Men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses.
Or so said Dorothy Parker. I have to confess, I’m not sure I agree with the Constant Reader on this one (although her observation that ‘women and elephants never forget’ is spot on). My glasses have, on occasion, been known to bring all the boys to the yard – much to my surprise, it should be added. It might just be the case that I’m especially attractive to visual impairment fetishists, or perhaps I appeal to men repressing their lust for Roy Orbison and Jarvis Cocker. Either way, this latest phase in my bespectacled life is a welcome change to the years of myopic teenage sturm und drang, in which glasses were the enemy of all things dear to a 14-year-old girl’s heart – Getting A Boyfriend, Looking Vaguely Cool, and Not Getting My Face Kicked In After School. So fiery was my passionate hatred for glasses, that I very often refused to put them on to watch TV in the privacy of my own bedroom. As such, it wasn’t until Season 4 of Buffy that I realised Giles was actually the Nescafe Gold Blend man; having watched virtually all previous episodes through the haze of an unmodified -2.75 prescription.