I don't know what is more beautiful about this. That this wig is named "Poetry," (presumably after the Marianne Moore poem) that the color of this wig is "Champagne Blush" (a veritable surrealist haiku), or that it costs (BUY NOW >
Naming something poetry is this easy, whether we'd like to believe so or not. Here she is, the goddess-muse, a red streak laboring across the Amazonian sky, teeth flashing their way forth like those unforgotten minions of the deep sea who lead their ways off to its center. If I buy this wig, and wear it whenever I write, what will I be deemed to be?
Answer: Poet.
Where is the beauty in beauty products? In their design, yes, but, presumably, in their end result.
Truthfully, Revlon and I are set to the same creative grindstone. Truthfully, they've done a better job than me at grinding out said ineffable beauty. Luckily, they are providing me with this easy way to put on beauty like a hat. A hat that appears to be real. That turns reality, perpetually, like Wordsworth turning his crystal daffodils between two facing mirrors in the dusklight of yore. Real truth folds on itself.
I can only offer my humble gratitude. Revlon, vous me maître.
