Four research articles, one quiz and three eyeglass vendors, later I purchased my latest specs. Since I wear glasses for all my waking hours (and some of my sleeping hours since I doze off wearing them) choosing frames biennially meant I lived with my decision for two years.
That’s longer than some relationships – just ask Kim Kardashian.
My search for the perfect pair of frames began immediately after learning that my healthy peepers with correctable vision needed a slightly stronger prescription in my right eye. The scratch resistant, no glare coating part of my progressive lenses was the easy part.
What held them in front of my eyes wasn’t.
Online articles suggested frames based upon face shape, eye and hair color, skin tone and urged not playing it safe with ones that go with everything. I scanned the frame photos for the oval faced green-eyed brunettes who didn’t know their skin tone. (Bluish when I’m cold. Yellowish when I use too much Fake Bake Instant Tanner.) I learned the hard way in fifth grade that the appeal of pink rhinestone cat’s eye frames wore thin after the first week so framewise I played it safe.
A few of the frames appealed to me.
An online quiz supported the article research except it recommended a second pair for when I played basketball. I must have clicked on the wrong multiple-choice answer about sports since I don’t play basketball.
So I ignored that tip.
Armed with research I perused three stores. Upon entering Perle Vision, a bazillion frames beckoned from the well-lit displays. I searched for the “oval faced green-eyed brunettes who didn’t know their skin tone” section, but I only saw traditional divisions such as men’s, women’s, and children’s. The selection overwhelmed me. When the saleslady approached and asked what type of frames I liked. All I could mutter was “not rhinestone sports glasses” which they didn’t carry anyway.
I left before hyperventilating.
Boutique Something Or Another, the second site on the “Eyeglass Pilgrimage” had rhinestone sports glasses as well as other designer frames. Designers plastered their names along the arm of the glasses, which didn’t make sense to me. I liked a pair of Steve Madden glasses, but “STEVE MADDEN” was printed in large block letters along the side. That would be fine if I were Steve Madden and I lost my glasses. Then when someone found them he’d know who to return them to (sort of like lost lunchboxes in grade school.)
I left wishing my name were Steve Madden.
I entered VisionWorks, the third store, with a plan. Since I couldn’t make a decision, a random salesperson would. I scooted around the displays and pulled fifteen pairs that appealed to me- no other judgment. Dustin, who happened to be the random salesperson, asked if he could help me. We sat across from each other and I told him the rules.
“I’m going to put on each pair. You give me a thumbs up or a thumbs down.”
We progressed through my selection narrowing it down to five pairs.
“Now put them in order from most to least favorable.”
Dustin rearranged the glasses into a row.
“When I put them on tell me why you gave them a thumbs up.”
Dustin explained about best shape, color, and size of frame that best suited my face.
Within twenty minutes a pair of glasses had been chosen.
A week later I returned for my new glasses. A week after wearing the glasses no one had commented on my new look.
I finally pointed out the obvious change in my eyeware to Mike my SO (Significant Other).
Then he pointed out the obvious to me, “They look a lot like your last ones.”
Which after comparing them, they did. All that decision making anxiety for a choice that was nearly identical to my old ones.
Maybe I should have gone with the rhinestone sports glasses instead.