Embracing The Geekiness Of Wire-Rim Glasses

As a forever-wearer of glasses, the idea of specs turning into such a fashion accessory bewilders me. I get pangs of jealousy whenever I see a woman who looks really good in glasses in that super-casual, “I woke up like this” kind of way, because I personally have a hard time embracing that kind of moxie. I have a nearsighted prescription of -10.50 in both eyes (plus a dash of astigmatism), which means that no matter how chic the frames are, the extreme thickness of my lenses will always give my eyes that inevitable Coke-bottle effect, making them look set back and small. And hell knows I can’t see well enough to put on eye makeup. Wearing glasses, when I absolutely need to, makes me feel frumpy and unpresentable; so looking stylish and confident in glasses can be a struggle.

Though I wear contacts in my day-to-day, I will always be a glasses girl at heart — my identity is forever associated with wearing thick lenses. I’ve worn glasses since I was 4 years old. It was around that age I developed amblyopia, also known as the lazy eye, in both eyes. My eyeballs were always out of focus and I even wore an eye patch for several years in an effort to correct the problem. It wouldn’t be until I was 15, after a too-long childhood of getting made fun of, that I would get surgery to fix the laziness. Until that point, I had always worn wire-rim glasses.

 It wasn’t so much a choice as there weren’t good options out there. (The kid's glasses market is slim pickings.) Harry Potter may have been my early kindred spirit, but my priority as a high school freshman was to look as cool as possible. So, I ditched the thin wiry stuff for the more substantial, nerd-rock acetate frames, à la Weezer. I had also started wearing contacts, which was surely life-altering, but when you have as terrible vision as I do, glasses are never far from reach. Naturally, my glasses-wearing identity crisis continued to evolve into my 20s.

As the years passed and I graduated from college, the glasses market exploded with thick, acetate frames. The “cool” frames kept getting bigger and bigger, more oversized and bug-eyed. I cycled from small rectangular tortoiseshell to circular ones, to modern clear frames, to two-toned hipster acetates, to retro red frames.

I was deep in the vintage-granny look during a bout of eye infection when it uncomfortably dawned on me one day that I was staring into the eyes of someone who wasn’t even into “statement glasses.” It was as though I had been wearing an ironic disguise the entire time. All my life, I wanted to avoid any attention brought to my googly Igor eyes. Yet, there I was, even post-surgery, still self-conscious about my poor vision while also wearing bold frames that directly showcased the biggest pain point from my life.

This look wasn’t working for me. At least, not anymore. For starters, thick lenses in big-ass frames literally get heavy on the face. Secondly, acetate frames were always resting on my cheeks — I have a shallow nose bridge (shoutout to my fellow Asians) and I never realized how radically imperative nose pads are. Lastly, the idea of wearing glasses primarily as a fashion accessory was backwards-thinking for me, as someone who can barely make out her own reflection in the mirror. Sure, I had loved my stylish frames when they served their sartorial purpose, but at the end (and beginning, ha) of the day, I need practical glasses that I can see out of. So, with that, I went old school again, ditching acetate in favor of subtle, basic wire-rim glasses.

Lucky for me, geeked-out wire-rim frames are making quite the comeback, so it doesn’t take much effort to score a solid pair. I enjoy the plethora of style options available and it makes me wish I had this wide of a selection growing up. The only downside is that thin wire frames aren’t very conducive to concealing the extreme thickness of -10.50 prescription lenses, but whatever. I can still make these my own. Even if you'll never see me rocking glasses as a finishing touch to an #OOTD, I do feel a certain comfort knowing that I have, at the very least, found glasses that are intended to help me see with such clarity. Yes, this is my look.

Fashion Sins I Committed In College

America was a different place in 2004. The second President Bush was in the White House; Lindsay Lohan had a career, and Paris Hilton was parading around in flimsy, thousand-dollar halter dresses that would’ve looked more at home on a Contempo Casuals sales rack. 

Clearly, the world had gone mad — myself included. For the majority of college, I was the living embodiment of a Fashion Don’t. I don’t blame myself — or anyone who dressed like me — because we were living under some very toxic pop culture influences. (I mean, in the early 2000s, Beyoncé was forced to dress like a denim- and fur-clad triplet on the red carpet. BEYONCÉ.) So it is with tenderness that I recount the fashion sins I committed in college.

The Never-Been-to-California Beach Look
This look was a hangover from my high school days. I'm pretty sure I wore hemp and puka shells to low-key announce that I liked weed, Dave Matthews Band, and guys on skateboards.

There were several cultural influences at the time that reinforced my commitment to nature’s jewelry, though: The O.C. was in the middle of its run, and Hollister was threatening to destroy Abercrombie’s stronghold over East Coast youth. But on a personal level, I was very into beach vibes in the early 2000s. I listened to a ton of Sublime knock-off bands and vacationed "down the shore," returning to New York determined to keep that sandy, freedom feel alive at my Westchester college.

But I couldn’t quite fight off the influence of the East Coast — hence my pairing of the preppy Tiffany’s dog tag bracelet with a very chill California graphic tee, purchased at (you guessed it) Hollister. In the intervening years, teens have begun to reject logo tees (rightfully so), and Hollister has moved away from its ode-to-surf-culture style, as have I.

As for the unflattering sunglasses and the oversized watch, those belonged to a guy friend. I knew women could successfully rock traditionally male clothing and accessories, but in practice I often ended up looking more clueless than the collegiate men who let me raid their closets (hard to pull off, but I managed).

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An Illustrated History Of The Early-2000s Status Symbol

The 2000s were genuinely strange years. For the early half of the decade, it felt like Mercury was perpetually in retrograde; people were just kind of wandering around, listening to Nelly, wondering if their diamante-embellished fedoras and bellybutton rings would stand the test of time. But the early aughts, despite being rife with pube-skimming pants, wasn’t all bad. It gave us the best years of Britney Spears, Paris Hilton, and, depending on who you ask, Beyoncé.

The same can be said of early '00s style: It was an era that emphasized that the bigger your sunglasses, the more monogrammed your handbags, and the more belts you had to throw around your tank tops and dresses, the more chic you were. And the style status symbols of the time weren’t your timeless Chanel three-pieces or demure Cartier Love bracelets. Instead, they were emblazoned trucker hats that cost a small fortune, velour tracksuits, and anything sex-tape-era Kim Kardashian would have worn. Name brand recognition was everything, and if the price of your outfit wasn’t instantly recognizable through logo ubiquity, it wasn’t worth it. And though times have certainly changed since then, there's nothing more fun than taking a trip down memory lane. Ahead, we remember some of the most iconic 2000s status symbols, and look at how they became famous and the legacies they’ve left behind.

Return To Tiffany & Co. Bracelet
If you had a birthday of note (a Sweet 16, or maybe even a 21st) in the early 2000s, the number one “timeless” piece on your list was an oversized, super-chunky Tiffany & Co. bracelet. And when I say chunky, I mean you could unclip that thing, whip it around your head, and use it as a weapon. Clad with a round or heart-shaped engraved tag that read, “Please Return to Tiffany & Co. New York,” and a unique registration number (so that if it were ever lost, the finder could return it to the Fifth Avenue store, where it could be reunited with its rightful owner), the piece paid tribute to the Return to Tiffany keyring that was first introduced in 1969.

The bracelet became ubiquitous when it was seen dangling from the wrists of socialites like the Hilton sisters and Nicole Richie in the early 2000s. For us normals, owning one wasn’t totally out of the question. While the 18k yellow, white, and rose gold versions might be prohibitive (upwards of $3,000), it also came in sterling silver for around $200 (which still isn't cheap, and back then, it meant saving all your summer job cash, which, if you were 19 in 2004, was more than worth it). Today, it retails for $575. Now, the Return to Tiffany & Co. bracelet is more at home between the elbow and Pumpkin Spice Latte on a sorority girl, eclipsed in the zeitgeist by the much more delicate Cartier Love bracelet.

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YSL Tribute Sandals
Platform shoes weren’t classy until Yves Saint Laurent stepped in with the Tribute sandal in 2007. Worn by Lindsay Lohan, Lauren Conrad, Beyoncé, and just about every other celebrity photographed in the second half of the 2000s, the Tributes were designed, as the name would suggest, as an homage to the golden era of platforms, the 1970s. Instead of being a clunky, dorky Disco Stu throwback, though, the Tribute was, and still is, subtle and elegant, with a 1.2 inch platform next to a 4.1 inch heel.

The ultimate leg lengthener, the Tribute is still kicking around, and with a mean $925 price tag. It's the more laid-back, Hollywood pool party cousin of the Louboutin pump; the kind of thing you can have in your wardrobe forever and always find occasion to revisit (like now, considering platforms are already back again). In other words: Kanye probably didn’t make Kim throw hers away when he trashed nearly her entire wardrobe back in 2012.