The backpack effect
Cue Trainspotting soundtrack: choose beauty.
During my daily commute, I noticed a woman sitting at a bus stop. Her good posture was accentuated by a black pencil skirt, a colourful blouse that made her suit jacket look more casual, and a blunt haircut. She looked like she had her shit together.
Playing ‘The Sims’ with her life, I would have guessed she must have been carrying stuff grown-ups use, like business cards or a planner. I don’t know what grown-ups carry. But she was definitely a Versace perfume kind of ladygirl.
At that precise moment, she stood up and, with a little jump to settle it, put on a backpack! The whole life I created for her in my mind was gone within seconds.
Presenting: The Backpack Effect
She wasn’t carrying a cool velvety studded backpack on one shoulder that said ‘All the hip models on Instagram are wearing me and if you use my LookBook promo code you can get a 20% discount.’ Not even a smart casual one in beige leather that said ‘You should see me paired with black sunglasses on the French Riviera.’
She was wearing a sporty one with orange zippers and net pockets on the sides, that said ‘Do you want to see photos of me and my dogs on a hike last weekend?’
And then I noticed them.
All over the city.
Business people, wearing suits, gym shoes, and carrying backpacks tightly on their backs. I’m talking proper shoulder level! Hanging their hands to the straps while looking as far as possible to spot their bus on tip toes. A plethora of first-grade grown-ups, looking to sit in the very front row seats on their bus.
Were they eight? Were they forty-eight? Hard to tell.
Coming here, I intended to make room for whoever my adulting self would turn out to be; I brought my powersuit and abandoned my Tumblr aesthetic for corporate goth (possibly with pockets). But black nylons with gym shoes, suits and mountain accessories were not what I thought serious people looked like.
People here were supposed to be cool. Melbournians, notoriously, ran on skinny caps and protests, wearing all black and covered in tattoos.
My hero was this guy in a suit and shiny shoes, I once saw darting through traffic on an electric skateboard, trailing a wheeled briefcase behind him. What a champion.
Hold my coffee while I look like a serious person with pink hair.
I regretted leaving most of my pastel goth items behind, but such are the hardships of a transoceanic move.
If, with my first and second paychecks, I treated myself to not-the-cheapest wine and The Sims, my third splurge, even before purchasing a perfume, was to bleach and rainbow colour half my head. I came here to find a job and look like a serious person. I didn’t travel this far from Italy to look like I didn’t have a clue about personal style. Thank you very much.
Since I wasn’t putting an ugly ergonomic backpack on my shoulders, I needed to treat my skincare routine more seriously. Luckily, I happened to land in Melbourne during the beauty vlogs explosion of 2015/2017. Trips to Sephora were usually a treat I carefully planned and looked forward to, coming from a town where the nearest Sephora was almost one hour away.
I enjoyed romantic walks down the makeup aisle with the boyfriend.
I was shopping with the boyfriend, and I dragged him to Sephora because “I didn’t even need to browse, I knew exactly what to get”.
And I did know exactly what to get, I’ve had my eyes on that product for a long time.
I marched into the store, straight to the skincare section, spotted the product on the shelf, and grabbed it. Done.
“This is what everyone on the internet has been raving about, and this gift pack is great value for your money.”
“What is it?”
“It has hyaluronic acid and natural oils…
“Oh, that’s cool…”
“Specifically designed for your lips at night.”
Faked interest quickly turned into incredulity, then disappointment, then amusement.
“You’re falling for the trap.”
“No, no, I swear this is a great deal, although it looks like four travel-size jars cost more than a regular one.”
“How about all your lip balms? You bought a lip scrub for this exact reason already. You’re playing their game! Next minute they’ll be selling a serum for your left eyebrow and you will have to buy a double for the right one.”
“But…”
“Are you getting it because it smells like fairy floss?”
As I carried my lip sleeping mask to the counter, all my life choices flashed before my very eyes. Was I falling for basic marketing trickery? Midstep, I realised I was. Mine was a sudden spark of aesthetic revelation, a speck of what
wrote in this recent article.I backtracked to put the novelty item back on the shelf and took the cheaper, regular-size one, which smelled generic sweet and was slightly less pink. I could have opted for a backpack to look younger, but I chose beauty.
Cue Trainspotting soundtrack:
Choose the everyday. Choose the regular. Choose the familiar. Choose what’s solid and trustworthy. Choose creams not tested on animals, shower gels and electrical face scrubs. Choose dewy skin, high SPF and anti-wrinkle. Choose Korean skincare and wondering who you are when you wake up. Choose staring at the mirror and watching mind-numbing spirit-crushing beauty reviews layering serums onto your face. Choose an eight-step routine at the end of the day, smearing your money on a silk pillowcase. Choose beauty…
In the meantime, the boyfriend was creating havoc, spraying fragrances not on his own arm, enraged by the minimal amount of space dedicated to ‘male’ scents, and the existence of this separation. Why wouldn’t they expand? What’s with the 5% discount? Was it a joke? Who designed the worst and most accurate mirrors? How was that $200 serum better than the black L’oreal moisturiser for manly men from the supermarket? And did I get what I wanted? Could we leave now?
Directly from the archives, please enjoy this authentic photographic evidence dated back to 2015, when these events took place:
Love this because you mentioned The Sims 😂
I loved the description of the Melbournian "local fauna", how they dress up, etc. I had no idea!!! Also, could not relate more with the fascination for new skincare trends. All of a sudden, last week, I found myself desiring a 300$ red light therapy mask haha it's Instagram's fault!