Uncreated Conscience

Once more med school prom has come and gone I have the photographic evidence in my nail-polish stained fingers. There needs to be more (semi)formal events in my life so I can indulge my inner princess by wearing pretty, pretty dresses and makeup.

From a mask and makeup test a few weeks ago.

My mother once accused me of living in a made-up world of stories and fairytales. Of course, I found this vastly complimentary, but Mum actually intended it as a criticism of how I dress. I stand convicted. As you might recall, last year Bear and I went as a gangster and moll from the 1930s. This year the med school itself gave me a theme: masquerade ball.

Photos from the night (and the process of getting ready) below the cut.

The night before prom I stayed up late watching the men’s free skate competition (yay for Evan Lysacek! boo for Johnny Weir getting robbed) while cleaning my makeup brushes and painting my nails.

I haven't worn glittery nail polish since I was 12 years old.

(The late night would come and bite me in the ass again later.) I’m not someone who wears a lot of nail polish as I’m a chronic nail biter, not to mention I have the hands of a 9 year old boy. Even as I type up this entry I keep thinking my hands belong to someone else.

I begged leave off work a little early (and because Cap’n Sweet Valley is the bestest boss in the world, I did) and got to New Brunswick around 3:30. I set up camp in a little unused attic room in Bear and Oz’s apartment to serve as my boudoir.

My dress waiting to be worn.

Because I had to do The Inimitable Bex‘s hair and makeup as well, I began my preparations extraordinarily early (and we were still a little late, oh dear).

I wore no makeup at all that day.

I wore no makeup whatsoever (not even concealer) before I began getting ready. Why couldn’t I have gotten the good Asian genes, like clear, glowing skin and awesome, straight hair? Speaking of hair, I had a last minute change in plans as I wasn’t too happy with the curls from my test run.

My hair is like the lotto. Some days I win with it sleek and straight, but most days I lose terribly with a wavy mess.

I worked on Bex’s “updo” first, which took quite a bit of improvisation and a judicious amount of hairspray and bobby pins as she has the thickest, straightest, most gorgeous-yet-stubborn hair in the world. In the end Jack and I managed to wrestle it into a slightly punked-out French braid with a low side-ponytail. Then I set to my own hair, which is also thick, but unlike Bex’s, it’s easily styled. (My hair is sometimes too easily suggestible. If I braid my hair for two seconds, it’s crimped for the rest of the day.)

Jack calls this 1960s bed hair.

I decided against the tight, ringlet curls and decided looser waves were more flattering on my face. I bought a curling iron with a bigger barrel (1.5 inch diameter). Jack calls it 1960s bedroom hair. It is indeed very voluminous. I had to work it without a decent mirror or lighting, but I think it turned out all right.

I have no features on my face, but that's because I haven't painted them on yet. I do, however, seem to have great cleavage going on.

And then the dress, which took some wrestling, wriggling, and two other friends to help zip me up. Also, here’s a tip to people searching for methods of portion control: SPANX. Oh my god. I’d never worn them before and I probably will never wear them again.

Makeup achieved! Soon this shall all be covered by a mask.

After we were gussied up, we made our way to the Grand Hyatt for prom. I made us fashionably late, but in my defense, I had to ready two other people in addition to myself.

Bex and Oz! One year ago we set them up on a blind date for this very event. Aw, happy anniversary, kids.

We made our way to the open bar and ordered beer and wine as we learned last year they watered the liquor down considerably. I opted for a glass of merlot to drink with dinner, but this may have been a mistake on my part. I got drunk within seconds and then practically slept for the rest of the evening. Going to bed late and waking up early for a 3 mile run tends to do that to a girl. Add a glass of red wine and I was finished.

I am drunk, but not naked in this picture. Even though I look it. Naked, that is. And probably drunk too.

I received a lot of compliments on the dress (just as last year I received a lot of compliments on the flower in my hair) and felt curiously over-exposed the entire night (the fact that I look naked in most of the pictures probably doesn’t help). The dress is fairly conservative with a full knee-length skirt, sleeves, and a bodice, but the off-the-shoulder and revealing neckline combination made it feel almost indecent. I’m bringing sexy back, Victorian style.

Me and Bex in our masks! I still look naked, but she's rocking my high school prom dress.

Somehow Bex and I missed the memo that purple would be the vogue colour this year. I couldn’t count on all twenty fingers and toes how many girls I saw wearing very similar dresses: jewel-toned purple, strapless, short, Empire-waisted, with interesting structural elements in the form of architectural ruffles.

Me and my handsome Bear on the dancefloor. At last, a picture in which I'm clothed!

After the night was over, we headed to another club for the after party but didn’t stay too long as the house music was crap and I actually fell asleep in the corner. Yep. I was that girl you saw passed out in the corner of a guido club in New Jersey wearing a vintage 80s floofy dress and a mask. Aren’t you all jealous?

We might have ended the night earlier than last year, but it was still fun, and the best part of the evening was coming home, taking off that goddamned Spanx, and snuggling up with my Teddy Bear and a White-Harp. Mrrrr.