The notion of daily rituals is an alien reality to me. It’s not that I am some soapbox bohemian, mistaking consistency for conformity – in fact, it’s the very opposite. I have done everything possible to grasp hold of the relief consistency might afford: decades worth of New Year’s resolutions and ineffectively vowing to sustain simple customs, like enjoying a take-away cup of tea each morning while walking pup in the park.
But, as much as I aspire to be a modern day Thoreau – keeping the axis of nature spinning with my daily rituals – I repel even the most undemanding of the batch, right down to the proverbial apple a day.
It’s not that I am so monumentally busy that I am unable to apply any uniformity to my life; it’s more that my nature may essentially be a frazzled one, which has at least partially paralyzed my knack for structure.
That’s what I told myself last Saturday when I slept in and once again missed brunch with my two early bird friends (10 a.m. is a bit too ambitious for me on the weekend), and, what I repeated to myself later that evening while rushing back to my house to shower and change for a charity girls’ night in event. Hosted by dbotelas, a local label specializing in colourful hand-woven hair bands made in Bolivia (and sold in shops like Tabula Rosa), the evening was dedicated to raising both awareness and funds for dbotelas’s ongoing campaign to support Kiva, an online micro-financing source that connects lenders with borrowers around the globe.
The event being “girls’ night in” themed with a dress code of “anything and everything,” I assumed that the general attire would tip towards the casual side of the scale — a dark denim paired with heels sort of get-together, like something you might see in a commercial for Bailey’s or probiotic yogurt. Myself, I opted for a little dress and sweater combo, because anything appropriate for Sunday brunch with your new boyfriend’s parents should work well enough for this.
It was a good thing that the evening was casual because by the time I got home and looked at the clock, I was running behind. The event had already started, leaving me with less than half an hour to get ready if I were to make it there within the hour. (In my head, I’m not technically late if I can make it to any given event by the end of its first hour — after all, these things go from anywhere between 3-5 hours.) Then came forth the dilemma: facing day-to-day time constraints — perhaps the closest thing to a ritual I will ever know.
Girls’ night in (Images: Talia Shipman)
While I had time to shower, change and fix myself up a bit, there were not enough minutes in the fixing-up stage to allot for blow-drying my long, thick and unruly mane. Wanting to avoid going out with a pulled back wet hairdo that resembled one of Robert Palmer’s Addicted to Love girls, I was forced to resort to beauty’s dirtiest secret: dry shampoo.
Tried tested and true, this little bottle of powder is virtual fairy dust and the Old Faithful of my beauty arsenal. It’s been there for me through camping trips, film festivals and long summer days when having bangs was as logical as toting salt packets in the desert. My current brand of choice: 7 Seconds Dry by Unite, available at Pop Hair, a spray-on version that absorbs oiliness without leaving any white powdery residue; a legitimate concern for brunettes like me who would prefer not to look like they were auditioning for the part of Miss Havisham in the community theatre production of Great Expectations.
I arrived at the party feeling less than two degrees from a Pantene commercial – not bad, considering. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t read the invite thoroughly, specifically the part that stated all guests would be filmed on camera saying a few words about dbotales while wearing the hair bands. My hair might have been two degrees from Pantene to the naked eye, but perhaps not quite worthy of close-ups. Could that too be a ritual? Trying to pass for a manicured fashion maven while frazzled and half-ready? Maybe, if I thought I was fooling anyone.
For me, rituals might have to remain a fairytale that normal people get together to discuss over a well-balanced dinner at 6:30 p.m. on a Thursday, after the gym, and before finishing the next chapter in that month’s novel. Or who knows, maybe you can teach an old dog new tricks. I’ll wager a bag of apples on it.
Toronto-based writer Jennifer Lee is the Editorial Director of FILLER magazine, an online fashion & culture journal. She is also the Co-Editor of Hardly magazine, an arts-centric online teen publication for Canadian girls. Her column, The Dressing Room, appears weekly.