Oooh...

How I hated them:

MEN DON’T MAKE PASSES…AT WOMEN WHO WEAR GLASSES

BY GEORGINA MARRERO

1999 REVISION SUBMITTED TO GLAMOUR

Varilux Comfort 1.60 High Index with Antireflective Coating: Anti-gas medication? Extra-sturdy panty hose? Inflammatory Southern whiskey? No: a description of the lenses of my glasses. My glasses, with which I’ve had a love-hate relationship filled with as much humor, pathos, and melodrama as the funniest sitcom, the most gut-wrenching tearjerker, the best of Seinfeld, ER, and Melrose Place all rolled into one.

The saying goes: “Men don’t make passes at women who wear glasses.” Six months ago I dated a man who immediately pounced upon my frames—in a very unflattering way, that is. I was proudly sporting a chic French frame—a handcrafted, faux-tortoiseshell number—on my face. Better still, my progressive (Varilux) bifocals were discreetly embedded within the high index lenses. Without them I’d appear to be wearing a matching set of convex Coca-Cola bottles over my eyes. These frames made me feel very respectable, even (dare I say it?) chic. The man took one look at me and immediately proclaimed, “That frame has got to go.” I felt deflated, humiliated; I even cried. “Why?” I asked him plaintively. “Because they’re too severe for your face,” he retorted.

A paragon of perfection I am not; neither was he. At least he made a pass, right? Well, sort of. I sniffled my way to my trusty optician. I begged him to find me a frame that would not hide my face, that would not be so “severe.” Bless him, he found a clear number for which he could trim the lenses down to size and fit them into this new frame. Happiness? Satisfaction? How about, resignation?

Thirty-eight years ago, when I was in second grade, I discovered I couldn’t see in front of my face. No surprise; both my parents wear glasses. I began to endure a succession of ugly, plastic, pointy frames. Twentysomethings now covet them. I loathed them: I distinctly remember that I once deliberately broke two frames within one month by jamming the nosepiece into my face so repeatedly that the fragile plastic gave way. I hated my glasses—I detested them!

The years went by. My plastic frames, no longer so pointy, and I reached an uneasy truce. My prescription strength, growing by leaps and bounds, meant the lenses were not only getting more expensive, but also thicker. The proverbial Coca-Cola bottles. My mother has told me all my life that I have a nice silhouette, but how could anyone even see me behind all that glass!

Being able to see meant I read to my heart’s content and got good grades in school. In high school, I had very good grades…and I was dateless. I was “Miss Owl-Eyes,” “Miss Four-Eyes.”

Wire-rimmed frames were all the rage. In my high school graduation picture, I sported a pair of octagonal-shaped gold wire-rimmed glasses. More attractive, yes, but those thick lenses more closely resembled a concrete wall!

Contacts? I tried them when I was fifteen, and again when I was seventeen. My myopia was out of control; the contacts (hard) were prescribed not so much for cosmetic as for therapeutic purposes. To my teen-aged way of thinking, the best part was I could wear eye makeup and be SEEN!

Alas, things did not work out. Some people just cannot handle contacts; I was one of them. Getting good grades, reading, and getting into a good college were more important. My college-era frames—plastic again--were not pointy anymore, but larger and larger.

Large frames and all, one man did make a pass at me. I ended up marrying him. He was blessed with 20/20 vision. An early “techie,” he suggested I get a pair of glasses with high index lenses. The large frames continued to hide my face.

In my mid-thirties, I found myself single again. Huge plastic frames had become a fixture on my face. Georgina Marrero: TEACHER, they screamed out at the world! Thirty years of tortured necessity: first thing on in the morning, last thing off at night. Thirty years of resignation.

Large plastic/metal designer frames defined the early 90s. I turned forty: bifocal time! I rushed to my ophthalmologist to be fitted with them—I considered them to be a rite of passage! One of my earliest memories of my parents is of them wearing glasses with these half-moons carved into the bottoms of the lenses. I adjusted to the progressive lenses without any difficulty. I felt I had really arrived, that I was finally an adult!

Laser surgery? Radial Keratotomies were becoming increasingly popular. A woman I knew needed at least two additional surgeries to achieve 20/20 vision. I asked an old friend, a highly respected ophthalmologist, about my chances for success. “Don’t you dare!” he said, well aware of my heavy-duty prescription. He informed me that he spends at least half his time correcting RK’s that go awry. End of attempt.

Now in my early forties, I was a woman who had long been accustomed to her extra pair of eyes without which survival would be impossible. But what was this? Glasses had become chic! Even people who didn’t have to wear them now sported them with clear glass lenses. Or with no lenses at all. Everything was back in now: plastic, metal, round, oval, square, horn-rimmed…AND pointy! My detested 60s relics had become collectors’ items!

Glasses are not just for educators, librarians, and old maids anymore. Nicole Kidman handily took care of that in Eyes Wide Shut. Kelly Preston, in For Love of the Game, played an editor who was comfortable with herself, with and without her glasses. No more did movie depictions show the bookish teacher/librarian who only becomes a bombshell after she removes her glasses.

Why all the angst? Why the tears at the mere suggestion that a particular frame was wrong for my face?

Because my life changed forever thirty-eight years ago. For many of these same thirty-eight years, glasses on a woman were considered to be unattractive. We were raised to believe that “men don’t make passes at women who wear glasses”…and I believed it.

Our time has come. May those of us who wear glasses do so with pride! The right men will make passes at us… because we DO wear glasses!

Copyright, 1999 by Georgina Marrero 1059 words First time worldwide serial rights

P.S. I actually received a postcard from some editor at Glamour, but that's as far as it got.

Much, much better!