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Glitter

Josh Simpson

    Alice leaned against the damp grimy wall of the train station, gazing at the long streams of smoke she was blowing into the night air. She wore a long moss green winter coat and matching woolly hat. A single flickering bulb illuminated her face, leaving everything below her waist in shadow. The only sign of the night in store for us was the sparkly silver makeup covering her lips and eyes and running deliberately down her cheeks; it shone and crackled in the dim glow of the station, standing out hard against her dark skin, clothes, and surroundings. Once we arrived at the party she would discard the hat and coat, revealing a matching silver bodysuit. Entering the room, she would drag all attention towards herself, as usual, and I would follow behind, taking advantage of the parting in the tide of admirers to keep up. At the party I would shed my maroon knitted jumper, to reveal the plain white t-shirt hidden beneath. Black jeans and a white t-shirt, my usual outfit. I didn’t have the authority to dress up as Alice did, she lapped at the attention like a cat, not needing it but used to its presence. I don’t know what I’d do with attention - if it came my way and I’d probably panic and drop it on the floor, shattering it and leaving no attention for anyone for the rest of the night. So I played it safe, plain t-shirts and jumpers. Nothing too risky. It’s easier for women anyway, becoming the centre of attention. Alice could go to a party all silver, all shimmer, and people would think it was the most glamorous look in the world. As a man, the line between dressing in a way that makes people notice, and looking like a twat, is so thin as to be basically nonexistent. Go shopping for men’s clothes and everything is either plain, checked, striped, boring. Or it’s fluorescent, floral, over the top and horrible. There is no middle ground between boring and gross. Women have swathes of interesting patterns, fabrics and subtlety in their clothing choices. Men get t-shirts, button-downs, or jumpers. Plain, boring, or gross.
    “Are you okay Josh?” Alice jolted me out of my internal treatise on fashion.
    “Yeah fine thanks, you?”
    “Feeling self-conscious?” The last time we’d gone out I’d opened up to her. I’d poured out my heart in the way you only can walking back from a club, inhibitions still lowered and depression creeping in. Floating down towards the big crash. I can’t remember exactly what was said, but my frustration with men’s fashion and never feeling like I look good was definitely involved.
    “Hey, look at me.” I obliged. “You are a damn fine looking man. No matter what you might tell yourself.” I muttered the half-hearted thanks accustomed to those of us with beautiful friends who try to make us feel better about ourselves. Alice looked unimpressed.
    “I’ve had an idea.” She started digging around in her little silver handbag then looked up, smirking. Her eyes had changed sheen now, pupils jostling for space. She waved a little silver stick in the air.
    “What’s that?”
    “Glitter.”
    “No. Absolutely not.”
    “Come ooon Josh. You’ve told me before how hot you think I look when I wear this stuff. And that you wish you could dress more dazzling, so what’s the harm? I think it’ll suit you.” Ordinarily, I would have stuck firm on my ‘no’ regardless of how much she insisted, but for some reason, I was wavering. My head was starting to spin, indiscernibly at first, but quickening. My pupils widening to match the ones staring at me. The ecstasy of possibility mingled inside, and I felt my anxieties start to melt away. Looking into my unfocused eyes Alice cocked an eyebrow and wiggled the glitter in front of my face. I nodded my head slightly, still dazed at the idea of what was about to happen. She set about applying cool slime liberally to my face. When she was done she stepped back to admire her work, made a kissing motion with her fingers, like chefs do in cartoons, and held up a small mirror. I looked back at myself - pale, wide-eyed, but distinctly different. My eyes were suddenly excited, my cheekbones pulled into sharper contrast. My whole face somehow looked softer and more fierce at the same time. I tilted my head to admire from all angles, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I looked interesting, confident, dazzling. Like someone I’d fancy if I saw them in the street. I looked how I’d always wanted to look, how I’d always felt I could look, but never knew how.
    Just imagine how I looked the following week when I discovered eyeliner.

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