Because I’m Worth It, Damn It
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I bump into Melinda on my way down the hill, but almost don’t realize it’s her. I’m getting better at recognizing people while we’re all in disguise, clueless Bandidos going about our days, keeping our distance. It usually goes like this — someone locks eyes with you and after a quick uncomfortable what the fuck you looking at that will follow me from Brooklyn to the grave, I register that we know each other but they’re about as lost as I am, so I smile under my mask and scan my mental Rolodex of people’s eyes and thankfully they usually say hello and identify themselves before I can stammer something stupid.
So anyway this morning with Melinda it went like that, first my inner urban thug raising one eyebrow just a little, then a warm smile as she called my name. The kids are good and it really feels like spring finally and work is crazy and have you taken the boys to the new arcade yet? And then I notice her mask. It’s really nice. Like, actually beautiful. It looks tailored and silky and the vivid colors don’t say I have to wear this. They say, I’m better than you, damn it. They say, this is the French scarf of masks. I’m mesmerized by it and after I pay a compliment, I cut to the chase and ask where she got it.
I speed walk home the rest of the way and go straight to my laptop, my own flimsy mask still on, and punch the brand name into google. A few clicks later, I find myself contemplating spending $75 dollars on a mask. I wonder if perhaps these are not American dollars we’re talking about, surely this is an Australian website? Or something more remote with a lower-value dollar? But my poking around just yields me a designer bio and a photo of her near her home in Provo, Utah. And I find myself immediately hating on her and wondering why she needs to charge so much for a goddamned piece of fabric with elastic ear-loops if she lives in goddamned Provo, Utah. What does she need so much money for, hiking boots?
Then I wonder if she is maybe a sister wife and her textile operation actually supports a family of 18. So I go back to the product page and feel slightly less rage-y. The mask is made with actual silk, from Italy, and sewn in Utah. So I would not only be supporting a large mormon family, but also Italy, which has been through so much through this whole pandemic. Masks are here to stay, everyone knows that, so this really would be a long-term investment and on top of that there’s a charitable quality to it given everyone involved. I add one to the cart. Then I’m told by the website that shipping will be $10.95, and did you know that orders above $99 get free shipping? So that means that if I bought a second mask, that one would really only cost $64 because of online shopping magical logic. So it’s almost silly to just buy one. I could have both on rotation or gift one of them to a friend. Yeah no, that’s not happening. L’Oreal said it best, because I’m worth it, damn it. They would have sold more lipstick if they’d gone with my version.
Five days later, a slender bubble envelope arrives from Utah. Of course the silk masks need protective padding. I’m honestly disappointed they weren’t delivered by a stork in a hand-tied, organic cotton parcel. I open the envelope, slowly. They’re stunning, and so smooth I want to cry. I try one on, it fits like a dream. Then the light looks funny, and my nose is suddenly so very itchy, and oh shit, here comes a big sneeze. I don’t have time to react. It just happens. I sneeze the crap out. $75 worth of snot.
