Sunglasses
Sunglasses have always weirded me out. I just purchased my first pair in June because of my aversion to them. I never wore them as a kid, braving the UV exposure to my eyes and the scorn of my peers. And by scorn I mean mild curiosity. Sunglasses always just seemed to be more trouble than they're worth.
Part of me had always thought I was too awesome for sunglasses, I guess. You know that part of you that's convinced that your Hogwarts letter just got lost in the owl post? That same part of me secretly thought I was a superhero, a superhero who could see just as well on sunny days with sunglasses. Everyone who used them were wimpy weaklings, the ones I would have to catch as they fell from falling buildings.
When I was cursed with nearsightedness in the fifth grade, my mother purchased me prescription sunglasses with green tinted lenses. I wore them once to appease her before packing them away somewhere where they would be difficult to find. I may have been unable to distinguish between a tree and a person without my glasses, but I would not suffer the indignity of sunglasses on top of that.
I received aviators in the fall in my high school's psych pack for the big game of the year. I wore them, and it was a revolution. I felt like a complete badass in the aviators, even if they made me legally blind. The thing about aviators is that you're supposed to wear them when you're in the pilot seat of a plane, staring at the glaring sun. Only then can enough light penetrate to allow you to see anything. So everyone could me admiring you appreciatively as you wear them on the ground, but there's no way of being able to tell that they're doing so.
On the flip side, I don't like talking to people wearing sunglasses. I can never tell where they're looking. She could be looking at me or staring blankly as passing cars. There's really no way of teling. I find it disorienting. Also, girls insist on buying designer sunglasses that cover half of their faces. Often the lens are round and bulbous. And all I can think is that there's an impending attack from some gigantic flies posing as people. I am constantly nervous about looking like a large bug or a robot-like, futuristic being with bizarre, square/rectangle-cut glasses.
But it was like magic when I purchased a pair of sunglasses I could see in. My mother splurged on a really nice pair so that I could drive my car during the day. There was a seeing revolution. After wearing sunglasses during the day, I could see at night! And I didn't have to flip that sun visor in my car in whatever direction the sun was. It's another one of those things that seems really useful until you realize your car goes in other directions than a straight line.
I don't know if I've quite overcome my distaste for sunglasses, but they no longer baffle me.
Technorati Tags: sunglasses
Part of me had always thought I was too awesome for sunglasses, I guess. You know that part of you that's convinced that your Hogwarts letter just got lost in the owl post? That same part of me secretly thought I was a superhero, a superhero who could see just as well on sunny days with sunglasses. Everyone who used them were wimpy weaklings, the ones I would have to catch as they fell from falling buildings.
When I was cursed with nearsightedness in the fifth grade, my mother purchased me prescription sunglasses with green tinted lenses. I wore them once to appease her before packing them away somewhere where they would be difficult to find. I may have been unable to distinguish between a tree and a person without my glasses, but I would not suffer the indignity of sunglasses on top of that.
I received aviators in the fall in my high school's psych pack for the big game of the year. I wore them, and it was a revolution. I felt like a complete badass in the aviators, even if they made me legally blind. The thing about aviators is that you're supposed to wear them when you're in the pilot seat of a plane, staring at the glaring sun. Only then can enough light penetrate to allow you to see anything. So everyone could me admiring you appreciatively as you wear them on the ground, but there's no way of being able to tell that they're doing so.
On the flip side, I don't like talking to people wearing sunglasses. I can never tell where they're looking. She could be looking at me or staring blankly as passing cars. There's really no way of teling. I find it disorienting. Also, girls insist on buying designer sunglasses that cover half of their faces. Often the lens are round and bulbous. And all I can think is that there's an impending attack from some gigantic flies posing as people. I am constantly nervous about looking like a large bug or a robot-like, futuristic being with bizarre, square/rectangle-cut glasses.
But it was like magic when I purchased a pair of sunglasses I could see in. My mother splurged on a really nice pair so that I could drive my car during the day. There was a seeing revolution. After wearing sunglasses during the day, I could see at night! And I didn't have to flip that sun visor in my car in whatever direction the sun was. It's another one of those things that seems really useful until you realize your car goes in other directions than a straight line.
I don't know if I've quite overcome my distaste for sunglasses, but they no longer baffle me.
Technorati Tags: sunglasses
posted by Meredith at 11:58 AM
2 Comments:
I agree with the disconcerting nature of people wearing sunglasses during a conversation. I've definitely stopped talking once, peered into the darkened lenses, and realized that the person I was talking to was indeed, watching a rather attractive boy walk down the street rather than listen. On a side note, I also find it absurd when people wear sunglasses inside.
Take a look at the latest Sunglasses Hut Blog Guide 2006-2007, and be in fashion.
http://sunglasses-hut.precious-media.com/
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