Face Shopping
“Do you think this face would make me look fat?”
“What are you talking about? You know you always look good.”
“But tonight’s important. I need to make a really good impression on him. I need him to, you know, like me as soon as he sees me.”
“You’ll be fine! You always dress well, you always accessorise better than me.”
“Yes, but, this needs to be perfect. This whole area needs to be what he remembers me for.” She made a large circular motion across her face with her hand, emphasising the importance of her upcoming purchase.
She lowered her hand and looked at her friend with something like desperation and, possibly, pity that her friend wasn’t (she knew she shouldn’t it admit to herself, but still) as attractive as herself in both body and general face choice. In her other hand she held what was causing the stress and anxiety of the moment. She placed the face back on the shelf before her and ran finger after finger over face after face along the numerous upon show and for sale. As she traced her hands over each nose and curve of cheek she, whether knowingly or not, ran her free hand over her neck, from nape to back, scratching around the line that when teased slightly would pop open with the slightest gasp of released air.
She wished she’d never seen the sale on television that morning. Another friend had tweeted her about the face sale at flanigans! #datetonight! What was she going to do with all this choice? She normally just shopped online. You could zoom in on the products on your phone or computer and copy and paste it onto a photograph to see how it would look on your own body. There had been that one time she’d accidentally ordered the wrong face and somehow ended up with a baby’s squashy little head being delivered a few days later… but like most other purchases, online face shopping was just more convenient. She had almost considered putting the baby face on for a joke but checked the receipt just in case: ‘…once worn a face cannot be returned…’ - health and safety and hygiene and such.
“Can’t you return it? If you get home and realise it doesn’t go with your outfit?”
“Have you just read my mind or something? I was just thinking about that.”
“Yes, it’s my special skill. My one and only.”
“No it’s not. You cooked that meal for all of us a few weeks ago. I can’t even cut bread properly.”
“I only did that to show off my new visage, as you know. Not that it worked on him though.” She drawled on ‘visage’ to mock herself, to offset the embarrassment she had felt at being ignored that night.
“Oh, his loss. What was his name again? I can’t remember what he looked like, either.”
“I still can’t get over what he told me. How he couldn’t see me as more than a friend if ‘that’s what you choose for our first face.’”
“Our first face?”
“Oh yes. He saw ‘face choice’ as a thing of partners… something to do together and something that was a sign of whether you’re meant to be together. He didn’t like that I had chosen to go black for a change.”
“And now you’ve just made me feel even worse for tonight! What if this guy judges me on my damn ‘face choice’ as you call it? Oh god!”
“Is he a racist? No? Then you’ll be fine.”
A sigh; “I suppose.”
She tried to imagine herself with some of the faces in front of her. You can hold the product up and near your face, but the problem is trying to see your reflection in the usually nearby mirror - you have to either lower the face below your eye line or hold it slightly to one side. The only reason you could ever return a face to a store was if it was ripped or in bad quality or, like her unfortunate baby delivery, the wrong one.
“Do you remember our first night out at college? Surely tonight can’t be as bad as that?” Then in a smaller voice; “Will it?”
“You mean when the left side of your nose came unstitched? Oh god I’d forgotten about that! You had to hold it in place for the rest of the night! It looked like you were holding in a nosebleed.”
“And I couldn’t get a refund for it. They said it must have had a drink split on it or I’d put too much make up on. No one spoke to me that night.”
“I did.”
“You know what I mean.”
She sighed again and looked down at the row just by her waist. To her left and right, above, below and on eye level, there were rows upon rows of potential looks, possible personalities, different pasts and futures. She saw herself for a moment as an older lady, wrinkled (but I’d need the grey hair dye to go with it wouldn’t I); then a younger self with olive skin, glasses, (no, I don’t think he’d find a clever clogs teacher look attractive); a smiling and dimpled girl, a sleek blonde beauty (who am I kidding?); even flirted with wearing a man’s face with stubble (why not enjoy adding to the sinking feeling of a first date?) – but no, there were rules about that sort of thing. It had taken three years of Parliamentary petitions to pass changing the race of one’s own face, let alone the gender of it. But she amused herself… imaging turning up in a shimmering gown, tanned arms and legs, breasts just hinted at through a sophisticated but flirtatious side gap, all completed with a middle aged, double chinned man’s head.
“What are you smiling about?” the friend asked.
She’d momentarily forgotten she was even in the store. “Oh nothing. Just that college night I guess. Can you just choose for me?”
“Hmmm… shall I just choose three and you randomly stab at one?”
“Eyes closed? Like last time?”
“Well it worked last time didn’t it? You ended up dating that doctor for a few months.”
“Yes… until he decided to swap for a bigger nose. He called it an upgrade. He looked like Pinocchio.”
The friend laughed and took off down the aisle picking and turning over a number of faces for her companion to choose from.
Three faces. Three people. (Three people?) The thought rushed through her like caffeine. It took her aback. She’d never thought of it like that before. Three faces, three people.
“Hey, hey!” She rushed down the aisle to her friend. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
“I’m not done yet, don’t worry. I might not keep these ones,” she nodded to her hand, “hang on a second.”
“No, not about your choices and that, those…I… listen… what does this guy tonight really want from me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Does he want me or… that?” She pointed at the three faces clutched in her friend’s fist.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m still me, right? We’re still… us… whatever face. Right?”
The friend started to reply but paused. She looked at her hand and the three dangling faces. She looked along the aisle in front her, then behind. She quickly looked at the three rows of faces and above her eye line. She opened her mouth but again found she didn’t know what to say. She looked back at the woman next to her.
“We’re still us… whatever the face… aren’t we?”
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