This post on Just B. inspired me today. It is a lovely showcase of 60s glamour, highlighting everything great about Schiaparelli pink, sparkles and 1960s costume jewelry. Is there anything more delightfully girly than pink cake, tiaras and glitter, glitter, glitter?
Like cake, glitter is so pretty to look at, and so unjustifiably decedent. It is junkfood–but maybe you love it, still. Glitter is a divisive accoutrement.
Growing up my friends and I were specifically aware of the girls who embraced glitter v. everyone else. We called the devout "glitter girls." Glitter girls were the ones who, like twitching addicts, had to constantly find new ways to get their sparkle fix. In grade school they coveted the huge shaker jars of glitter in art class and experimented with gateway glitter lipgloss and glittery Lisa Frank stickers. By middle school they were hooked on glitter bedecked clothing, nail polish and eyeshadow. During puberty most glitter girls discover body glitter, they often have to take part-time jobs in high school to support their need for the finest mica powders.
Glitter is a commitment, a lifestyle. While I was never a full-fledged glitter girl, I've often had to remove contact sparkles picked up from friends. One such friend bought me a glitter-adorned concert T-shirt. Years and years after getting rid of the thing, I was still finding traces of glitter on myself and everything I owned.
No amount of laundering can remove it. You can shower 7 times a day, vacuum 12, you can move, but glitter is persistent–it can only be passed on to others. It takes years to escape glitter.
Today I'm finally glitter free but, strangely, when I see those sparkles I kind of miss it.
