My mother would find “her shade” of stockings by holding a large plastic egg shaped container upside down to see the color swatch printed on the bottom of the paper sleeve it was in. They all looked brown to me, just various browns, like the multi-tone color cards in the paint section.
She would hold the container next to the back of her other hand and kind of tilt her head to the left and narrow her eyes a little. I realized that they were supposed to match somehow, like her makeup did, but I wasn’t a sociologist. I was in it for the plastic eggs.
I really loved the giant plastic eggs the hose came in. They were fun. At Easter, the eggs came in bright colors. For Christmas, they were SHINY. I once made a whole space village out of them for a book report diorama, covered in black light paints.
I realize now that they did sell hosiery without a fun toy for less money, but my mother, an excellent person, supported the simple joy that a young boy could derive from the upcycling of mass market packaging, and from time to time indulged me by purchasing more expensive hosiery just so I could have the egg.
They still sell L’eggs, but not in the eggs anymore.
Those were surely not recyclable.
(Sorry, this is not about the eggs… it’s actually about the hose.)
Unfortunately this week I suffered a particularly gruesome shaving accident, necessitating the immediate triage of a dime sized portion of my face. Well, my throat, specifically, right in the middle.
After a incredibly well-deserved yowl, I eventually covered the spot with a large Band-Aid™, which all agreed made me look like a perpetual priest as its light colored stripe just above my collar and tie was unavoidable. Nevertheless, I wore that for two days.
I was then asked to substitute for someone in an interview situation that would be filmed; with my bandaged throat I looked like Frankenstein’s monster’s soul brother… all I needed was two large bolts poking out of the sides of my neck.
Then I remembered that Band-Aids™ sold bandages in various skin tones. The drug store next to my office didn’t have them, but did have a store brand version in 7 different options, designated by a numbering system which seemed a bit random, to be honest.
As I stood there, holding several different boxes up to my hand, tilting my head slightly to the left and narrowing my eyes a little, I realized that I was darker than a 70, but not as dark as a 50, for some reason.
I bought three boxes of different shades. When I got back to the office, I called home on FaceTime for Zoe’s emergency opinion. “I think 50 works the best.” she agreed.
“But, remember, you’re kind of a 40 on your face.” she added.
She was right: my forehead was an 40, and my hands were 70. I was a puzzle, a melanin mosaic. This was so much harder than when I figured out if I was a Carrie or a Miranda (miranda).
I finally went with the 50 for my throat, as it blended in nicely with the five o’clock shadow (since I wasn’t brave enough to shave near the area yet).
The interview went well.
Satisfied with my bandage purchase, I checked on the drugstore website to buy more, but the company does not make these any longer. Even Band-Aids™ now only offers three shades from the expansive array introduced in 2020. There are now other small companies that have this option, and I greatly appreciate the effort, as it IS a difficult product to sell (my winter number and my summer number are always going to be different).
The original Band-Aid™ color was “flesh”, a kind of peach tone. I always took that for granted, because there was a “flesh” colored crayon the exact same color.
I think it was the fact that everything made in “flesh” color MATCHED that made me just accept it… it was obviously something that people knew, like that Parkay wasn’t butter. I thought if a monster was hungry for human flesh, I was safe as houses. I was, apparently, only covered in skin.
Crayola™ now has a selection of 24 crayons and markers called “Colors of the World”. Pantone, the company that trademarks colors for print production, now has a SkinTone guide with 138 selections available. My daughter knows nothing of “flesh”, her reflection is light medium golden, or Pantone 7515-C.
As a three toned household, we most often go for the highly decorative, colorful adhesive bandages, the ones that stand out no matter what and often glow in the dark or something.
“I have a Boo-Boo!” they cry out to the world. “Look upon me and gently wince, experiencing a harmony with my human experience!” they silently yell to those glancing on the subway.
But this week, while these bandages last, I will have the luxury of concealing a wound. I will not have to deal with concerned looks in ZOOM meetings or questions in the elevator. It’s a tiny dignity, a teaspoon’s measure of stress removed from my day, and I appreciate it. I will quietly heal beneath a custom made adhesive social subterfuge, hoping that this wound will not scar and leave a circle of 35 in the middle of all my 50.
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