Us Essex birds have a lot of common with Scouse birds. Love of good eyebrows and a good handbag being one. Here Keeley (Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/lovekeels) who also writes for her website http://www.yourshopefully.org give us an insight on how much of a daily struggle it is to be a Scouse lady.
Keeping up with the Scouse Birds
Getting up in the morning and looking into the mirror isn’t easy once you pass a certain age. It certainly doesn’t make it any easier when you live where I do in any case. I live within reaching distance of the great City Centre of Liverpool. It’s where people come to shop, party and marvel at how much effort women put into looking good.
We have all seen the stereotype wag. Coleen and CO represent Liverpool with their Velcro rollers, permanent tans and gravity defying eyelashes. The thing is, it’s not a stereotype at all. In reality we are ALL like them and hell would freeze over before we went back to basics in the beauty department.
So for the last 5 years, at the very least. After I have cleaned up and got rid of the family. I have been looking in the mirror and doing a daily damage assessment on my face and body. What has happened overnight whilst I have supposedly been getting my beauty sleep? To be totally truthful, I have actually started to say ‘Mirror mirror on the wall…’ to myself nearly every day.
I always start at the top. My hair. Is it thick today? Does it look to short? Do my roots need doing? Shall I have a fringe? If I wash it have I got enough time to dry it? What if I get it all cut off in the style of Frankie Sandford?
Then I move down to my eyes. Ooh they are swollen! Why is that lid looking so … Fleshy? Look how dark they are! I must look up what surgery you have to correct that! They look small, my lashes are non-existent! I wish I hadn’t have pulled all my semi-permanent ones out. Mind you, if I hadn’t had them glued on the first place, then I would still have my own. Hmmm. I’ll make an appointment to get them put back on. I can’t go out with lashes like this. My eyes are so piggy. Are my eyebrows ok? Are they black enough? Should I pencil them in? Do I need a top-up of my eyebrow tattoos? Should I go and have them waxed? I’ll make an appointment for that also
What’s that on the bridge of my nose? Are they spots? No, they are blackheads. I’ll just have a squeeze. Ouch, arrrgh, oh dear now I look bloody awful. This is a disaster.
It’s about now when I start to despair and drag my fingers down my face pushing and pulling at little sections. Before I get to my lips, it is a close up with a magnifying mirror to assess my facial hair. It starts with, is that a moustache? What are those hairs doing just randomly sticking out? I only had it waxed ten days ago. Why is this such a problem? I am like a Yeti. I don’t even remember why I started waxing my lip. Why did I start waxing my lip? I wonder if everyone can see it. Arrrggghh, can Pete feel it when I kiss him goodbye. I hate my lips, I really do.
My brain starts ticking then, slowly at first and then faster. My lips are currently my go-to facial feature to mess round with. I pout and then I pout again from a different angle. Then I hear…I knew I should have had lip fillers. Why didn’t Pete just let me get on with it? I would look younger. Look at the pout, it takes of years off me (whilst still pouting like a maniac.) My lips are so dry. It’s because I smoke. They look so lined. Perhaps I should stop smoking. I don’t want to stop smoking. I am going to find the lip fillers number again and Pete can moan all he wants.
I REALLY need my teeth whitening. There as yellow as the sun. Where can I get that done? I should check on Facebook. Everyone’s teeth are white now. What’s that sub-conscious? I have a neurological condition and tooth whitening hurts it. Whatever! Ill survive. I had three babies with no pain relief, can sit through having eyeliner tattooed on and starve myself every day. I CAN SURVIVE ANYTHING. Maybe, but probably, maybe not.
Why does this fat hang over my bra? What bra size am I? A 48 DDD. This is ridiculous. Where are my big knickers? I can’t wear these boxer pants with my bloated tummy. I’m exhausted. I will just see if I can find a hoodie and a pair of leggings, YAWWWWNNNN.
It’s not that I have body dysmorphia. It’s just because I am infected with scouse bird. I love it though, I wouldn’t have it any other way. My selfies are always pretty good and many people question me when I tell them my eldest son is twenty one. I do wonder how much time I actually spend ripping my body apart though. I am possibly a little bit critical (see the non-committal way this is written.) But what if I missed out on these god sent treatments? I would end up looking like Katie Hopkins and that would simply not do. We Mersey women spend an incredible amount of money on extending and faking beauty. However, we are met pound for pound by our counterparts in good old Essex and extra loud Newcastle. Plus no matter what the haters say. The people of say Cheshire or Yorkshire that denounce the fakery. The ones that bumble about with one lone black line as a poor excuse for an eyebrow. We look damn fine in all our finery, and they are just cowards that are too scared to do a daily assessment because of what they might fine.
We need to keep this up, our daughters, nieces, god daughters, little cousins and other girl type little ones depend on us to show them the future.
So whilst I might be terrified of the mirror, and whilst I spend far too much money on trying to be beautiful, I found out that amazingly I am not the only who behaves like me and then runs off for work to gossip, and have diet coke men moments. In Liverpool were all at it and we are bloody proud of it to.
Which reminds me, I have a waxing, lash extension and maybe hair appointment next week. I better get on with selling my kidneys.