LAST MONTH I read a piece in the Wall Street Journal’s Off-Duty section (a/k/a the Saturday Bible) about tinted eyeglass lenses and how so many celebs were sporting them. So many, ahem, aging celebs. Bono, Jeff Goldblum, Elton John (of course), Johnny Depp. The list was long and deep.
The men’s fashion columnist Jacob Gallagher wondered if it had anything to do with hiding bags under the eyes and crow’s feet around them.
I love wearing silly colors of eyeglass frames; they seem like an of-the-moment style decision, easy to reverse. And I’m not particularly bothered by the state of my eyes and their immediate terrain: The ravages of time have concentrated on
geography to the north (a bumpy forehead) and the south (horrid lip lines and patches of pathetic wrinkling where dimples once reigned). Sigh. Nonetheless, tinted lenses seemed like something to consider, though I wouldn’t even contemplate going the custom route of having eyeglasses (readers, in my case, usually from the drugstore) hand-dyed; it would simply be a case of choosing sunglasses in a more inventive palette.
Browsing through the Zenni Optical and Specs Collective sites, I immediately nixed a few ideas. No yellowish tint. Why give a jaundiced “glow” to the area around my eyes? Pale blue? They looked kinda pale, and what’s the point? Gray was subtle, maybe too subtle. Pink? Sure. Orange? Maybe (it looked jaunty). Jeff Goldblum can carry off orange, but he’s Jeff Goldblum and I’m not.
Then two things happened. One: I had bought blue-light reading glasses from Privé Revaux (“The Maestro,” $29.95) because, well, because I kept reading that the blue light from my computer and phone and Kindle screens (meaning about
80% of my day) was screwing up my sleep patterns. Now I was standing at a mirror doing . . . something (who knows?) . . . and I noticed this odd iridescent shadow showing through the lenses, under my eyes. It was a weird blueish reflection off the blue-light readers. I made a mental note to switch to normal readers when going out.
The second thing: Next day I saw a young woman walking toward me; she seemed to have a black eye. Wrong again. No bruise. She was wearing gray-tinted lenses.
That’s it: My tinted idyll is over before it begins. Maybe. The pink still looks perky, the orange like fun. yellow if I were feeling brave. Most days, though, it’s going to be la vie en . . . clear.