REMEMBERING TWIGGY'S EYES
I opened the note that Susan slipped me in study hall. “Let’s go to McKnight’s after school and sample some of the makeup and test some perfumes.”
I glanced in her direction, shook my head, and scribbled, “Oh I shouldn’t.” I hesitated but then wrote, “What if Mother finds out? You know how she feels about girls wearing perfume and makeup.” I refolded the note and sent it across the aisle toward Susan.
Susan read my reply, frowned at me, jotted down her answer, and returned the note. “She won’t know. Come on! We’ll have a blast. You know you want to.”
True. I wanted to go but was torn between my teenage fascination with makeup and my fear of Mother’s disapproval. But I felt adventurous around Susan, so I scrawled, “Okay. See you at 3:30.”
So, after school Susan and I walked into town and ventured into McKnight’s Drugstore. We strolled past the soda fountain, selected a song from the jukebox, and then ambled our way through the small, cluttered store. We passed shelves that housed some of our favorite beauty products—Prell Shampoo, Lux Soap, Aqua Net Hair Spray, Spoolies, and Toni Home Perm Kits. We lingered at the cosmetic counter and tested some of newest 60s mod lipsticks—Yardley of London’s Lip Slickers and Revlon’s Moon Drops.
“Good afternoon, girls.” A cheerful voice startled us. “My name’s Joy.” A petite, red-haired college coed stepped from behind the perfume counter. “How may I help you girls today?”
Susan looked directly at her. “What’s new at the perfume and cosmetic counter?”
“McKnight’s has the newest perfumes as well as the latest mod trends in makeup.” Joy pulled a bottle of perfume from a display. “You’ve got to smell this!” She sprayed a generous portion of Heaven Scent perfume on our wrists.
Susan sniffed her wrist. “Yummy! It smells sexy!”
We blushed and giggled as only teenage girls can and then in unison began singing the words to the Heaven Scent commercial. “Suddenly you’re an imp wearing Angel’s wings…Suddenly you’re all the things you want to be—a little bit naughty but heavenly.”
Joy rolled her eyes then headed to the other side of the counter. “Over here are the eye shadows, eyeliners, mascaras, and the new Twiggy Eye Paint Double Liner Duo.”
“I confess,” Susan said. “I don’t know the first thing about putting on eye makeup.”
“Me neither,” I sighed. “But I’d love to look like Twiggy!”
“Oh, you can. It’s easy.” Joy pointed to some stools next to the cosmetic counter. “Have a seat, and I’ll show you how to achieve the Twiggy look.”
“Groovy!” said Susan.
Joy handed me a mirror and bottle of Bonne Bell foundation. “First, dab some of this over your face and then smooth it out using this cosmetic sponge.” Then she opened a drawer and pulled out an eye shadow trio. “Now, brush this smoky shadow over your eyelid. Drift the lighter gray eye shadow out to your hair line. Next swirl the darker, dusky smoke on your upper lid just up to the crease.”
She turned to me and nodded. “Far Out!” Then she handed me a package of Twiggy’s Eye Paint Double Liner Duo. “Go ahead! Open it!” Joy winked at me. “Wet the eyeliner brush and mix with Twiggy Eye Paint. Brush a thin line of dark liner on each eyelid right above your eyelashes.” She paused then instructed, “Now brush a second white line above the dark line for the real Twiggy eye. Next, carefully draw skinny Twiggy-lashes with dark eyeliner in between your own lashes.” Joy looked at my progress. “Spiffy! Now, follow with several applications of lengthening mascara.”
When I finished, I turned and faced Susan. “You’re really cute,” she blurted. “You look like a brunette Twiggy or perhaps Mia Farrow. You should buy the makeup and eye paint kit!”
“Oh, I can’t! You know Mother won’t allow me to wear makeup. Besides, I don’t have any money.”
“Hmmm…..I’ve got the most scathingly brilliant idea!” Susan’s eyes sparkled like Haley Mills’ eyes in Trouble with Angels. “Save your lunch money and buy the makeup.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” I shrugged my shoulders. “No way that’s gonna work.”
“Sure it can work. Once you buy the makeup, just hide it in your purse; put it on at school every morning; and take it off before you go home. It’s sooooo simple.”
“Well,” I ran my hands through my hair and took another look in the mirror. “Maybe you’re right.” My stomach fluttered as I squealed, “Okay, I’ll do it.”
So for several weeks, I sacrificed nutrition for beauty and secretly hoarded my lunch money saving over $15 for my Twiggy eyes. By the time I purchased the Twiggy eye makeup kit, I’d lost enough weight that I was almost as thin as Twiggy. My makeup charade continued for months—until that fateful January day when I broke my ankle in gym class.
I was lying on the gym floor with my foot propped up when my mother arrived. She lumbered across the gym floor and stopped. She looked down first at my ankle, and then swiftly turned her head focusing on my Twiggy eyes.
“What’s THAT on your eyes?” She crossed her arms and tapped her right foot waiting for my answer.
My face tightened, and my heart raced. Small beads of sweat began seeping through the tiny pores on my face. My foundation began dripping, and my mascara and eyeliner melted just enough that, when I blinked, my Twiggy eyes began running down my face. “I, uh…uh…just wanted Twiggy’s eyes.”
“Well, young lady,” she pointed her index finger at me. “That’s gonna cost you. You’re grounded till May!”
I was so busted and knew I’d made an awful mistake. I didn’t know what was worse—my broken ankle, my bruised ego, my melted Twiggy eyes, or Mother’s anger. Nonetheless, my mistake—born out of teenage pride—came with a heavy price, for the remainder of the semester there was no Valentine’s Dance, no slumber parties at Susan’s, no Friday night dates, and certainly no more Twiggy eyes!
At that time I thought my mother’s reaction to my Twiggy eyes was extreme. In the years hence, I realized that Mother understood how to prepare me for the 50s with their simplicity and predictability. But she didn’t understand how to prepare me for the 60s with their complexity and instability—a time when women changed everything from their hairdos, makeup, shopping habits, and husbands to their ideas about life in general.
Perhaps my Twiggy eyes represented her apprehension with all that turmoil and uncertainty. Maybe she thought that my Twiggy eyes somehow meant that I, too, was becoming as unpredictable as the 60s. And although she couldn’t eliminate her anxiety about raising a teenage daughter in the 60s, Mother could still punish me and could banish my Twiggy eyes. Doing so probably made her feel just a bit better.
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