A few weeks back, I verbally lamented the loss of my favorite true red nail polish shade, Frankly Scarlet from Revlon purchased ages ago; had I been able to foresee the future, the impermanence of this delectable shade and its ever brilliant name, I would have bought enough bottles to last a few decades. My despair and my disappoint subsided after my vehement rant and futile plea to Revlon. Last week, before boarding the train and heading home for the Thanksgiving holiday, I finally did scrape the last tinted dregs from my lone and lonely glass bottle, having to tilt it at odd, often precarious angles to coax the precious color from the dreaded bottom. It was finished. There were no tears flowing, but, I am sure more than one heavy sigh escaped from my drooping lips.
Now, there are a few other shades from Revlon that I also trust and enjoy; I am particular about my nail polish, and avoid any color that departs too dramatically from a classic red or a deep wine. The desire for countless women to don awkward shades of olive and khaki and tan, giving their nails a look of fungus overgrowth, besides a perpetuation of obvious trends, continues to elude me. I had surrendered hope of finding a replacement for my favorite classic red, when, during a reunion brunch with my childhood friends Morgan and Joanna, I noticed that Morgan was wearing a nearly identical shade. Could it be that Frankly Scarlet was secretly being manufactured, packaged, distributed, and marketed solely on the eastern shore of Maryland, right to the local shops where she now regularly frequents? No; rather, OPI had released a similar shade, that perfect red with a subtle, subtle sultry hint of golden glitter. Revelation; my eyes were opened to change and to new possibilities.
Today, strengthened by the power of two margaritas and a hearty scrambled egg burrito brunch, I strolled with my sister to her neighborhood apothecary and scooped up three OPI bottles: two in my favorite classic red, one a newer, sort of Bordeaux wine. Admittedly, I did first glance through the Revlon racks, scoured quickly for that elusive and now nostalgic bottle, in vain. My betrayal with OPI soothed the pain.
(image taken from My Wedding Color)