The Self Made(up) (Wo)Man

Where do I get my vast expertise in applying makeup?

(That's an inside joke for those who actually have seen me and know my expertise is neither vast nor expert.)

Well, many decades ago, I was a Revlon "Charlie Girl." In department stores, while the person in handbags works for the store, not for Coach, and the stylish well-built woman in lingerie doesn't work for Bali, the people--who used to always be women but at least companies are branching out by hiring guys (mostly gay) as well--behind the Clinique and Shiseido counter, although hired by the store, are considered reps of a specific cosmetic line.

"Ah hah" you say "that might explain why I can be standing looking longingly at those lovely Lancome shadow duos, but the distinctly pseudo-French woman standing behind the Chanel counter looks through me like I'm the ghost of Mrs. Muir." Yup, you aren't getting helped until the Lancome chick gets back from lunch break. Sometimes, the Chanel lady will sashay over and when you express interest in the Lancome "Midnight Moon" four-shadow palette, murmur, in her pseudo-French accent "Non, Non! You must come look at Chanel's 'Nuit des Noirs.' Tres chic!" And drag you off to her counter where she convinces you to buy not only the eyeshadow but $200.00 of treatment products.

Back to "Many decades ago"--many, many, many--when Revlon was still a department store line, I was hired right when they brought out Charlie perfume. This did not thrill me. I had to stand around behind the counter, looking perky and cheery--not natural traits for me at all--wearing a British newsboy cap, while a record player endlessly repeated the Charlie theme song. Why I didn't swear off cosmetics altogether at that point, I don't know. Except that we got to keep all the leftover free samples that we didn't give to customers--that was good incentive--and I held out hope that I might seem science geeky enough to be stolen away from Revlon by Clinique: loved those white coats.

But I did learn some valuable lessons from those years:

If you're the governor's wife, don't go shopping for makeup after a three martini lunch--our second profession was gossip.

It's way easier to put false eyelashes on someone else than on yourself.

That said, don't let anyone give you a makeover in a department store unless you're very brave or lack all vanity. Those people are bored; give them a face and they'll work on you till you look like a kabuki actor.

And most of all, don't be intimidated. Poke that Chanel woman with a mascara wand and she'll deflate just like a South Carolina politician.

Where Have All The Passions Gone

Confluences. Synchronicities. Maybe age is responsible for the piling on of connecting moments. On Wednesday afternoon, I walked through Macy's and found myself amazed once again at the peace symbols, flowy gauze, and the sign that proclaimed this fashion season "The Summer of Love." Wednesday night, I watched American Masters' special on Pete Seeger. How similar; how different; how inspiring; how sad.

Although I was only in high school during the original Summer of Love, the migration to the Haight in '67, I was already looking and acting much the classic hippie. Beads and ponchos, water buffalo sandals and, yes, even flowers in my long straight hair. I listened to The Beatles and The Stones but I also continued listening to the music my brother had introduced me to early in the sixties: The Kingston Trio, Joan Baez, Buffy Saint-Marie, Bob Dylan and most importantly of all, Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger. I knew the Pete Seeger version of "Little Boxes" but I also heard the original sung by Malvina Reynolds. I read Broadside magazine, went to the coffeehouses at Ohio State and at fifteen dated, much to my parents' dismay, a twenty-year old banjo player in my brother's jug band.

Easy, you might think, for a very middle-class white girl living in an upper middle-class neighborhood to dress the part, much like the girls shopping at Macy's now. But I had something most of them don't: I believed the message. I was Jewish in a WASP enclave; I was incensed by the discrimination my black friends from the Junior Theater group encountered; and I was an "active pacifist." When my school district needed to try to pass a tax levy, I stumped door to door for it and when it was voted down, I wore all black to school, breaking the dress code by wearing pants and a black armband of protest. I don't know how my parents felt about my frequent appearances on the local news being the teen interviewed about local politics such as this and about the anti-war rallies we held, but they never voiced discouragement. Some of my other activities as a "hippie" I'm sure would have not been as easy for them to swallow if they had known (nudge, nudge; wink, wink). But editing and writing for the underground newspaper--not a problem.

And the beat went on. The horror of Kent State--so close to where I lived. Tear gas during the rallies on The Oval at OSU. Anger that I wasn't allowed to go with my brother to Woodstock. And the belief that I was going to make a difference in the world--because people like Pete Seeger said I could.

And yet another confluence, another synchronicity. I read very recently an obituary in The New York Times of a professor: a professor of folklore. And I saw the name, Archie Green, and realized "Oh my God, he was my folklore professor." I took a class from him when he was a visiting prof at Ohio State--such a mild, unassuming man in a plaid work shirt and jeans whose love of his work drew me in. I never imagined that he was considered "the" leading professor of folklore in the country until I read that obituary. And I remember a paper I wrote for him on the portrayal on the American Indian in movies. But now, I remembered something more, remembered him telling me that he thought I should go to law school and become an advocate for the Native American. So I was going to make a difference in the world--because Archie Green said I could.

Although I didn't go to law school, I did go on to become a teacher of college writing even though I could have made more money as a lit teacher. No, I wanted to teach writing, especially remedial writing, because I wanted to make a difference. I read Myna Shaughnessy's book Errors and Expectations which talked about how students who seem only semi-literate will watch errors melt away when they are taught to write ideas and not just words. What a spark was lit! I could make students better writers not by counting their spelling errors but by challenging them to think. I could make a difference in their world--because Myna Shaughnessy said I could.

I never cared about making money. And not making money is the one real success I've had. I own a faltering, always on the verge of closing, business that I put far more money into than I'll ever take out. But where has "making a difference" gone? Oh, I vote, yes, and after Bush invaded Iraq, I even walked into the coffeeshop the next morning and put on a Phil Ochs CD, knowing it would offend some clientele. But listening to Pete Seeger singing "We Shall Overcome" and "Waist Deep in the Big Muddy" and thinking about this 90 year old man standing in the cold to sing at Obama's inauguration, I'm moved and inspired and ashamed and angry.

I always believed I would make a difference--all these great people told me I could--and yet. . .

Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde: "Makeup, Please"

Am I a cosmetic Jekyll and Hyde? Well, not really but I'm so tired of the phrase "High-Low Buying" that any image is better than using that tired cliche.
Better an unexpected and slightly frightening cliche instead, eh? But I am a shapeshifter when it comes to buying cosmetics, sometimes spending absurd money on one product while I spend absurdly little on another. So I thought today I'd take a stroll through some of my recent, favorite makeup and skin care buys. And no, I don't get paid for endorsements, more's the pity, so this unsolicited advice doesn't get me or you much of anything.

First some of the high priced spread:
Dior Diorshow Iconic Mascara: Only comes in Black but what other mascara color do you need? Even blondes look better in black mascara. And save me from the current "fun" colors. Lordy, who needs purple butterflies on their upper lids? Certainly no one our age when it just draws attention to every crevice and crinkle. But Iconic goes on easily, coats well, doesn't get clumpy and either I have curlier lashes than I knew or it does a mighty fine curling job too.

ZO "Oclipse" Foundation Primer: My current amour. I got a sample of this in some swag bag from Nordstrom and fell headlong in love. ZO is a new line by dermatologist Zein Obagi and is hard to find anywhere, no doubt adding to its sex appeal--like these guys aren't good at marketing. It's all outrageously priced but this primer is almost worth its $$$$ rating. Not only does it go on like velvet but it has an SPF 30 that is all physical sunblock: titanium dioxide and zinc oxide. I find I'm reacting badly to some chemical sunblocks these days but I'd prefer not having lifeguard nose. Not a problem with "Oclipse." Its slight tint makes it disappear; I even use it when I'm not putting any makeup over it.

One more through the stratosphere expensive recommendation: Any of Giorgio Armani's foundations--especially the Shaping Cream Foundation. I have not a clue what it's claiming to shape; I haven't noticed that I've gained cheekbones or lost my double chin. But if you ignore the stupid name, you'll end up with a very light, creamy foundation with an SPF 20 that can be very sheer or give more medium coverage without looking like you're wearing foundation. I asked my husband one time whether he thought I looked more "glowy" after I started using it. "No," he said, squinting at me,"but you don't have that line between your face and neck anymore." My God, he could have told me I looked like the Phantom of the Opera!

On to the cheapies:
Favorite go-to for a variety of less expensive items that other lines overprice: Sephora. Their nail serum and cuticle oil saved my shattered nails and scraggy cuticles. And the Sephora by OPI line of polishes has tons of colors to choose from and just like OPI's main line of nail polishes, they don't contain nasty toluene and other chemicals. And the names are irresistable: Let's Do Lunch; Wardrobe Change; Nonfat Soy Half Caff--absolutely no logic to most of them but you'll love the quizzical looks if someone asks the color. I also like some of the Sephora Tricks of the Trade line, especially their Lip A-Peel, an exfoliator for chapped lips that's a kick to use. You spread some on, let it dry, then rub with the ball of your finger and most of it peels right off, just needing a little water to take off the rest. If you press your lips together and then open your mouth while it's drying, you get these great Dawn of the Dead zombie strings. Hey, I guess Mr. Hyde is apt after all.

And when you really want to talk "how low can you go" with prices: E.L.F. (stands for Eyes, Lips, Face) cosmetics. Target ("tar-zhay" if you like) sells them and they sell on their own website too. They just rolled out a new "expensive" Studio line and mineral makeup line in which each item sells for a whopping $3. Their regular line? $1 each. That's right, a buck apiece. Not everything from them is grand but they do great lip glosses that even have sunscreen of SPF 15 and aren't goopy. And their "liquid lipsticks" are light and don't settle into creases. (Who me, lip lines? Just because I'm 55?) The eyeshadow quads are a bit tough to apply without some errant flakes (at $1 for four colors, I can deal) but the eye shadows that go into the custom compact are soft, velvety and apply smoothly. And can we repeat one more time? THEY COST A BUCK EACH! What a mitzvah!

Wow, I think I made it through a whole post with almost no snarkiness. Time to reward myself by splurging on a half dozen new glosses. Oh, and if anyone does want to pay me to endorse. . .oh, never mind, I just can't get over being ethical, damn it.