This morning started with a little chuckle. I’d been dreaming about a hippy juice bar that I’d just been hired to work at in dreamland. I was really excited about the whole thing because the folks were smart and fun and it was exactly the kind of job my dream me wanted.
And there was my dreamy crush. Oh yes. A slight, bespectacled lad who fit the ideal my dream me wanted to get down with. So you can imagine my dream delight when I showed up for my first dream shift and there was granola god, meditating on the most sensitive way to train me up real good.
I was excited; excited until the moment I looked down and saw that the toes connected to his giant, jesus-sandaled feet were sporting a fresh coat of sparkly fuchsia toenail polish.
I love fuchsia. God knows I LOVE sparkly. And I dig toenail polish. But I don’t know man; this dude’s foray into what’s traditionally a feminine body art did not work for me. I woke up knowing it was over before it even began.
It’s funny, some guys transform with a little cosmetic adventure. Think of Johnny Depp for instance – he’s the hottest pirate ever. And I think Chris Angel dabbles in some eyeliner here and there and it suits him. David Bowie sets another great example with the glammy, androgynous Ziggy Stardust.
In a world where I’m fighting for gender equality with the strong conviction that both men and women are hurting, I’m a bit ashamed that I could be so turned off by a splash of colour on a boy’s toenails. If I read waaay too much into it, perhaps the fuchsia toenails were a subconscious warning to myself: “This guy is a fake. He’s using fuchsia toenails to pretend he’s in touch with his feminine side but really he just wants to bone you and break away. Watch out.”
I’m reminded of a time well over a decade ago when myself and an old roommate of mine were inspired to dye our armpit hair purple. It was quite the production. We bought the bleach and the dye and made a date to do it together and we actually did it. Like granola god but the inverse, I wanted to use my purple armpit hair to say to the world, “I hate your system man… look at my purple armpit hair. It’s a symbol of my disgust.”
Kind of ridiculous, don’t you think?
By the way, we never did get the armpit hair to take the colour. I guess there was some chemical reaction between our sweat and the manic panic because, unfortunately, we ended up with sprouts of puke green straw instead of lovely purple tresses.