For reasons that I still cannot fully comprehend, the wonderful people of Good Morning America decided to drop by my house in Indiana yesterday to talk to my daughter and I. Apparently the fact that I let my four-year-old play in my make-up and occasionally wear it out of the house is controversial enough to garner television attention. Crazy, I know.
Obviously, I was incredibly flattered that ABC asked me to be on the show. The wonderful people who stopped by our house were kind and charming. My daughter feels like the coolest thing that has ever walked in to her pre-school. Although I can’t lie, she kind of had that attitude before and will continue to have it even if she never sees another camera for the rest of her life. Overall, as long as I don’t look like a crazy Toddlers & Tiaras mother on the final product, I will consider this experience to have been a fun and pleasurable one.
That being said, I learned a couple things about my own personal appearance hang-ups and how they played out with cameras and equipment covering every square inch of my home. More than anything, I learned that I have a huge wave of self-loathing that goes along with any attempt at self-promotion. I may be an asshole for saying that after agreeing to go on a national morning show, but it’s true. I am not comfortable putting myself out there for public scrutiny, in the flesh, without the veil of the internet to keep me in yoga pants and a ponytail.
If there was a day for me to be concerned with my flyaway hair and splotchy complexion, it was yesterday. Even at my wedding, my husband was already familiar with my appearance. Nothing I did that day was going to change the outcome of the event. Yesterday, I was being filmed for national television for the first time. If we’re going to be insecure about our looks, that’s probably the appropriate time, right?
That was the day to try on a billion gazillion sweaters and put more product in my hair than a high school boy with cowlick. It was the day to reapply my mascara and lipgloss every fifteen minutes as if they were essential to my ability to continue breathing. That’s what one does when they want to make a good impression, right? That’s what happens when you’re worried about your appearance, you check on it over and over again.
And I was worried! Let’s just say that my gym-membership was finally renewed after almost a year in limbo. Because that makes a difference in how I look, whether or not I belong to a gym.
So will I look perfectly polished when you see me on TV next week? (Because you’re obviously going to watch, right?)
I have no idea! I don’t know how I looked because the minute the camera crew entered my house, I stopped looking in the mirror. My insecurity didn’t just concern my appearance, it apparently crossed into the perception of my insecurity concerning my appearance. Grammarians, please diagram that sentence for me…
Basically, I didn’t want the camera crews and producers to realize how nervous I was about my puffy thick hair or non-existent blond eyelashes. The one day that I should have been able to justify worrying about my make-up and my hair was the one day that people were actually there watching me in my home, so I couldn’t worry about it. I didn’t want them to see me glancing in the mirror or touching up my eye liner.
Instead, I chased my daughter around the house, trying to keep her entertained but also polite in front of our company. I tried to serve everyone drinks and snacks, because my mother would’ve been disappointed with me if I didn’t. And of course, I attempted to differentiate my daughter who wears pale pink eye shadow to church from little girls who dress up like hookers and sing “Pretty Woman.”
All in all it was an exciting day and a great experience. But I have to admit that I’m nervous to see what a mess my hair is on national television. And I’m hoping that the producer would have warned me if I had smeared mascara or a splotchy red spot of nervousness on my chest. I’m not sure which insecurity is worse, worrying about my appearance or worrying about appearing vain. Both of them remind me that I’m happiest putting words on the internet from the comfort of my home without a camera in sight.