It costs me a lot to look this average

I need to ask a question. When did personal maintenance start costing so much money? There was a time when I knew nothing of beauticians, deep conditioning treatments, anti-aging eye creams or waxing. I miss the days of not knowing about waxing. They were a happier time.

And the thing is, I know that as I get older it is only going to get worse/ more expensive. Men don’t have to worry about this. Ok, they might go bald, but unless they know a wig-maker or believe in miracle re-growth creams, they just need to learn the art of acceptance.

As a woman I dread to think what I will spend in the years to come trying to defy the passage of time, regain my youthful looks and turn back the clock. Should I be saving now for the face lift?

Hair

The amount of time and money spent on my hair is frightening. Not that you’d know. I am sick to death of washing and drying it - every damned day. Although I do have a confession, if I am feeling particularly lazy, a fringe wash will just about suffice.

People spend an hour a day, seven days a week, washing and blow drying. This is 365 hours a year. I’m not sure I’m willing to make that kind of commitment.

And which shampoo should I be buying? Shelf after shelf of multi-coloured bottles. How bad does my hair have to be to qualify as ‘damaged?’

And then what happens when greying forces you to colour it? A cut is expensive enough. I can’t cope emotionally or financially with greying. And that isn’t taking into consideration the time commitment. Hair needs colouring 6 weekly to avoid unsightly and age-revealing roots, takes 3 hours, and requires a remortgage.

The hair no-one wants.

At present I do not have a moustache. I have very dark hair, so it will come in time. Women are not meant to have moustaches, and thus are forced to either bleach it (unwise and unsightly), wax it, thread it, or laser the little blighter off.

Our eyebrows are expected to be neat, shaped and not meeting one another on our nose. So to avoid a Gallagher look we pluck, wax, or pay a skilled professional to thread. We endure the pain and eyes watering for the smooth and pristine result that is left. Until it grows back 48 hours later.

As for the hair of the lady garden, well ladies, what a hard time we have. Oh, lady gardens, what a bother they are. It's not like you can let them run wild, or even leave them for a few months to see what comes up in the spring. It’s Brazilians and Hollywoods and landing strips. Why do we need to shape our pubic hair like topiary? And don’t even get me started on vejazzling.

Staying trim

I wrote about my latest exercise experiences here. You should read it. After you finish reading this post of course.

I know people who are literally superheros in the exercise stakes. They get up at 5am. They run marathons, lift weights, and are so self righteous I wish to smack them clean in their very slim chops.

I have recently started swimming before work to stay in shape. Goodness, I’ve gone to the dark side of self-righteous exercisers. However, this righteousness is slightly offset by the water that then rattles around my head for the rest of the day. It’s torture. Have you ever had it?

Exercise is definitely overrated. In the history of civilisation, exercise is a rather late arrival. Until around 1910 people exercised all the time, but did not think of it as this, it was life itself. And then, along came cars. Cars are the reason people now have to go the gym and walk on a stationary conveyor-belt.

The good news is I don’t own a car. Maybe I can stop exercising?

Skin

I have a lot of lotions and potions. The boyfriend, whose idea of a beauty regime is a wash with a bar of soap, thinks it is hilarious. I know in my heart that all these potions are the same, and are designed to make vulnerable women shell out ridiculous sums for useless products; but I won’t be using foot cream on my face – just in case.

I worry that I am only a few hours a week, (and a fair amount of cash) from looking slightly homeless. The frizzy mop of hair I would have without my shampoo for damaged hair and most prized straighteners. The pot belly I would develop if I ate just half of what I think about eating and gave up the gym. The grubby nails, moustache, bushy eyebrows and worse.

I know that it’s only going to go downhill as the years go on, but at least I can console myself in the fact that I’m probably not going to go bald.

The trouble with blogging

My blogging life started a little something like this:

I had an idea. That idea was to try and turn over a new leaf and become a saver. Read about this decision in my first ever post here.

I then had a second idea. Why not document my trials and tribulations in a blog? This would give me an outlet for my love of writing and provide a free hobby as per the saving strategy outlined. It would also make the mundane and painful task of saving into a project. I like a project.

The truth, readers, is that the blog project is going far better than the saving project, but if you’re a reader, you know that anyway.

They say that writing regularly is a path to self-discovery, a chance to work out what you want to do.

Now the irony of the blog going well is that I definitely haven’t worked out what I want to do, furthermore I’m pretty sure my life is rather boring. But I have been discovering. And what I have discovered is that blogging is not without its pitfalls. And currently mine are twofold.

1. The Loss of Secrets.

There is something nice about having a secret and keeping it just for you. It gives you a warm and fuzzy feeling. Now, I’m not talking about the kind of secrets that ruin families, eat you up inside, or come out in the Queen Vic on Christmas day. No, just those pieces of information you like to occasionally hold onto for yourself.

Like, perhaps, finding your first grey hair. I blogged on this very matter (you can read it here) and ever since have felt people’s eyes searching through my thick dark hair for a rogue wiry grey ‘un. Well, you can all stop bloody looking, because I plucked it out.

The day after I had posted this, a friend sent me a link for hair dye. Oh, the hilarity.

When I find the hint of a moustache, you can bet your life that only me (and my beautician) will know about it.

2. The confusion of my identity

If one more person tells me that Money Saving Madam wouldn’t be very happy with i) my holiday planning ii) my popping out for a cappuccino iii) my weekend plan, I am going to pitch them clean through the window.

I AM her people. She is me. This isn’t an alter-ego; this is the story of my attempt to save. Read the strapline: One girl. Trying to be frugal. Mainly failing.

I do not leave work, go into the phone box at the end of the street, spin around, and become a caped-credit-score crusader. I wish I did, but the reality just isn’t that exciting.

I am trying people.

Clothing shopping habits have taken at least an 80% cut. I bring a neatly parcelled packed lunch into work daily and am limiting my amazon book habit to 2 books per month. I cleared my credit card details from all websites, giving myself an extra few moments to decide I don’t need/can’t afford said item. I even gave up meat for a month to see if the cost saving was worth it. (Conclusion: it wasn't.)

I am not a hypocrite, nor a super-hero.

But I have cleared my overdraft.

Consumerism: 0    Money Saving Madam: 1

A spot of stolen Sunday wisdom

Writing today’s post hurts. I don’t want to admit what’s happened to me. It seems so silly because this occurs to most of us eventually.

Ok, here it is (deep breath): I found my first grey hair. The horror.

Now, in these recessionary times you’re probably saying what’s the big deal about one grey hair..? Aren’t I lucky I have hair at all?

But when you’re a child, dreaming about all the ‘firsts’ in your future (first kiss, first love, first drink, first time you shave your legs), your first grey hair is not something you lie awake imagining. When the day came, there was just me, the mirror, and a bastardly grey strand protruding mockingly from my scalp.

Besides, I simply cannot afford the cost of root maintenance. 

What did I do about that hair? No, I did not pull the coarse intruder out from the roots or dye it. The hairdresser told me it was unwise to pluck it out, although google research has since revealed that it is a myth that if you pluck out grey hair then two will grow back in its place. They don’t sprout to seek revenge for the execution of their follicular comrades. 

This all got me thinking. It used to be common thought that grey hair was associated with wisdom. Perhaps this is it; perhaps now that I am old and grey I am thus wise, sage and mellow. Perhaps now I understand just what matters in life.

Of course this is nonsense.

One of my favourite writers is Nora Ephron. Funny, unable to write a boring sentence, and wise; I thought that to mark the occasion of my first grey hair it would be ‘wise’ to steal some of her actual wisdom, and share it with you all.

From Nora Ephron’s essay, What I wish I’d known.

'People have only one way to be.

Never marry a man you wouldn’t want to be divorced from.

You never know.

The plane is not going to crash.

Anything you think is wrong with your body at thirty-five you will be nostalgic for at the age of forty-five.

Write everything down.

Take more pictures.

You can order more than one dessert.

If the shoe doesn’t fit in the store, it’s never going to fit.

Whenever someone says the words ‘Our friendship is more important than this,’ watch out, because it almost never is.

Overtip.

If only one third of your clothes are mistakes, you’re ahead of the game.

There are no secrets.'

Thanks Nora. Unfortunately she doesn't have any insight into the grey matter. So I shall be wise and decide that at 27 it’s way too early for acceptance. Instead, I shall just move my fringe over a little on the other side and pretend the grey hair – that little bugger! – isn’t there.