I blogged yesterday, and included my end-of-the-year video along with a few photos of gifts I’ve gotten recently that I don’t know who sent. So scroll down when you’re done here for
Also, yesterday I bought makeup. I KNOW!!
I have always been a makeup person. My grandmother had a vanity covered in lipsticks and powders and “creme” eye shadows that were stupid. Really, there is nothing more stupid than creme eye shadow. Hey, color that smears off in minutes! What a genius idea!
I realize, in retrospect, that most of those perfumes and mascaras and so on were left over from the various women who’d lived at gramma’s: my mother, my aunt, my uncle’s wives, or girlfriends who hung around a lot. This gave me a magnificent array from which to choose. Pale blue eye shadow left there in 1969, or the burnt-orange lip cream in a pot some feminist hooker had forgotten in 1972?
That is the only person I can think of who’d wear orange lip cream in a pot, which I distinctly recall being one of my selections. I also remember a lipstick I really liked, kind of an iridescent one called Moonglow. I liked the name, and also it looked fabulous on my seven-year-old lips.
By the time I’d finished at gramma’s vanity, I was the template for Jon-Benet Ramsey.
They were an odd family, the -Benet Ramseys.
Anyway. The moment I had any money whatsoever, like, if I earned $2 babysitting, I’d scream over to the glamorous Sears cosmetic counter and get, oh, a Bonnie Bell Lip Smacker, or a Max Factor face mask. Nothing but the best for me.
There was also a drug store I’d frequent, and admire the lip glosses in rectangular tins, the Ten-O-Six lotion, the Love’s Rain Scent.
The good news is, my city got a fancy Hudson’s at some point, and I realized there was more to life: Halston nail polish, and Clinique, and OH MY GOD I WAS TRANSFIGURED.
Also, I am not making it up that Halston had nail polish, for a brief sojourn, there, in maybe the late ’70s/early ’80s, aka THE BEST YEARS EVER despite the fact that I looked like a man. A man who wore makeup. I was Victor/Victoria, brought to you by Hudson’s cosmetic counter.
However, I can’t for the life of me find a sample of it. It had a heart-shaped top.
Oh thank god. I’m not crazy. Also, this is a terrible ad. Hey, don’t show the product.
I was friends with this terrible girl, who was way richer than me, in like 8th and 9th grades. She had this really lovely turn-of-the-century house and her parents were still married, and everything. And yet she insisted I shoplift one of those nail polishes from the sample counter. I kept saying no, so finally SHE took it and gave it to me after. I always felt bad using it.
She was an odd duck, that one, and had very bad hair.
Continuing on, says Pot. Hey, odd/weird hair, you’re black!
Once I married Marvin, and we had some money, some moola, some cash flow (not much, but enough), and I was living in FREAKING LA, I could not even with all my makeup choices. There were high-end boutiques that sold all the never-heard-of-it shit you read about in Elle. There were FREESTANDING MAC stores. There were department store cosmetic counters to fucking die for.
I proofread for this one company for years–still freelance for them, in fact. They paid me for my commute so I’d keep working for them, because trust me, that commute was a bitch. So I’d walk in having already earned a big $20. Then, if there was a lot of work, I’d always stay late, and we had an agreement that if there was nothing, I could go.
Some days I got to leave at 10:30 a.m.! Not often, but maybe once every few months. I was already over there on the highfalutin’ side of town, and was gonna get paid $20 for driving there and $20 for driving back, so on days I got out early, I’d go shopping in Santa Monica or Beverly Hills and even now, the thought of the really good makeup I bought makes me all screamy.
Then I got divorced and poor.
For the last six years, I’ve mostly bought my makeup at the grocery store. Since I love cosmetics so much, I’ve read up on what’s good for cheap, and I’ve made do.
This year, I’ve freelanced like a demon, and yesterday I went to Belk and Sephora and shopped for cosmetics, giving myself a dollar limit and a list of good stuff I wanted to try. It was like the best day ever. Wedding day schmedding day.
Below are (sit down) Amazon links to what I bought. Also, someone recently told me they “don’t understand how” to shop my links.
There will be a photo that I will tell you, hey, this is a link to Amazon. Click it. You’re on Amazon. Buy anything at all.
That’s it. That’s the whole process.
(Say, June, is that also a link to Amazon? YES!)
Then I actually went to town and PURCHASED that big tray of Clinique Chubby Sticks that I admired, which I am sad to tell you does not come as an Amazon link, probably because it’s an on-sale-now, limited-time, Christmas thing.
I was really excited about it, but you know what? The consistency of them is weird. They’re very waxy and just barely go on. I’ve had that problem with Clinique in the past–the eye shadows, it’s like you’re playing house. NOTHING GOES ON. Same with some of the eye pencils.
Stop being so fucking hypoallergenic and just get on me.
Here, above, is another Amazon link to the concealer I bought. I covered my weapon with it.
And finally, people are forever droning on about Diorshow mascara. Remember that year Obama’s State of the Union was only about Diorshow? I’ve tried it before and was all, eh. Yesterday I noted in the checkout that they had different iterations of Diorshow, so I tried the volume extra hold the phone Hoda Kotb wow lookie there kind, put it on in the car because I’m a freak and
that stuff is magnificent. I looked like a fuckin’ drag queen, my lashes were so long. From now on, the only show for me is a Dior show.
So that’s it. Oh! No. That’s not it.
I always wear Bobbi Brown eye shadow in Gray, which apparently Amazon doesn’t have a link for, they just have links for Bobbi Brown palettes, and GOD, Amazon. I like how they had links for every other freaking thing and I get all mad about this. Anyway, I got me some new Gray, because I am riveting.
Behold a photo of me yesterday with day seven on a migraine, no foundation, that DiorShow mascara and one of my chubby sticks in something-or-other caramel.
Wow, June. Now I’m inspired. You’re a dream.
Okay, I gotta go. It’s been lovely talking makeup with you, and you know what I always say…