Despite being a huge narcissist, I'm often seized by the fantasy of not-existing. The feeling of the disappearance, as imagined, is like being a Listerine strip on god's tongue. I just fade and fade and fade until I've become a film so thin that I'm inseparable from what I dissolve onto. Less a fly on the wall, I'm more a consciousness spread across that wall. Fly gut residue. But peaceful, you know.
Surely my longstanding attraction to the ombre effect has a lot to do with this fantasy. Colors bleeding into one another until no one can figure out the point at which one ended and the next began. Every once and awhile it makes a comeback in popular fashion and I find myself wanting everything, everywhere, as opposed to the times when every catalog shows leggings and ankle booties-- you will never see me in ankle booties-- and this spring happens to be one of those seasons, but ombre's pull on me has been constant and permanent and trendless.
So one night a few weeks ago, when I was feeling especially disappeary, I decided to make my hair ombre. I started orange at the roots, segued into a reddish brown, and then finished with magenta. The effect is clearer in natural sunlight than it is below:
Then almost immediately afterward started fixating once again on this Ralph Lauren comforter I'd been eying for months, except it was stupidly expensive at Bloomingdales, so I'd written it off:
And somewhat stupidly on my part, I began to wonder, what is it about this comforter that has me so entranced ? Until I realized that if I flipped it vertically from how Ralph shows it in his packaging photo, it was the bedding equivalent of my hair. I had to have it. And I found one cheaper than four hundred dollars because it had some mysterious defect that I couldn't find (bedding, c'est moi?), and my fantasy began to get more specific. Instead of this colorless disappearing I had been picturing before in my mind, my fade now went from a mandarin to magenta, the warmest, fuzziest version of becoming obsolete.
I saw myself lying in the bed, hair above me like a flame, self on and under matching fabric, one great swath of tropical sunset. Saw myself being hard to see if one were walking into the room at that time of day.
And then I saw this (clearly, Ralph Lauren is similarly fixated), which is the only one I can find, and though it isn't my size:
I think I have to have it. To go to bed in. For bottoms I own a pair of hot pink bloomers with orange ribbon, which will have to do until I master the art of dip-dyeing.
Fading in terms of the blog has to do with getting ready to move and commencing work on the screen adaptation of a book, which I guess I'm not supposed to talk about because the company that holds the rights to the book isn't announcing the project yet. But if you're quick with your one-eyed romantic leads, you can put it together...well, probably not.