Why do the department-store mirrors hate me?
No worries, Pearl! you say. It’s not personal. The mirrors hate everyone.
Good point – thank you – and yet, there’s only one jaundiced-looking body I’m staring at over here; and it’s mine.
I mean for cryin’ out loud, look at this lighting, would ya? Someone whose skin tones are pallidly apologizing from the cold-blue-and-flickering-yellowish light of these try-on rooms should not be purchasing new clothing. I mean, look at her! Clearly the person in that mirror is ill.
No point in buying new clothes, honey! Think of your friends: Put the clothes back and save your money for the booze they’ll need at the wake!
If I had a place, a place where I was encouraging you to take off your clothes to put on different clothes in the hopes of making a buck or two – whether it be a department store, a theater, or a dorm room – I’d make sure there was fantastic lighting. Soft, peachy shades that spoke of vitality, of youthful exuberance, vanity lighting that said “Hey! You look pretty hot for an older chick!”, lighting that said “yes” to thoughts of the beach.
Because frankly, when I start disrobing, I’m not looking for criticism. Call me old-fashioned, but I’m looking for reassurance and a sense of gratification; and whether I’ve taken my clothes off for a new pair of pants, for sex, or because they’re doing a “wood-tick check at the bus-stop” – again! – I’m going to need proper lighting.
I demand lighting indulgence!