Gelly

Dear Beyonce,

I had a sad realisation last week. I realised that whatever I do in my life, I will never be as cool as you.

You see, you’re just so great. Every time I see a picture of you during my morning trashy-section-of-the-newspaper browse, I do a little chair dance. Because, to quote Leo Sayer (crossing musical genres, hope that’s ok with you), you make me feel like dancing.

Even when you got into hot water about lip synching at Obama’s inauguration, I was totally on your side. As was everyone. Because, hey, you’re Beyonce, the woman who gave the world Single Ladies: how could we NOT be on your side. Now put your hands up.

(I once tried to lip synch through a bad tutorial I was taking. It didn’t work. Further proof I will never be as cool as you).

If I had to put a finger on what makes you so cool, Beyonce, it’s that you NEVER, EVER look phased, or flustered. Even when you were busted lip synching. You kind of…glide, graciously, coolly. Like a glacier moving at an accelerated pace due to human induced climate change.

I don’t glide, graciously, coolly, or in the manner of a glacier. I fall down flights of stairs. I look phased, frequently, so much so that people stop me to ask what’s wrong (NOTHING! MY FACE IS JUST LIKE THIS ON ITS OWN!) I get flustered, stumble, and land in such a way that my shoe makes a distinctly fart-like noise on the linoleum, and I feel the need to clarify to assembled colleagues that the noise they just heard was not a fart, but a fart-like-sound, a faux fart, coming from my shoe.

Beyonce, I think you can start to see why I will never be as cool as you.

I have, however, recently discovered something that makes me feel a teeny, tiny bit cool, a bit glide-y. And that’s gell nails.

You see, trying to have nice nails, when you’re as much of a terminal clutz as I am, is setting yourself up for a big disappointment. You start off, all hopeful: you prep with base coat, you apply two to three layers of colour, finish with a top coat, and BAM! Fancy fingers.

The following morning, though, you wake up with sheet marks on your nails (and nail marks on your sheets). Or, by afternoon tea time, there’s a chip on your index nail and you just can’t help but notice it every time you glance down at your hands.

SIGH.

But, in come gell nail colours. Beyonce, they give clutzes like me a little bit of hope that we may, one day, be a little bit as cool as you.

Gell colours give TWO WEEKS of chip proof, smudge proof, shiny shiny nails. That’s the kind of gelly I’m ready for, if I may mangle the chorus of your Destiny’s Child hit.

And you know something, Beyonce? It’s really cool going through life with nice nails. Even though my face is doing its thing, and I’ve got my farty shoes on.

May the Force be with you

It’s been my great honour to watch a dear friend, and former student, finish her honours thesis this week. Those of you who have been there, done that, will know that an achievement this monumental deserves a Star Wars analogy: this week, a Padawan has become a Jedi.

(If the above references went over your head, your homework for this weekend is to watch Star Wars in its entirety. Use the Force to get you through the tedious prequels, and enjoy Harrison Ford circa the 70s).

Obi-Wan-Kenobi style, I’ve taken it upon myself to give my friend unsolicited advice through her honours year – for which I hope to be forgiven eventually. The most important piece of advice I have given her, though, is this: she needs to buy a significant piece of jewellery, for herself, to celebrate her achievements.

Bizzare, I know, that this advice takes precedence over all the other pieces of end-of-thesis advice I could give to a newly minted Jedi. Surely, I should advise her to sleep. To catch up with mates she hasn’t seen in an age. To symbolically burn a copy of her manuscript. To run. To go to the beach. To laugh until she can’t breathe anymore (although I have complete faith that she’s done this last one).

The reason behind my advice, though, is that something as big as finishing an honours thesis (or a Masters, or a PhD) is that it’s a long, hard journey, ultimately completed alone. While there are people beside you, people advising you, people without whom you couldn’t do it, it ultimately comes down to you, and your words (in Star Wars terms? You and the Force).

Which is why, in my view, you need to mark an achievement like finishing a thesis, and mark it well. Most importantly, you need to mark it for yourself.

It’s not enough to accept the congratulations of colleagues, friends and family. It’s not enough to know that you’ve done an amazing thing. You need to distil that amazing thing you’ve done into a symbol, something that will always and forevermore remind you that, yes, you did it.

And why jewellery, specifically? Well, let’s take a moment to think about what ‘big’ (expensive, thought-through, valuable) jewellery means in the course of a woman’s life. Typically, the ‘big’ pieces she has are given to her by others: by her parents on her 21st; by her partner to signify their engagement, and, again, on an important anniversary or birth of a child; by her children on a milestone birthday; or inherited from a family member.

What you notice, here, is that all of the ‘big’ pieces come from without – they are gifts. Whenever she wears them, she thinks of the people who gave them to her, which is what makes those ‘big’ pieces special and meaningful.

And, while it’s great to have pieces that make you think of your nearest and dearest, there’s a time and a place for jewellery that makes you think of you, and all you’ve achieved.

The first Sex and the City film explored this concept (mixing pop culture references: bear with). Samantha attends a charity auction to buy, for herself, a very expensive, very large, and, let's be honest, very ugly, ring. An anonymous bidder goes up against Samantha in the auction, driving the price higher than Samantha can afford. Miserably, she admits defeat. Later, Smith Jarrod, Samantha’s partner, presents her with the ring: Smith was the anonymous bidder, and bought the ring as a gift for Samantha.

Whenever Samantha looks at the ring, though, she sees only Smith, whereas she wanted to see herself – her achievements – whenever she looked down at it.

Now, I can appreciate why people may think that it’s selfish, or frivolous, to celebrate an achievement by spending money on something like jewellery rather than, for instance, an experience like travel, or something that benefits others. Perhaps it’s not for everyone, this whole bling thing.

All I know, though, is that whenever I put on my garnet ring, the ring I bought myself in the weeks after handing in my honours thesis, I am reminded that, yes, I did it. It’s made all the sweeter by the fact that it’s something I wear: there are patches where the soft gold has yielded to the movements of my hand; that it’s something I will, one day, be able to give to another young woman, in an ironic twist on the whole buying-jewellery-for-oneself exercise.

So, it’s with this in mind that I suggest a jewellery purchase to my dear friend, and to others who have, like her, become Jedis this week. Because not only did you have the potential (midochlorian readings off the charts), you used it and achieved something amazing, something that you should mark personally, enduringly, symbolically.

And that’s it, I’m through with my advice, and I’m hanging up my light sabre. Except for one final thing I can’t help but throw in:

May the force be with you.

Always.

Ita.

Dear Ita,

It’s now official. You are my new favorite person.

You, and Asher Keddy’s depiction of you in Paper Giants, are just so cool. The way you handled Kerry and Sir Frank? Genius. A demanding career and single motherhood? Again, genius. Being confident enough in your project to go ahead undaunted by poor focus group reviews? Again, and again, Genius. Bringing a vibrator to a staff meeting? Fabulous, but somehow I don’t think it’s something I will be attempting any time soon in my department. Although maybe just for lafs…

But I digress.

Ita, it’s from this place of immense props and respect that I have an important question to ask you, because if you can’t answer it, no one can.

My question is: is it alright to wear V necklines in the workplace, and, if so, how should one do it?

You see, I know from reading about it that you were very involved in Paper Giants, and gave your advice and direction as to what Ms Keddy should wear. (Of course, I am not surprised that a women of your immense talents and capabilities would take such a pro-active role in her own biopic. I expect to have full editorial control over my own when it is eventually released.) And, Ms Keddy, while depicting you taking on the magazine world, wore some pretty fabulous things, many of which were sternum-grazingly veed.

I have yet to brave wearing some of my more veed tops and dressed this year when I am having a particular ‘worky’ work day. I worry about what my colleagues and my students may think of me. Indeed, I have even written blog posts about how my ideal teaching dresses (Miss Honeys) are high necked to preserve my modesty.

But I am now wondering about the role that some Ms Buttroses, i.e, dresses and outfits that are substantially more liberated (and possibly accompanied by a charming speech impediment), may play in my high rotation working wardrobe. In particular, I would appreciate your thoughts about environments where one is exposed to some of the less refined blokes of the world (again, I feel your experience with Packers junior and senior would be of assistance here). Some of my students have a long way to go.

I would greatly appreciate your thoughts and consideration on this matter, and wish to again express my profound thanks and admiration. Even though Dame Edna did upstage you in the recent Royal Wedding coverage, you are still the standard of modern womanhood to which I aspire.

Lotsa love,

Peggy xx