The Bozo Makeover

I was 12 the last time I went to Manhattan, a trip most memorable not for going to the Statue of Liberty or to the top of the Empire State Building, but for getting my first makeover at Bloomingdales.

It was fall of 1986. My aunt was getting married in Cape Cod and we flew out as a family to attend the wedding. This was a big milestone in family vacations, marking the first time we had ever left the state (outside of trips to Reno to play carnival games at Circus Circus…rock on!) We spent time in Boston, Cape Cod, Nantucket, and to round out the trip, spent our last couple days in New York City. To say we were out of our league in the big city would be an understatement, (hell, we stayed in Times Square before it was cleaned up for Pete’s sake) but it was still a good time, even when dad got robbed in broad daylight in front of us.

The day of the makeover, I was wearing a new sweatshirt we’d bought from a street vendor. It was in line with the fashion trends of the mid-80’s - black with pink, blue, yellow, and lavender pastel lettering that said “New York, New York.” Visiting Bloomingdales was a big deal as this was when they only had their stores on the East Coast. I remember being so excited (not unlike the feeling I had when Bloomingdales opened last year in San Francisco…stop wincing Tim!) We strolled through the floors window shopping. I was so excited when we got to their Esprit shop “within-a-shop” concept. I had seen photos of these mini-stores in my Teen Magazines and was dying to get something Esprit from Bloomingdales. “MOM!” I whined. “Can I pleeeeeease buy something?”

My parents by this point of the vacation had dropped an unimaginable amount of money on airfare, hotels, and taking/dragging their bratty and ungrateful children to tourist spots. Getting me the latest Esprit duds that we could of course, get at home, was not going to happen anytime soon. My mom compromised by and bought me a pair of Bloomie’s bloomers (underwear) explaining it would be easier to pack in our suitcase than anything else. I chose to sulk.

We were getting ready to leave the juniors section when an effeminate man shrieked as I walked by. “Your face! I MUST do your face. May I?” he asked my mother.

I was an eighth grader at the time and one of the only girls in the class who wasn’t allowed to wear make-up. My mom had very strict rules about this (something to the effect of not wanting a daughter who looked like a street walker) and my stomach sank upon hearing his request. I was positive she would never say yes, plus I had already been trying her patience with a temper tantrum after being shot down on the Esprit clothing.

Yet, to my utter amazement, mom replied to the man kindly. “Well, we’re on vacation. Why not?”

The next couple of minutes were a whirlwind. The guy was a chatterbox. “Oh, we MUST do this color on your eyes…now look up while I work the liner…” A little blush, and some lip gloss later, and the new and improved me was ready to be revealed.

When I look back at pictures from that day, the girl who is positively beaming into the camera looks nothing short of a reject from the Barnum & Bailey circus clown car. As I recall, he matched the pastel colors of my sweatshirt writing to my face. I kid you not. My lids had yellow sparkly eye shadow, my mascara was teal, and the liner was purple. My cheeks and lips were pastel pink. Pretty much every one of my worst colors all in Technicolor on my face. Awesome. And I was ready to buy everything he put on me.

Mom put her foot down when it came to buying any of the make-up. I was still too young in her book to be wearing the stuff. This was to be a special vacation moment only and not a rule reversal on the make-up bylaws.

That day has been burned into my brain as one of the greatest moments of my childhood. Probably as it was one of the last days of my childhood. Within a year, I was in puberty and dealing with dreaded teenager issues. Maybe that’s what makes it so sweet…to be so innocent that a ridiculous makeover made such a lasting impression. Or that my parents bent the rules just once, something they rarely did.

I’m about to land in Newark and return to Manhattan for the first time in 21 years for work. Since I booked my ticket here, I’ve had many memories come up from that vacation, but with this one standing out the most. I hope this trip will bring many more happy memories as well.