I had to renew my license this month, so I took care of it yesterday. You know how everyone always complains about their license picture looking just awful? Well, I don't want to seem vain, but I always go through great measures to try to prevent a terrible driver's license picture. This is the fourth driver's license that I've had and I wanted it to look good. I don't really remember what my first picture looked like. I do recall leaving the DOT thinking it looked all right, but then I proudly showed it to a lady who was painting our house and her comment was, "Well, they are supposed to be bad photos." My pride was a little hurt, since I don't recall thinking it was that terrible, but then I just looked ahead until I got my next one when I was 21.
Now, that time, I worked hard, but acted like I didn't care, 'cause it just seems silly to get all dolled up for a driver's license. In reality, I spent lots of mousse and time on my long, bluntly cut hair. I carefully applied my make up because it's the small details that count. I found a blue shirt that would go well with the crazy blue backdrop. I casually walked in, did what they asked, and stood in front of the camera. I tried to act like it was no big deal, but I apparently did my signature pose... tilted my head a little to my left, so my good side would show. So the lady barked at me to look straight ahead. I looked straight ahead, thought of something funny and she snapped the shot.
The picture was awesome. And the best part was that I wasn't going to have to renew it for five years. Twenty-six sounded like it was YEARS away. My mom had renewed hers that day, too, and we just couldn't imagine that she and I would ever be 26 and 60. ha.
Welp, then I up and got married two years later and had to get another license with my hyphenated name and new address on it. I went through the whole process again. My hair was still long and blunt, easy to style with mousse and a hair dryer. I did my make up just so. I pulled the front of my hair back into a small clip to give it some "oomph." And I acted like I wasn't doing it for a silly ol' picture that hardly anyone sees, but because I was gracing the world with my presence and didn't want to startle anyone.
I did what they asked, I waited to take my photo, I thought of something funny for a genuine smile when they took the photo and.... ew. My face was super round, my hair was flat, it was a scary picture and I felt shame the rare times that I was asked to present my ID. I was glad that I only had three years to update it. I practically marked it on my calendar.
So yesterday was the big day. I have a nice, but difficult haircut that I don't understand how to style, but I didn't want to let that set me back. I've lived with an embarassing license for three years and I wanted one that I liked. This picture was going to happen. So I got out the big guns to try to make my hair work. I got out the mousse, the leave in conditioner, the pomade, the flat iron spray, the shine spray, the hair dryer, the flat iron, the ginormous round brush and the skinny comb. The troops who show up when I take a seat at the salon were sitting there to be used and make my hair beautiful, shiny, and perfectly straight for this photo. After a successful time with these products and tools, my hair is supposed to be sleek, parted on the side, with bangs that swoosh across my face, and my ends are supposed to be super straight. That's how it works when I bounce out of the salon, so I figure that when I have my troops around my vanity, it ought to work that way.
So I spent a good forty-five minutes on my hair, separating sections, using the various products, ironing it out. Um. In the end, I wouldn't describe it as sleek. Or straight. Or lacking frizz. But in that time of careful grooming, I did accomplish a deep side part with long bangs that swooshed across my face. So I hoped that, given the hard work that I put into it, the rest would just work itself out. So I moved on to make up, because that is something I understand. I don't really fuss with my skin. I just put on some eye stuff, fill in my gappy eyebrows, and wait to color my lips in with lipgloss RIGHT before I enter the DOT.
I chose to wear a red top to go nicely with the crazy blue back drop and, um, to compliment my skin. Not that I care.
So I finally got to the DOT and casually walked in, acting like I hadn't just spent more time than usual on my appearance, just for a photo that is hardly seen. I kept touching my hair, wishing that more people were vain enough to petition for mirrors so they could fluff before the Big Moment. I imagined that maybe, in the 15 minute drive from my apartment to the DOT, my hair had settled into either (a) a more straight, sleek position or (b) a casually wavy situation, opposed to the frizzy mess that I allowed it to be in when I left the apartment. Then I told myself to just accept that I wouldn't know until I saw my picture. Besides, I reasoned, what's another five years with a bad picture... another five years of shame when I'm carded at bar doors... another five years of embarrassment when I have to have my ID copied at new jobs... another five years of... okay, so it was bothering me. Am I really the only one who was this vain? I kept looking at everyone who went to the camera and wondered if they put any time into how they looked that day or if they just happened to need to have their hair placed just so or need to wear so much make up...
My name was finally called for the picture, and I gave an inconspicuous fluff to my hair. I stood in front of the camera, thought of a hilarious memory and hoped for the best.
What resulted was not the worst thing. I think I can live with the photo for five years. Basically, I can live with the eyes, nose and smile and the swoosh of my bangs is all right. Even my face isn't too round... it just sort of looks like I rolled out of bed and forgot to do something with my hair. It took me 45 minutes, tons of products, a brush, a comb, and two tools to get that look that I wasn't going for.
But I don't hate the picture.
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