On the misuse of light, surely a talk has taken place this week on community of La Razón that has sneaked in when sharing the news of the plane that the Pentagon wants to acquire as the new Air Force One: “The prototype includes two suites and is made with luxury materials. It will be able to fly at the speed of light ”. Of the light. This is that Biden – according to La Razón – would travel the 6088 km that separate Washington DC from Madrid 25 times – back and forth – in a second. He wasn’t going to have time to use the suites or order a relaxing latte.
But the worst of light is not in its speed, but in the things it shows us, and the worst of all – even before 40 – are evident in the fitting rooms. Will there be more treacherously illuminated places? Those narrow rooms, with curtains that if you close from here open from there and that zenith halogen bringing out the worst version of yourself. And those shadows? And those girls? To top it all, in my case, if I go I do it so reluctantly that I only try my clothes half undressed: a flowy skirt over my ankle-length pants and a gym hoodie. Ravaging any hint of glamor, or even dignity. Come on, as if to have my Manolo waiting outside and half open the curtain to ask him: “What? How’s it going?” What was he going to answer? Well, good, good! Just because you know who handles the knives in this house. And no, of course not all changing rooms are poorly lit! In some, instead of a zombie with love handles, you feel like a princess: soft light, Louis XV armchairs and a coffee table where a very upright clerk serves you another glass of champagne among the melody of Bach’s suite number 1 for cello . Because what the franchise testers and chumba chumba really tell you is not: “you are ugly, you are fat, you are old”, but simply: “you are poor”. For this reason, and to avoid that one day the straw that breaks the camel’s back is a button that does not fasten me and ends up breaking a light bulb of low consumption and less guilt, it is best to try my clothes at home. Or in a fitting room, with jeans and dignity on the floor, but knowingly, after so many years, that I do know myself and totally, to that mirror, it has just been introduced to me.
But if the reader is at an age, or at a moment in the life of those impressionable, there are two maxims that must be very clear before taking a deep breath, count to twenty and stand in line with four pieces of clothing divided into the same Outfit and sizes ranging from please other than this one to hopefully: No one is as handsome as in Instagram photos, nor as ugly as in a fitting room. And the second: if monkeys appear in the bed scene, if meat and hair do not hang on them, the film is shot vertically. And probably, even with doubles, that there is no scene of more risk than that of showing the ass knowing that one day it will occupy the entire foreground of a cinemascope screen.
And it really will not be the case, it never happened! But if you are about to climax in the prone position, with the girls spinning at an uneven rhythm, your partner supine and watching you from a low angle goes and stops, not to tell you, keep going, but because, without a helmet with a flashlight, he feels irrepressible need to make an unsolicited comment like: “Could it be that you are getting fat?” If ever the need arises we have to choose between having a Manolo criticize your ass or having Manolos lift it up for you, I’ll ask for the Hangisi in blue satin with a stiletto heel and an almond toe capped with a glass buckle. Call me romantic, but here is my third and last advice: there is no romance that exceeds in time and intensity the one we keep with ourselves, as if to betray him at this point! It would take time to settle the matter than to pull up my pants and walk away. And even it may, it may have happened then … that the one to illuminate the Zara, was me.
Eddie is an Australian news reporter with over 9 years in the industry and has published on Forbes and tech crunch.