Oh The Glamour Of It All

Many, many times have I uttered the following words: My life lacks the glamour to which I had hoped to become accustomed.

Sometimes I am reminded of this in moments of humiliation (picture discovering a milky cheerio peeking out of your bra…at 3 in the afternoon…while in a meeting with your boss…) and sometimes I am reminded of this in moments of sublime pleasure (picture yourself face down on a massage table with two yoga-bootied hotties grinding hot rocks into your back and wafting aromatherapy up your sinuses.)

So long story short, here is how the my-life-lacks-glamour-motif played out this weekend.

Case study #1: I went to Austin’s semi-annual Le Garage Sale. It’s an event held at a convention center which features lots of small boutiques and ‘indy-type’ vendors who set up booths and sell their clearance items at pretty steep discounts. If you suffer from impulse control this is probably not the place for you to spend an afternoon because you WILL buy. You have to, or some Austin slickster (this is the more chic counterpart to Austin’s ubiquitous hipster) will snatch up your bargain. So anyhow, I spot an unusual dress that appears to be roughly my size, and it has been marked down from $200 by 50%, a score in any neck of the woods, right? But, that’s not all, there’s an additional markdown off that price, so essentially, I’m getting a $200 dress for a very gratifying $35.

Now, picture the scene: there are no dressing rooms, and there are no mirrors. One could, hand over one’s license as collateral and take the item outside and down the hall to the public bathrooms, but frankly, this seems pedestrian. One could also, strip down to one’s nude colored shapewear for everyone and God to see. Did I mention that there’s a full bar at Le Garage Sale? Yeah, they know exactly what they’re doing- the bar, the deejay spinning The Breakfast Club Soundtrack. Those suckers had me. They had me. Cue my inner bargain hunter’s voice, “C’mon, live a little.” And so I do. Fast forward six hours. The good news is that my new black maxi dress with the cool ruching fits. The bad news is that it has a slit worthy of Mariah Carey. So, what have I learned, gentle readers? I have learned that I have the perfect dress to wear to the Grammys, if the Grammys were held at night, in a backyard, where brisket was being served, but so is Champagne, and most of the guests are visually impaired. The score is in and its Impulse control: 1, Me: 0.

Case study #2: Perhaps to atone for my shopping indiscretions, I spent the next day on a cleaning binge. Now, I have written at some length about the trials and tribulations of merging households. Well, in addition to two teenage boys, I acquired a busted-a$$ vacuum cleaner that only a bachelor could love. I took that sucker apart, cleaned it, heck, I rebuilt it. I have wrestled with it. I have cajoled it. I have sworn at it. And finally, this weekend that sucker fell apart. At least it had the decency to let me do one last full pass through the house before it self-destructed. So anyhow, I am a fan of mid-century furniture, much of which has legs. Furniture legs create a dusty no man’s land under couches and credenzas. I had a vacuuming epiphany. I had been living all wrong. What I need is not an upright vacuum with the bulky front end, the one that makes me move furniture. I’m very busy, important even, and I need a cannister so I can maneuver!

After a spasm of internet shopping and a failed bout of the craigslist dance, we found the very thing we needed, a slick, futuristic, cannister vacuum that “never loses suction.” (We’ll just see about that Mr. Dyson guy with the fetching accent.) Of course, it was on sale. We get it home. We marvel at the grooviness of it all. It has a button that retracts the cord! Fancy! So, I fire that puppy up and run it over my antique Moroccan rug, the very one my aforementioned vacuum died on the day before. Well, to say I was scandalized by our own filth would be an understatement. The point of the story is this: why did I settle for fighting with an inferior product when having one that worked is so gratifying? And, so easy to acquire? A few clicks on the internet and a short car ride, and there I had it, the little purple robot sucker of my shame.

The point is this. My life may lack glamour, but yours doesn’t have to. Stop fighting with bad design! Will you make a bad, black, ruched, maxi dress decision from time-to-time? Perhaps you might. Can it be rectified? Yes, that’s what stairclimbers, and failing that, ebay are for. But, should you, for example, fight with design that is just not functional? No. No you shouldn’t, because living a glamorous life, means above all else, you know how to make things work. When you can’t figure it out, you know where to look for answers. This is why celebrity stylists exist, to make that which is wrong, right. If I had been browsing with celebrity stylist Rachel Zoe at my elbow, that black dress would have found its rightful place on someone with six foot long legs, and season tickets to the opera. If had my design-fan wits about me, I would have broken up with that craptastic vacuum two years ago.

So this is a long way round to saying this: If your life, like mine, lacks the glamour to which you had hoped to become accustomed, and the root of this problem, is say, your home, don’t live with it for one more minute longer. Consider, LookNook Pro. For $199 we give you your very own ‘stylist,’ if you will, and she will not steer you wrong. She will save you money by sharing her discounts; she will save you time by shopping for you; she will steer to that which you like and works for you. Learn from me, gentle readers, and err on the side of good design.

Shannon Signature