A bottle of Byredo Parfums stands sentry on the vanity.
A white robe hangs on the wall, white towels litter the tile floor.
A soapy mist, cut by a bit of cologne, peeks out of the bathroom.
This is the art of getting ready, a significant moment in time that many of us too quickly discard. For me, it is everything. All the hope and possibility of the evening is there in that jewel of time. It is always better than anything can ever truly be, and I’ve always prized it for precisely that reason.
While on tour, these are the moments that matter. The in-between magic that happens in hotel rooms, the preparation for a night on the town, the act of dressing up for an event – all of it is imbued with something extra, some additional sprinkling of fairy dust that lends it a sparkle I miss when not on tour.
The simple act of taking a shower – so mundane and commonplace – can be made into an indulgent act of pampering when given the proper respect and attention to detail. (Granted, an extravagant hotel suite helps, but how often do any of us get to experience that?) It’s far better to bring something special into a daily way of life – the happiness and joy spilling into otherwise routine behavior – than to reserve it solely for those rare occasions.
Then, in the mirror, a sudden contemplative flash of self-examination in the midst of the conjuring of glamour. Bereft of any sartorial armor, save a towel or pair of underwear, there is no hiding from yourself. How many times do we look at ourselves in the mirror and truly see the person staring back? We study the lines, the wrinkles, and the gray hair, and we pick apart our faults and flaws and fuck-ups.
We then do our best to hide them, whether that’s literally covering up in a flashy jacket or simply accentuating our strengths. How much of our lives are spent in such masks? How many minutes and hours have we devoted to such preparation? How much have we loved it?
