Shortsighted? Or just hip?
When the middle of August rolled around, I found myself shopping–once again–for new school clothes. Walking through the mall, all I could seem to find were “trendy” clothes conforming to society’s obscene ways that consist only of bland, pale colors with absolutely no pizazz whatsoever. (Cough, cough, American Apparel.) With limited income and a very specific area of interest, I set out to thrift stores in hope of success.
It was there that I found my non-prescription glasses. The windows that have transformed me into the person I am today. Two-inch lenses surrounded by a frame of brown plastic lusciousness that would make anyone look like America’s favorite late 80s nerd, Steve Urkel.
They looked so lonely in the bottom corner of the rack, clearly ostracized by the Paris Hilton bug-eye sunglasses, the ever-popular Ray Ban knockoffs, and everyone’s personal favorite, studded aviators. My best friend’s first response was, “You WOULD want those.”
My mother fails to comprehend why I love them so much. “They’re so ugly,” she always tells me, “they don’t make any sense.” I have no idea what she means by that. Oppositely, my dad thinks they’re amazingly awesome because he had the exact same pair in the 70s. I think these glasses are putting undue stress on my parents’ marriage.
Nevertheless, I wear the glasses every day. They make me feel complete as a person. I’m guaranteed to get at least 10 “Do you think you’re funny or something?” looks every time I wear them in public.
My attachment to these glasses is unhealthy. My biggest fear in life has gone from drowning in the Titanic and being eaten by sharks to breaking the glasses. When people take them away from me, I’m like a mother warthog protecting her baby. I will do whatever it takes to protect them, even if violence ensues.
Clearly, I’m a firm believer in the fact that you don’t need to have poor eyesight in order to wear glasses. When I walk through the halls on Windows Wednesday and I see my fellow losers walking around with fake eye-wear, I admire their style choice and I feel we have a special bond. But secretly, I’m thinking, “Mine are cooler than yours.”