Ten Easy Steps to Public Humiliation for the Non-Fashionista
"Go try it on. It's so right for you." How many times have I heard a saleslady utter that dreaded phrase? How many times have they been wrong? So why am I considering a technological version of the same mortifying process?
Go Try It On and Fashism claim to have the solution for my terminal fashion insecurity. Should I wear this when I'm going there? Or is it the fashion faux pas of the century? Instead of fretting in front of my mirror in the confines of my own home, I can fret in public with millions of viewers ready to tell me how awful I look.
I just need to snap a phone photo and upload it. But wait. There is an upside. These services just might save marriages and friendships. I'm sure those I love will be relieved someone else has assumed the duty of hurting my feelings.
I only have one question: Do I need to be a dedicated masochist to use their services?
No. That's not strictly true. I have a lot of questions.
Go Try It On offers me a chance to see what the world thinks of my outfit before I actually dare to show it to anyone in my private life. That's crazy -- and popular. So how much of a coward am I?
Go Try It On promises to be honest. Am I ready for that? Do I want to compete with the other women who are showing off their great bodies?
I do like their community standards that implores users to play fair, don't hit, take regular naps and "When you go out in the world, watch out for traffic, hold hands and stick together."
Umm, how is that going to work? Isn't the whole point to one up all the other women? What if one of the ladies at tonight's party is lurking there, ready to pounce? It's a risk.
On the other hand, Fashism, in addition to answering such soulful questions as "Does this work?" also offers me a chance to win a new handbag. Competitive fashion critiquing. What could be better? But they do restrict photos to just one person. That rather rules out matching "I'm with dummy" shirts. Kind of loses its punch if I'm the only dummy in the photo.
Then I noticed these adroit and fashion forward young lasses are not just asking questions. They're using their shots to display acrobatic stances I'll never achieve again. Sigh. Alright, I never achieved them even when I was young. It's obvious. I'm out of my league.
Of course, it would help if I knew how to take a decent photo. But wait. If I can show off my insecurities on the Net, why can't I learn to pose or take fashion photos? Turns out I can. Next stop: Ephotozine where professional fashion photographer Bruce Smith is waiting. Bruce begins by stating, "Fashion is about beauty, creativity, energy and excitement, and this must be reflected in the pictures."
Perhaps I should abandon the whole idea. I don't feel beautiful, creative, full of energy or up to generating excitement with acrobatic poses. Should I quit before I start, or should I plunge ahead? Perhaps I can find another site with less competition.
Turns out, no, but the search has given me new ideas. I may not look the greatest but my photo can. Makeup Photo promises to glamorize me with a soft focus, improving my blotchy skin with a tan and removing the red eye. They'll even whiten my teeth. Wow. I thought I had to use a bunch of gunk in my real mouth. How much better this is -- and quicker too.
They do wonders, but my skin could still use some help. Not a problem. Over at Ivillage, their photo software is ready to help with a complete makeover. I can try the latest colors in lipstick, lip gloss, liner and mascara.
As soon as my face looks better, I realize how dowdy my hair has become. Well, that's easy to fix too. The hairstyler lets me "view myself with 1000's of virtual hair styles, 50 colors and 35 highlights!" An hour later, I'm beginning to realize the possibility of unlimited options may not be the best idea, but I've plowed through enough of them that I'm finally ready to chance one of them, a new cut with a total change of color and some amazing highlights. I'm feeling much prettier already.
My new hair looks so young but that saggy skin...well, it looks so old. However, my depression has lifted and a new optimism has emerged. Surely, there's an online cure for that. Yep. There is. Not to worry. Lift Magic to the rescue.They'll provide a face lift, shoot my wrinkles full of virtual botox, reshape my nose and juvaderm my skin -- all without taking my make-up off. A little tuck here, a snip there and even I am amazed at the result.
That takes care of me from the neck up. Which only makes what's sagging below look that much worse. I save my new face and hurry on over to the Marie Claire weight loss center, where I can slice off forty-one pounds instantly. All I have to do is "upload my photo to start my transformation." Dieting is so old fashioned. I'm savoring chocolate ice cream while I adjust the scale and push the button.
I can even get my feet esized over at eshoe.
Now I'm ready. Look at that svelte new figure. Trouble is, that dress just doesn't fit anymore. I need a new one, so I'm off to Love It or Lose It, a fashion iPhone app with a network of fashion critics. They'll help me before I even buy the outfit, so I upload my slenderized photo with my new hairstyle, perfect make-up, and whitened teeth. Okay. I'm ready for a shopping spree. Soon I'm snapping pics of dresses right on the rack. It doesn't take long before my newfound friends are panning or praising each outfit as I go. Together, we plow through every store in the mall.
They finally decide they love the strapless, backless white dress with slits up the side, something I'd never wear, but who am I to refuse their brilliant advice? I buy it anyway, flashing the receipt into my Iphone before sashaying out of the store with an utterly useless, very expensive purchase in the package under my arm.
I may not have a flair for fashion, but I sure do for faking it.
There's only one problem. I'm no closer to an outfit for tonight's party than when I started. Maybe I'm not so cutting edge after all. The tried and true methods seem to have a greater appeal at the moment.
"Honey? Do I look fat in this?"
He pauses in the doorway and tilts his head. His face softens. His eyes sweep slowly, luxuriously my body. His voice changes to a low, sexy growl. "Look at you. You'll be the hottest woman at the party." His naughty chuckle says he's pitying the other men.
Except we never make it. Turns out a zipper is the most seductive part of any dress. Just a couple of shimmies, and it's on the floor. A simple arch of his eyebrow and my body shivers in anticipation. I shed my bra and panties too. As his smile widens, I've never felt so well-dressed.
Photo credits: http://commons.wikimedia.org/