This is Remington. He’s pretty cool.
Sadly, I have to share Remington with a whole gaggle of other adoring women. And men. This is not traditionally how I like to do things but alas, it is so because Remington is my hair stylist.
He’s in love, positively oozing with oxytocin. Never mind he’s just returned from a week in Switzerland with Alain, the man of his dreams, you’d never know he had jetlag while he works.
He’s showing me a picture of Alain and himself in the Swiss Alps last week, “look,” he breathes wondrously, “we could see all the way across the mountains to the edge of the world.”
I peer at the photo, in search of the edge of the world. It’s a funny thing being in love, it lights the way to a secret nirvana, at the edge of the world.
Some people embrace life with their hearts open, Remington is one of them. Here he is, on the left in 1997 in his days as Budweiser girl Inga, frequently found earning a living found working Vancouver A-list events as a promo girl, dressed in a silicone push-up bra and hot pants. He’s kind of goofy in a glamorous blonde sort of way.
We’re still trying to locate the photo of him astride a Harley in a bikini in the Harley Davison 1997 campaign; you can bet a bunch of now middle aged Vancouverites would have one stashed away somewhere in their bottom drawer, studded with gluggy eighteen year old blu tack peeled from their teen wallpaper.
“We all have colourful pasts, mine was just with heels on”
When we first started out together years ago, both he and I were in a pretty crappy space. He was broke, I was miserable in a job I hated. We’d talk about the past and how we got to where we were, he went through a break up, I left my job, we each started again and every five weeks we’d catch up on the gossip. He’d send me away feeling amazing, having great hair does that; some sort of Samson complex perhaps?
Gradually over the past years, I’ve had the joy of cheering him on as he’s blossomed into the man he is now.
“I changed, something had to give. After I stopped hanging out with the wrong people, doing the wrong things, I came out of the fog and everything started to make sense. I needed to grow up.”
Seeing someone grow and find happiness is like seeing a flower stretch up to the sky and give a little sigh to the sun. Whether it’s a friend, a child or whoever you love, surely seeing someone starting to make sense of their purpose and meaning in life is one of the greatest unconditional joys in life.
Given his colourful journey and his suggestion he needed to ‘grow up,’ I wondered if he’d ever felt the need to pretend to be someone he wasn’t. He says not, “I’ve always been able to be myself, it’s so much fun!”
Which suggests that Inga was a part of him, his alter ego perhaps. Don’t you think we would all benefit from expressing our alter ego? I’m not advocating we all dress up in a silicone bikini, but if that’s what works for you, then hell, why not? If you’re a demure petite brunette but have always had a hankering to drive V8 cars, then why the hell not? Just do it.
Who’s your alter ego?