All about Skin (42 page)

Mind you, there's nothing wrong with basics. This one gave me room to breathe and plenty of growing space. During the teenage diet thing, it adapted nicely enough, although Ma worried about premature tummy sags. You know what mothers are like. If there isn't a real problem to worry about they'll find one.

For years, I simply didn't think about skin. Passing exams was all that mattered so that I too could be a face-valued citizen. I practiced tending to wounds and cuts, bruises and scars, sores and boils. What fascinated me were bites—a plethora of bug nibbles bursting out on the back of my thighs; fang prints snakes sank into my ankles; crab kisses slashing my fingers; teeth marks dogs lodged in my shoulder. Papa was pallid the day I came home from the beach, my back and arms covered with huge, red splotches. They looked awful but didn't itch, which was merciful, and disappeared the next day. Sand crabs, Ma said. Durable, my old
china cutis
. There are days I miss it.

My problem began round about age nineteen. Being ambitious types, my parents packed me off to schools abroad. I salivated at
Derma
's store windows in New York, desperate for an
american
. They were all the rage, and outrageously expensive. “You can buy that yourself when you're earning your own money,” Papa declared. “I can't afford it.” I stormed and pouted, scratching my face and legs till they bled, giving Ma something to really cry about. He wouldn't relent. It wasn't just the money. He and Ma had worn their
china cutises
since they were eight and couldn't see why I wouldn't do likewise.

From their perspective, I was acting like a spoiled brat. They were right, I suppose, but you find me a nineteen-year-old who isn't stuffed full of the fashion of her times.

So I passed the exams, got my face-valued citizen parchment, and, by my midtwenties, had this great job in advertising. Paris three times a year! Imagine. It was a pretty exciting life, I must say, despite my skin.

In the spring of '79, I dared to visit
Integume
of Paris.

If you think
Derma
's hot, you've never shopped at
Integume
. From the moment you enter their store—no, “store” is too pedestrian—their boutique, you're engulfed by the unimaginable possibilities of skin. Moisturizer wafts through the atmosphere. Never, never, it whispers, will even the tiniest blemish dare to mar this surface.
Jamais!
You wander around this cutaneous paradise where an array of products tempts you with seductive promise:
euro trash tannis, decadence glorious, romance du monde ancien, french chic
… Skins! Meters upon meters of skins, both natural and quality synthetic, draped fetchingly, lovingly, placed with the kind of care that plunges skin deep.

The saleslady offered to take my old
china cutis
in trade, saying it was in big demand and commanded good resale value. Secondhands were rare, because few wearers upgraded abroad back then. I really didn't care one way or another because I was sick to death of
china cutis
. I mean, it couldn't tan or wrinkle, and even a little makeup made me feel all Suzie Wong. The only reason I stuck it out so long was, well, family is family after all. But enough is enough. It was time to go
cosmopol
.

The beauty of
cosmopol
is its flexibility. I could slip in and out of it into something more comfortable whenever I wanted.
China cutis
stuck to me like a fragile layer of dried rice glue. It flaked periodically—showers of scarf skin—and had to be treated with such respect. That was the worst part, the respect. Four thousand years of R&D had gone into its design. Personally, I thought the design had already run its course, but then, I've always been “one step too many beyond,” as Ma says. When Mao, the primo
china cutis
wearer of the last century, created a big to-do by jumping into the Yellow River, thus proving its durability, it was downright asinine.

But the truth of the matter is my
china cutis
had gotten loose and sloppy. Fashionwise, the look was making a comeback by then, but not in any real way. Mine sagged. I wallowed in free space. Ma had suggested I return it for a newer model, but those weren't a marked improvement.
People's PiFu
hadn't modernized their product line for global consumption yet. It was just an ill-destined style.

So I traded it in. My father would've killed me had he known. He didn't though, thanks to
cosmopol
.

I owe a lot to that
Integume
saleslady. She showed me how to enhance my
cosmopol
skin with separates and coordinates. Stuck with
china cutis
, I didn't know about all the accessory lines. I confess I was pretty extravagant for a while there. From
Integume
, I went to
SubCutis
, where I bought three underskins—a
sub-four seas, lady don juan
, and
corporate rung
. They were expensive, but worth it. Like the saleslady said, you make the big one-time investment and add extras as you go.

Besides,
Integume
allowed layaway, and
SubCutis
was running a special promotion for customers of
Integume
. A year later, I added
underwired g-strung
and
corpus-ceiling glass
to my skinrobe. All in all, I made out OK.

Being able to slip any one of these over or under
cosmopol
was such a
liberation
. If I were feeling particularly daring, I could combine accessories by themselves. None of them worked that well solo, probably because they were all synthetic.
Underwired g-strung
slid off at the slightest provocation.
Corporate rung
was generally a tight fit, although the crotch was absurdly loose. The designer hadn't quite gotten the hang of that one, especially in female petite.

The real test, though, was passing muster with Papa. By wearing
cosmopol
with
sub-four seas
underneath, I could fool him into thinking I had on my
china cutis
. Things were looking good. But none of this explains why, after a good seven years, I decided to give up
cosmopol
for an
immigranta
.

To tell you properly, I have to go back to
Derma
and their
american
line. You have to understand that I never lost my yen for
american
. I'm a sucker for advertising, and
Derma
could really launch a marketing campaign. Even though they'd only been around a couple of centuries, everyone thought they were the real thing. It was a question of focus. Their entire strategy depended on narrowing everything down to one product.
Derma
equaled
american
. The same idea worked for
People's PiFu
a few centuries earlier. Their problem was different—times had changed and they hadn't. Renaming their company and sticking on a new logo back in the late 1940s were not, by themselves, sufficient to create the fundamental transformation they desperately needed.

But during the years I ran around in
cosmopol
,
Derma
had been steadily losing market share to
All Nippon Cutis
.

Let me digress a moment.
All Nippon Cutis
were smart. They invested in R&D for some ten years to produce a top-quality
american
like skin. I read about them in Forbes. Their chairman sent fifty of their top designers and executives to Paris for two years to check out
Integume
's styles. After that, those same folks went to New York for another two years to study
Derma
's market leadership. By the time they actually started designing in Tokyo, they had the marketplace all figured out.

The world, they decided, wanted
Derma
's strength with
Integume
's flair. Somehow, the frivolous fun inherent in
SubCutis
needed to be integrated. The smartest thing
All Nippon Cutis
did was to compete in
Derma
's primary marketplace, which was an easier target than
Integume
's international market dominance.

You know the rest. At the beginning, the very rich would fly to Tokyo to buy an
america dreama
. By the mideighties,
All Nippon Cutis
had opened branches all over the United States. You remember their commercials—Lincoln's head superimposed on the Statue of Liberty crying, “Cutify!” Market forces being what they are, within a year, you could get an
america dreama
out in Jersey for half the price of
Derma
's
american
.

Their
america dreama
impressed me. They couldn't call it
american
, of course, because of trademark infringement. I had moved to New York by then, but Ma told me that the product was a big hit even in Hong Kong. In Tokyo, it became very fashionable as a second skin to
nipponica
.

At that time, I wouldn't have dreamed of buying from
Derma
. Not only was my
cosmopol
still serviceable, but
Derma
's prices were quite unjustified. Oh I know they were all natural, while
All Nippon Cutis
used blends, but big deal, my old
china cutis
was all natural too. Even when the hoopla about
america dreama
turning yellow after repeated sun exposure made the news, no one cared, not really, because, first of all, the scientists who claimed that were working for
Derma
, and most people had begun to believe that skins should be replaced after even as little as three to five years. I find that a little wasteful myself, but
All Nippon Cutis
made a good point by offering to recycle old skins.

As impressive as it was, I wasn't quite sold on what amounted to only a make-believe
american
. Which meant my alternative was
Epiderm International
, makers of
immigranta, asia personals
, and
ec
, among others.

My problem was that
cosmopol
wasn't fitting quite right.

Life in New York was expensive enough without keeping up my
cosmopol
skin. It was flexible, but only if pampered a lot. You needed the best face creams and lotions, and could only be seen in the most fashionable places. Worst of all, it radiated this worldly air, while hinting at a sexual undertow, but avoiding any engagements that would ravage its surface charms. Debt did not aid its sustenance, as I was still paying off my balance at
Integume
.

At least
cosmopol
could be cashed in. Unlike
china cutis
, which had great trade-in value but generated no cash, New Yorkers would kill for secondhand
cosmopols
. I actually made a profit, because naturally, with the original trade-in, I hadn't paid full price, although the interest alone was staggering.

For almost six months, I went around without a main skin. Luckily, I had all those secondary ones. Depending on my mood, I usually wore either
corporate rung
or
corpus-ceiling glass
, with
sub-four seas
underneath. It was an uncomfortable time. I was sometimes tempted to slip on
lady don juan
with
underwired g-strung
to get back that
cosmopol
feeling, but was just too embarrassed. I hated admitting I didn't have a main skin, but I needed to pay down debt, even if not completely, before my next investment.

The day I purchased my
immigranta
, I dreamed about flying back to Hong Kong to see my parents. This was the real reason to lose
cosmopol
. Lying to them was fine when I was younger, but now, it made me feel like a hypocrite. It wasn't their fault I didn't like
china cutis
. They couldn't have foreseen my life.

Even then, it was another six years before I finally made it home. I had retired
lady don juan
and
underwired g-strung
to my back closet, because the market for those secondary styles had pretty much gone bust. You remember the beginning of the dual-skin craze. Anyone who was anyone wouldn't dream of being without a second skin.
SubCutis
hung on, but just barely. Word flew on the street that they were going to file Chapter 11. I won that bet when they succumbed to a buyout by
All Nippon Cutis
. You have to figure there's a niche market somewhere for their questionable lines. Besides, the rest of their products did have mainstream appeal.

It was a big bet, which was good, because the money paid for my trip home. I had left advertising and was working on the fringes of Wall Street, a bad place to be after Black Monday. With my debt on
immi
granta
, I lived paycheck to paycheck. Maybe I was sticking my neck out unnecessarily with that bet. But the great thing about my
immigranta
skin was that it absorbed immunity to risk.

I suppose that's why I kept it so long. I didn't have to lie to my parents because it was the one other acceptable skin in their eyes. Call them oldfashioned, but they like the chameleon complexion of
immigranta
, especially because on me, it looked enough like
china cutis
. What they didn't know was that I had slipped
golden peril
on underneath. I'd picked that one up cheap at a
SubCutis
fire sale before going to see them. I'm awfully thankful for fickle fashion trends; products in a downturn sometimes prove extremely attractive, given the right circumstances.

So why
american
now? You might say I got caught up in the wave of market forces, because I'm past much of that fashion stuff.
Derma
went through some pretty shaky years, losing considerable market share to
All Nippon Cutis
, who took their range way out there with
ho-ho hollywoodo.
Tacky, I think, but who could predict its huge appeal, from Los Angeles to Beijing? Even
Epiderm International
horned in on Derma's territory with their
Epiderm US
subsidiary, whose
emigrant
and
global villager
became ludicrously popular.
All Nippon Cutis
retaliated quickly enough with
worldo warrior
. For a while there, I almost shed
immigranta
for one of these newer models.