Published in On Our Selection News July 17, 2014

I’ve undergone a massive transformation in the past week.

I was minding my own business, making myself a late-night piece of toast the other night when my glasses simply fell right off my face. As if a punishment for having carbs after 5pm, the arm simply detached from the frames. I was a wreck – I loved my glasses. They helped me to not hit children when I drove and provided the perfect alibi for ignoring people I didn’t like when I strategically removed them.

Glasses eventually become an extension of your face, and so eventually they start to become your identity. I’m that girl with the thick black glasses, and I’ve accepted that. When I see pictures of my face without them, it looks weird (mostly because without the frames to distract you, you can tell that one of my eyes is bigger than the other). So I called my optometrist and booked an appointment, thinking they could be repaired. But my heart was torn to shreds yet again when I was told they were beyond repair and was casually instructed to “pick out some new frames”. That’s just like going to the doctor for a check up and having the nurse yell “surprise lobotomy!” as she locks the door.

Despite having multiple layers of flakey sticky tape wrapped around the arm, I didn’t want to throw my glasses away. They were a part of me. Glasses can inform much of your character. My thick rimmed black glasses said “this is Dannielle – the blackness of these frames mirrors the darkness in her soul and the slightly rounded rectangular lenses suggest struggles to get to a point when telling stories. Overall she looks studious and stern, but the discrete curved grooves on the arms imply she’s got a kooky side.” But now, with new glasses, that would all change.

It was a massive decision. Black or brown? Circular or rectangular? Scantily clad or conservative? There was a pair I liked, but felt like they showed too much eyebrow. Was that too revealing? Would these frames make my eyeballs look like optical harlots, virtually reducing the dialogue to “hey baby, are you lookin’ for a good time” every time I met someone’s gaze? And, like revealing clothes, you do have to question if you can pull it off. Just like a tight-fitting bondage dress on the wrong person is reminiscent of an over-stuffed Cornjack with the filling (bad fake tan can sometimes resemble that filthy yet delicious goo) bulging out the top and bottom openings, some pairs of glasses can be less than flattering on the wrong faces.

But the most important decision was based on what those glasses would say about me. Would these frames imply loose morals, impulsive behaviour and an inclination for boys with white sunglasses and tribal tattoos? Unfortunately, time was against me. With just five minutes until closing time, I had two choices. The black pair that were basically the same as the first or the whore-brow brown pair? I cracked the pressure and bought both.

Now I feel as if I have two identities – normal Dannielle and skank-brow Dannielle who makes reckless choices without considering the circumstances. When I went to pick them up, I also ended up bringing home forty chicken nuggets.

I was wearing the brown ones at the time…