Thursday, July 17, 2003
"Goodbye, clumps!"
Long ago, back when I was still living in the foothills of beautiful Somerville, New Jersey, my roommate and I were sitting on the couch one fine Sunday afternoon doing what we always did on fine Sunday afternoons -- eating BBQ take-out and watching VH1 Behind the Music. And in between the segments of that fine show came a commercial that we would not soon forget. In it, a heavily made-up Salma Hayek danced about the screen, in the orgasmic pleasure that only a good mascara can bring her. She blinked, she winked, she twinkled. Each action specifically staged to draw attention to her eyes, her lashes. After a few more dramatic spins and twirls she yelled, “Goodbye, clumps!”
The commercial ended and our program resumed, but my roommate and I still sat there wide-eyed and gaping at the screen. Goodbye clumps? What clumps? What the hell was she talking about?
What the hell was she talking about, indeed. Apparently, we two were in denial of the lash-clumping problem plaguing thousands of women like poor Salma. How long had women been battling this epidemic? Visions of matronly hunter/gatherers filled our heads, all crying, "I need to pick berries for my clan, but I can't see through these goddamn clumps!"
The shock of it all was too much to bear, so we resolved to put it out of our minds.
I was successful until a couple of weeks ago, when a friend of mine brought me to the L’Oreal company store (the Mecca toward which many a New York girl faces). For me, it’s a site to behold not because of the lotions and lipsticks that line the walls, but because of the looks of unbridled anticipation on the faces of the other female shoppers. It's like watching a bunch of rednecks at a monster truck rally. These women, awed at having stumbled upon Paradise, run around like they can't eat the Forbidden Fruit fast enough.
Now back to me. My friend is walking me around the store, speaking in soothing tones and explaining things that the average girl has known since approximately the 4th grade. "Here are the mascaras," he says. "There are lots of different kinds. And different colors. You can get black, brown/black, or dark gray. And there's waterproof kinds, if you don't want it to run, but those can make your lashes clumpy." CLUMPS!
The whole dancing Salma Hayek thing came rushing back to me, and I felt the bile rise in my throat. Okay, there was no bile, but it was VERY unpleasant. Trust me. It was like a bad trip, and I know because a lot of my friends did that in college and they told me about it.
"I do NOT want clumps! Clumps are bad!" I said. Picture Sloth from Goonies, here. It was then that my friend handed me a tube of VoluminousTM, and told me in no uncertain terms that my lashes were puny and "needed a boost".
Well fine then. I bought the mascara (and lipstick and cover-up, upon further prodding), doubtful that it would transform me into Bambi. Plus, at some level I’m wary of all “volumizing” products. You have to understand, the majority of my beauty regimen, if you can call it that, is dedicated to making things look smaller. Much smaller. Like by a power of ten. But I digress.
VoluminousTM is no miracle product, but the lash brush is good, the brown/black color is subtle, and so far I’m clump-free. Basically, if you have small lashes, as I do, this mascara will help people to realize that they exist. They'll see you and say, "Something's different about you!" and you'll say, "Yes, there is!" and they'll say, "I can't put my finger on it!" and you'll say, "C'mon, guess!" and then they'll stare blankly at you for five minutes or so and say, "Did you wax your mustache?"
Well, maybe they won't do that. Maybe they'll say "My oh my, aren’t you just a doe-eyed little Winona Ryder?" You never know.
Monday, July 14, 2003
"No Color" My Arse
As someone who's nearly an albino, I tend to experience difficulty in the finding-a-makeup-color-that-doesn't-make-me-look-goth department. Eyeliner and mascara just simply don't come in anything lighter than "taupe", and though I've never worn foundation, it's not likely I'd ever be able to find a color closer than twenty shades from the pasty waxiness of my Polish/Scotch-Irish complexion. The few times in high school I experimented with even the lightest of hues resulted in what appeared to be fake tans gone horribly wrong.
But I have done pressed powders from time to time, more for oil-control purposes than anything else. Yet, even those, in shades with names like "Blindingly Alabaster" and "SuperXtraWhite Ivory", somehow manage to make me look like I'm trying to be Puerto Rican.
Until, that is, we were at Tara's sister's wedding the other day, and Marie casually whipped out an unassuming-looking compact from her handbag and began powdering her nose, muttering something about how it supposedly contained "no color", at which point I pretty much grabbed it out of her hand and did all but dig into it with my fingernails and douse my entire body with it.
It's by Cornsilk, which is by Sally Hansen, which is by Del Laboratories, whoever they are. Point being, it isn't by Revlon or L'Oreal and therefore might actually be a legitimate new product instead of a regurgitation of something that already exists, repackaged, rebranded, and renamed. All I know is that it works. It brightens your skin without adding color. But there's a catch.
It only does it at night, in dimly-lit rooms, where angles from which you might look like a circus clown aren't a factor.
Or, at least, such was the case this morning when I went to apply it to my face before leaving the house. And I ended up having to wipe most of it off with a paper-towel. So, alas, it isn't perfect. It may serve well as an oil counteractor, but only at the risk of looking like Bo Brady from Days of Our Lives during his stint as a Paris street mime. I haven't been so disappointed since Revlon discontinued the only earth-tone eyeliner in existence back in '00.
But I have done pressed powders from time to time, more for oil-control purposes than anything else. Yet, even those, in shades with names like "Blindingly Alabaster" and "SuperXtraWhite Ivory", somehow manage to make me look like I'm trying to be Puerto Rican.
Until, that is, we were at Tara's sister's wedding the other day, and Marie casually whipped out an unassuming-looking compact from her handbag and began powdering her nose, muttering something about how it supposedly contained "no color", at which point I pretty much grabbed it out of her hand and did all but dig into it with my fingernails and douse my entire body with it.
It's by Cornsilk, which is by Sally Hansen, which is by Del Laboratories, whoever they are. Point being, it isn't by Revlon or L'Oreal and therefore might actually be a legitimate new product instead of a regurgitation of something that already exists, repackaged, rebranded, and renamed. All I know is that it works. It brightens your skin without adding color. But there's a catch.
It only does it at night, in dimly-lit rooms, where angles from which you might look like a circus clown aren't a factor.
Or, at least, such was the case this morning when I went to apply it to my face before leaving the house. And I ended up having to wipe most of it off with a paper-towel. So, alas, it isn't perfect. It may serve well as an oil counteractor, but only at the risk of looking like Bo Brady from Days of Our Lives during his stint as a Paris street mime. I haven't been so disappointed since Revlon discontinued the only earth-tone eyeliner in existence back in '00.
