"Jazz"

Jazz by Essie

It could’ve been a liver cleanser, a strawberry tofu pudding. A Chinatown plastic bag. A wispy, watered down tea-rose. Come to think of it, this color is as far from my feeling of Jazz as the chalky taste of old Halva. 

I was leaning towards the nudes, skincolor, possibly anticipating the onset of Spring  when you are reminded of the fact that peoples have limbs once they become exposed again.

It was certainly a poor choice.  My winter chaffed cuticles dry and sore, might’ve been better downplayed by a dark color. Raw skin against a very faintly mauve neutral beckoned a bright dress. I went with a retro-teal one and bright coral lipstick. Think Tupperware parties and Floridian tedium antidote.

Jazz is the type of color that when I see on a tall, svelte, carelessly chic woman wear, I think it’s divine, but in reality does nothing for me. I bought a V-neck sweater in a dull blush color of that palette this winter. Had I not worn it with bright red lipstick I would’ve looked positively jaundiced and about to expire of consumption. One of those Victorian maladies.

I normally slide into neutral mode when I am trying to emulate effortlessness, demure or understated. Visual antonyms of my inner traits, just to keep me in check. As usual, it backfires. This pale color creased and started to look crackly very soon after it dried out.

Nude, monochromatic, fleshtones, seamless blending with the rest of the finger and hand. Polished enough to look like it was there by design, but non-challant enough for full blasé effect. “The beige of conformity” making an appearance at the extreme ends of my stumpy limbs. 

Elegance doesn’t belong here, but I sure like to steal a small helping of it.