When I was a nanny, one of the mothers I worked for was easily one of the most beautiful women I had ever met in my life. It didn't matter what was going on with S., she always had it together. Her make up was on point, her wardrobe was beautiful and to make it completely unbearable she was also one of the kindest women I had ever known. Perfectly perfect in every way, as N. would say. S. had two very small children, she had a career and a social life.
I'm not suggesting that S. was most women. Obviously, she had some help in her glam squad and her domestic posse, which isn't something most of us have access to. I worked for other women too with small children and while less blessed than S. (though also as sweet to work for, I was v. blessed as a nanny), also really were on point. They were career women and would click off to work in their heels, their hair done, their lipstick on and get it done.
I don't know how my mom did it. She didn't have any help at all (past a hair stylist) and would likely have stabbed someone in the hand if it was ever enough suggested. She was widowed when I was 18 and worked two jobs and her house was always flawless and she was always fashion forward, no matter what fresh hells my sister would present to her or what had happened at work that day.
Now that I work in the same office as my mother, it's even more of a mystery. The most common compliment I was given this season was that I always appeared tranquil, I always appeared calm and I always sounded soothing. To the point that I think I am starting to appear much like my mom's dead bestie who was always cheerful and always calm so I assumed she really only answered the phone and didn't do trifling things like finishing corporate returns and trust returns, handling all aspects of the company's billing and generating client organizers among whatever else was thrown at her.
Up until this year, I think I looked more a deer in the headlight and glamour was something that was grimly put on a shelf for a quarter turn of the wheel of the year. Glamour is a frivolity meant for those who have time, money, assistance, privilege, a lack of screaming children.
Except . . .we're #QueensInExile, right? So, glamour isn't really optional, it's survival. We each have our exile story - tales of spouses who turned on us and seized the throne, families that turned their back on us when we did not follow their instruction, kingdoms that turned us out in favor of the shiny and new, our bodies that were deemed sacred but we are not given autonomy over, battles lost, the prick of a thousand tiny betrayals from those we once trusted, those we once loved.
You are on the run, fellow sister Queen. You don't know what tomorrow will be, you are trying to be Final Girl ready no matter what this year throws at you. We are a quarter of the year in and the sound of your ragged breath is sweet to the ears of the wolves at your door. You cannot afford to throw a weapon to the ground because it may be what saves you. If you were privileged, if you were wealthy, if you were powerful, if you were beautiful (and you must be all of these things to be exempted), you wouldn't need glamour. You wouldn't need Witchcraft. You wouldn't need to plead to your goddesses, your ancestors and you spirits. You wouldn't need to make pacts or offerings at the crossroads at midnight. You wouldn't need to sell yourself by the inch.
But you do. For you are in exile and nothing is certain.