The sunglasses lie in the closet, in their box, unworn, untouched, for over five months now.  A layer of dust has begun to gather along the top side of the orange box.  The layer of dust is thin, but it is dust no less, an eminent sign of disuse. It has been winter, but there still were the occasional sunny days, days on which one gets outside and instantly regrets not wearing sunglasses, for the sun shines through the clouds so brightly and reflects off the white snow, melting, still bright and so pure.  Being kept in their place in the back of the closet, they are easily forgotten. They don’t often come to mind, and are hardly thought of, except for on the days when the outside proves to be so sunny that either a baseball cap or a pair of sunglasses can not be forgotten in the apartment before going out.  In that case, it is easier to opt for the hat over the glasses, because digging them out from the back of the closet would take such effort.  Even if they were found, it would require much more confidence than I have to wear them in public. I constantly remind myself to buy a pair of cheap sunglasses from any clothing store, because this pair just does not suit me.  It is like not even owning a pair.

The glasses are an odd kind of round or oval shape, reminiscent of those worn by Audrey Hepburn in the well-known film Breakfast at Tiffany’s, except they do not give off the same aura as hers do. Mine are black, not tortoise, and round enough to remind me of wearing goggles.  The glasses are nothing special, they do not praise my face especially well, but they were expensive – a name-brand pair of sunglasses.  They were received as a gift two summers ago; at the time they were regarded by my younger self as faultless, doing wonders for my appearance.  Now they are looked upon as a childish necessity in a style that has been outgrown.  Seeing them now, it is hard to remember why they had had such a calling, such a need to be bought. 

Instead of wearing the expensive sunglasses that were to last for a long time, it is easier on my self-assurance to buy a pair of eighteen-dollar, cheap, plastic glasses from a clothing store, sunglasses that are not polarized and do not have a case or cleaning wipe, but nonetheless I still am more eager to wear the timeless tortoise, more squared-off sunglasses than I am to wear the designer ones.  I see this as an unfortunate situation, because the sunglasses that had just two years ago provided me with such satisfaction and style now bring the opposite feelings to me, those of condescending mockery and outdated fashion.

Looking back on it, expensive things are not always the answer. One can be just as happy, if not happier, in a pair of eighteen-dollar sunglasses that compliment one’s face.  A pair of pink sunglasses for five dollars also crossed my path, and I was more drawn to those, as well, than my original ones. It’s funny, how something that was once so important and exciting, now sits at the back of the closet, gathering dust, hoping not to be remembered.