It’s been nearly a decade since 2k specs made their appearance on the celebratory circuit, and my sister and I nearly missed the fashion sensation altogether.
The subject comes up for at least a quarter hour every December 31st, at the apex of our New Year’s Eve festivities as we pause our rented film to witness the descending of the orb in Times Square. With a click of the remote, throngs of revelers crash comparatively muted gathering. Although the distinctions between us and the Big Apple partiers are numerous, in the heat of our disappointment, the lack of decade shades among our number seems the most glaring.
“Sister,” one of us exclaims to the other, “if we were wearing such festive glasses, it would be us having all the fun.”
“Ah, yes,” the other of us replies, “how shortsighted of us. We’ll have to get some next year. Then that will be us,” we say, looking longingly toward the on-screen merriment.
Despite these annual conversations, neither my sister nor I have ever owned turn of the century glasses in any year’s model—until now. Always abreast on the latest trends, my sister was quick to act when she discovered that year-themed eye-wear has gone academic, popping up at graduations everywhere. Within hours of turning in my final final, my sister appeared at my house with—you guessed it—Decade Shades 9.0, the Farewell Edition. (My sister and I came to the sad conclusion on December 31, 2008 that 2010 shades just won’t work, unless asymmetrical eye-wear with awkward nose bridge is unlikely to catch on).
Of course, I was immediately eager to see the view through numerically-rimmed glasses. I expected 20/20 vision, reading my hot-off-the press credentials through designer celebratory wear. But if I’m to be honest, I must admit I ’m a little disappointed in the clarity.
Last week I hosted a somewhat belated graduation dinner for some recent high school grads. Talk circled around careers and programs, scholarships and plans. I’d like to report that I had the same sense of direction when I was their age, but I don’t know if I can ever recall having a similar level of certainty about anything. It was refreshing, actually—at least until the moment the girls asked what happens next for me, and the conversation turned down a vague and meandering path as I admitted that I really don’t know.
As the days pass, I’ve come to the realization that the calendar may say July, but for me, it’s been December 31st since mid-June, with me walking around in my party shades wondering what the next several hundred days may see.