Months ago, my daughter broke my glasses. I saw it as an opportunity, a blessing in disguise. I rarely wear my glasses, save for weekends, before bedtime and for overnight traveling. The last pair – which was held together by tape for a while – was purchased four years ago after forgetting my much-loved clear-framed glasses at a hotel in Copenhagen (the picture below was taken in Melbourne). I rarely end up enjoying the glasses I choose; and my only real successes have come when the optometrist seriously questions my decisions.

I totally despise shopping for glasses. Mainly because they are a medical necessity disguised as a fashion accessory, and as soon as anything crosses from “medical” into “fashion,” prices are gonna skyrocket. Then they try and guilt you into the coatings on the lenses. The anti-glare, anti-scratch, anti-fog, anti-UVA and B, and whatever else they can layer on there. Those coatings are total bullshit. They just scratch off eventually, making the glasses irritating; doubly irritating after you’ve paid hundreds of dollars for them.

I feel like I would wear my glasses more often if getting them wasn’t such a trial. While purchasing this pair, the sales lady made me feel like I was really making the worst decision of my life coupling the cheap-ass “Dad” frames from the men’s section with the regular, uncoated lenses. I went in with the decision already made: I WILL RESIST THE COATING. I had to be firm and trust my instincts.

The sales lady, I realise, was simply doing her job, trying to super-size my prescription. Like when you buy new shoes and they try and sell you the special spray or those extended warranties on shit that’s gonna break the week after the extended warranty runs out anyways at the electronics store. The salesperson’s job is to make you feel like the main purchase you are making is absolutely worthless, null and void if you don’t spend the extra $45 on the fucking lens coating. Insurance. Legalized racketeering, whatever.

Uh…the point? Maybe this post belies a certain thriftiness, a shrewd consumer perspective. I call it value. Not value-added in any way, just a reminder of plain, old-fashioned value.

Actually the reason I started this post in the first place was to share the inspiration behind my selection of frames. Not sure why I went on that long, self-flaggelating rant. Now, to the inspiraysh:

These glasses, worn by a secret agent in the first Mission Impossible (1996) are a bit more extreme, but the fact that a woman would wear these to a gala ball under the pretence of going incognitco is all kinds of crazy. Hopefully, I will at times achieve a similar “I’m undercover…as an eccentric!” mystique.