae.

On a related note, I was in Borders last night, and damn if you can't scan a row of new books or "literature" without stumbling over a chick lit title on every shelf. I mean, I enjoy the odd Bridge Jones's Diary once in a while, but can anything more be milked out of the genre? As articulated in Hanne Blank's "Chick lit to chew on" (link via NaNoWriMo), "[Chick lit authors] are, to put it bluntly, not self-aware enough to realize that the constant low-grade misery they depict has larger causes and both larger and smaller cures. Insofar as these novels and their anti-role-model protagonists are nonetheless role models for their readers to some degree, that's a crying shame." Amen. I'm not saying I'm never going to touch another chick lit title, but could it revolve a little less around shopping, makeup and/or a gratuitous guy?

But let's not end on a ranty note. Let's end with quiet, satiated applause for my resident cook (aka the husband), who made fabulous dinners all this week and the last. He cooks, we eat, I do the dishes and ponder the next grocery run --- it's all good, people.