Are you high on motivation? Have mild to moderate self esteem and finally think that you’re at a respectable position in life? Do you somewhat believe that you’ve almost been able to switch to a healthier lifestyle and everything’s going alright for you? If that’s the case, I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but you’re still worth a piece of shit. Don’t believe me? Head to the nearest beauty parlour and get the youre-so-full-of-shit experience first hand.
I’m really not exaggerating. I don’t know about you guys but going to a beauty parlour has always been a psychologically traumatic experience for me. I would personally recommend it to everyone who’s having a happy day and wants to get a taste of what nervous trauma feels like. I’m cent percent certain that the marketing and sales strategy of the parlours majorly involve openly insulting you on your phenotype until you’re so full of grief that you decide that money is after all a presumed reality held by the mortals , and the transcendental reality of our filthy existence is THE BEAUTY PARLOUR.
I fail to understand, at what point exactly do we give them the license to publicly criticize us on the colour of our skin, texture of our hair, the amount of body hair we have or the skin tone that we need to maintain. I mean, just imagine how you’d react if an acquaintance comes up to you and insults the bejesus out of you for all the superficial reasons – skin/hair/pimples/complexion/shape of your nails etc. I don’t know about you, but I’d snap back at them on how vain they are and maybe even lecture them on how they should rather adopt spirituality and give up on petty materialism. Not to mention I might entirely stop talking to them for insulting me over things that don’t even matter.
But things radically change when you happen to step into a beauty parlour. You not only choose to pay them for personalized insults but also maintain your best behaviour while receiving it. I’m sure you stay calm and sweet with occasional nods and eventually give-in to their judgements about your physical features. *SLOW CLAPPING*
The conversation went like this:
Beautician: ‘your hair is so dry, frizzy and hairfall bhi hai…why don’t you try our XYZ product? Works like magic!
Me: *Smiling*..yeah..maybe..I should..
Beautician: Your skin is tanned too..oh there are few pimples as well..such oily skin you’ve got..who’s gonna marry you? why don’t you try our ‘not-racist-at-all’ anti-tanning facial mask? Works like magic!
Me: *STILL smiling*…yeah I definitely should…who’s gonna marry me????!!!
Beautician: You’ve got hair on your skin..such a shame.. try our ‘ape-to-human’ chocolate wax? Works like magic!
Me: *awkward smiling continues* yeah..I must… (high time I realize that Indian men are only progressive on Facebook statuses, body hair..yuck!)
Beautician: Damn, you have blackheads too..how are you dealing with the shame of being alive? Try our ‘gimme-money-bitch’ blackhead removal mask, works like magic!
Me: *Insecurity at its peak* mmm…I must try it to deserve to be on the planet..yes, totally!
I just came back from the beauty-parlour a while back, and I can’t help wondering about why I didn’t snap back at her for her blemished skin. Not once did I say ‘Hey, you’ve got three more pimples than I have, what are you acting so smart about bitch?!’ Probably because my self esteem had shriveled up so much by then, that gently smiling and waiting for the storm of judgement to pass , seemed like the only logical option.
But hey,Is this just me? Or does this sound familiar to you too?!And if it does, I think it’s moderately high time to think hard about why we are so full of shit, after all! Giving random strangers the license to churn money out of our insecurities is not cool, not cool at all.