Frame Works

There are many odious tasks that we endure out of a sense of obligation or inevitability.  No one likes to prepare their taxes, or clean out the attic, or take out the garbage.   I drag myself obediently to my annual mammogram by convincing myself that I derive greater utility from having the dreaded event behind rather than before me.  But there is one thing that hits me at this time every year that sends me into an instant tailspin, assaulting my self-esteem with such force that it takes days for me to recover.  This bête noire is the selection of new glasses.

I grew up with mixed eyesight.  My dominant eye is mildly myopic while my weaker eye razor sharp.  This creates an unusual situation where I can see well enough to be functional most of the time.  My eyesight gives way, however, as the sun goes down, leaving me very impaired visually from dusk until dawn.

Over the past ten years, I have succumbed to the ravages of age.  Farsightedness has overwhelmed me to the point where my arms are no longer long enough to read comfortably.  I have even had to forego the lovely timepiece that my husband purchased for me celebrating the birth of our daughter; I cannot hold my wrist far enough from my eyes to make out the time.  Sadly, I am now relegated to progressive lenses—fancy words for a fancy product designed for those of us who cannot admit our need for bi-focals.

I have never been a vain person.  I have no problem going to the market without my “face on.”  I commonly go out with wet hair pulled up comfortably in a clip—foregoing the time-consuming process of blow-drying.  I pride myself on being low maintenance in every respect.  But when it comes to picking out glasses, my standards are very high.  

For me, picking out a pair of glasses is like redesigning my own face.  I do not feel that my appearance is elevated by adding plastic or metal scaffolding.  In addition, the subtleties of each shape seem to convey emotions.  Frames that are contoured inward toward the nose make me look angry.  Those rounded on top make me look confused.  Too narrow and I look vapid.  Too small and my face looks very wide.  Too big and my features are dwarfed.  It is very difficult for me to find a shape that, when added to my pale complexion and blonde hair, still looks and feels like me.   

I also become very self-conscious of eyeglass frames.  They are an exoskeleton that encases the natural me.   When I have a conversation with another person, I have difficulty looking at them through my glasses.   It makes me feel like a jailed inmate speaking through a glass screen.  I find myself either looking over the frames or taking them off.

I bristle as I struggle to see through my current glasses, knowing that the time has come to face the dreaded task.  I began shopping for frames.  Eyeglass dispensaries have such bundled marketing that it is difficult to replace only the lenses without buying a complete pair. Thus, the process forces yet another unwelcome redesign of my face.   I spent three days combing a variety of establishments, even taking my daughter along as a design consultant.  In the end, we could not find a single pair in any price range or any style that works.  Millions of Americans wear glasses, but apparently my face defies convention.   I am destined to walk through life like the Phantom of the Opera.

Despondent, I begged the guy who sold me my glasses last year.  Although they do not unbundle their packages, he agreed to allow me to purchase only new lenses for my existing frames, thus extending the warranty on my appearance, my dignity and self-esteem for another year.