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The power of positive pinking | page 1, 2, 3, 4
If Paula seemed happy when I told her she looked 40, she was ecstatic at my career misfortunes. I later came to understand why. I was young, college-educated and working in a business field. The average Mary Kay sales rep has a high school education and typically works in non-professional, female-dominated occupations. My goal had been to seem a believable candidate for recruiting, but, compared to the unhappy secretaries and dental hygienists Mary Kay usually attracted, I had inadvertently become Paula's wet dream. By the end of the makeover, Paula had successfully roped me into an upcoming meeting to learn more about the business and meet some of the "great gals in this company." She was glowing. It was clear I had become recruit target No. 1 for an ex-airline stewardess turned perky makeup pusher, and that was beginning to frighten me. I knew I was getting in a little over my head when I realized the importance I had suddenly taken on in this woman's life. When I started the job, I knew I would be lying to people, but I hadn't thought anyone was going to get hurt. Even from our first encounter, I could see that Paula wanted me bad, and that she would be hard to shake when my work was done. As much as I disliked what she represented, I was already feeling the guilt of ultimately rejecting her, like a pretty girl turning down a date from a guy who doesn't realize she's out of his league. Paula's ability to disregard what didn't fit into her scheme of things became apparent when she picked me up for my first meeting. I lived on the corner of Haight and Ashbury, and when her pink Cadillac pulled up, one of the local transients was relieving his bowels between two cars. This should have been her first clue that I was not exactly as I seemed. How could a potential Mary Kay beauty consultant willingly live in such filth? Perhaps she took it as a further sign of my desperate state of need. Dressed in a pink suit with white piping and pink pumps, the official national sales director uniform, she floated above it all and ushered me proudly to her new pink Caddy. Earlier, I had tried to put the makeup on as she had instructed, but some willful part of me just couldn't do it. No, no more slate-gray lid shadow enhancer! I was suspiciously clean-faced. But again Paula didn't seem to notice. When we arrived at the Marriott, Paula went into hyper-drive, introducing me to all the top consultants as her prize new recruit. "Isn't she pretty? And she went to college, too." I was trying to surreptitiously collect information on each woman I met in order to assemble some basic profile of a Mary Kay consultant, but, so far, all I could see was that they smiled a lot and were very enthusiastic. "Well, we are so happy to have you here, Kristina! This is a magical company! We think you'll see that today!" These women didn't know me from a hole in the ground, but, gosh darn it, they wanted to like me. Perhaps they wanted to like me in that cult-like, brain-washing, prey- The meeting was to begin with a fashion show, to showcase the evening wear that the year's top performers would be taking to Mary Kay's annual awards event, Seminar. Seminar, held in Dallas each year with none other than Mary Kay herself presiding, is a knockdown, drag-out, feel-good tear-fest, rife with testimonials from women who were sucking Cheez Wiz straight from the can before the goddess in pink spoke to them and changed their lives forever. I was alone for a few minutes before the show began, since Paula was one of the models. I started to feel a little excited. Maybe I was getting into my undercover role -- or maybe this experience was more like porn. No matter how much your brain disdains the idea of it all, if forced to watch it, your body will have a physiological response. Was I being dragged into a treacly "feel-good" state against my will? The lights went down. The pounding beat of Roy Orbison's "Pretty Woman" came blasting from the speakers and a voice cried out: "Ladies, are you ready for some glamour?" The crowd went nuts as the lights came up and a thin, bleached blond, highly-coiffed, chiffon dream of a woman hit the stage. I later learned she was a well-known motivational powerhouse who traveled around the country to participate in regional events like this one. She was well-known for seeking out women who were having a hard time, and personally devoting herself to helping them get their business off the ground. These stories became fodder for her show, and she was universally adored. Throughout the course of her speech, I found my thoughts vacillating between sarcasm and sincere introspection. "You deserve some glamour and we're gonna give it to you!" Oh please don't. "That's right, ladies. You've worked hard all year and today we're celebrating you. What other company is gonna do that for you?" The crowd roared, "None!" I thought. My clients don't celebrate me. "That's right. Who else is gonna put a fur coat on your back when you've been out there building your business like crazy?" "A pimp?" I thought. "No one" was the correct response. "That's right. And where else are you going to be surrounded by a bunch of fabulous gals who are all here to support you and help you reach your career goals?" Not any of the companies I've worked for. "Nowhere!" The emcee became solemn for a moment. "Nowhere. Nowhere but Mary Kay. Because Mary Kay is about helping you become the best you can be." OK. She had lost me again due to the schmaltz factor, but she'd had her moments. I wanted to hate her, but it was hard.
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