Picasso, or the Not-so-Wonderful World of Makeup

For most of my life I’ve been told by well-meaning women, “You’d be so pretty if you’d just learn to apply your makeup properly.” I know they meant well, but those words, rather than feeling like a compliment always came across as put downs instead. What I heard was, “Damn, girl, you’re ugly, but you’d look better if you’d cover up your sad looking face.”

I’ve worn makeup since my early teen years, but I never learned the fine art of turning the bare canvas of my face into a work of art as so many women can. Unless that work of art is akin to a Picasso. I’ve got that whole cubist period look down pat. Or was that his blue period? I forget.

Several years ago I discovered a makeup brand I loved. Pür Minerals 4 in 1 foundation provided appropriate coverage for me–not too light, not too heavy–in an easy, breezy format. Makeup application took all of two minutes, including a swoop of blush, a splash of finishing powder, and a dash of mascara. I wasn’t going to win any beauty pageants, but hey, that was never on the table anyway.

Then just a couple of months ago I realized that my foundation was gathering in the creases and wrinkles of my face. It looked as though someone had crumpled up my skin like a sheet of parchment paper and dusted it with beige powdered sugar. It was not becoming.

Since that discovery I’ve been on a mission to find a new foundation, a new routine, an entirely new look. And the whole thing is pissing me off. Liquid foundations don’t stay where I want them even after applications of primer and finishing powder. I end up with a ghostly white upper lip after only a couple of hours of wear. It’s discouraging.

Today I spent thirty minutes in Ulta allowing an enthusiastic young woman to try out a new foundation on me, and then she filled in my eyebrows to make a frame for my face. Why do I need to frame my face?

Oh, yeah. Picasso.

Even after all the young woman’s careful ministrations, the makeup around my mouth wore off much more quickly than it did on the rest of my face. I look like a reverse raccoon. My eyebrows are holding up nicely, though.

Peace, people.

Hair and Makeup of the Apocalypse 

 I am a huge fan of young adult post-apocalyptic novels. The fascination is most likely a result of too much imagination and too little adventure in my real life. Some of these novels, like The Hunger Games and the Divergent series, have been turned into succesful motion pictures.

 

Based on the success of those film adaptations I was pumped about seeing The Fifth Wave by Rick Yancey. The novel had everything I wanted in an end of the world novel: a strong female protagonist, a stud muffin with identity issues, and a rival male to make life even more interesting. Add in evil aliens and this book had it all. 

Chloë Grace Moretz, the film’s star, is a gorgeous young woman, and a decent actress. Her performance in If I Stay was sweet. 

Both of the young suitors are handsome and earnest. Alex Roe plays the dishy, yet severely conflicted guy, and Nick Robinson’s character is the former high school athlete turned soldier who realizes he should have paid more attention to Chloë’s character back before the Others invaded.

So why did the film fall flat? There are a couple of easy answers to that question. First, the screenplay watered down parts of the novel, condensing instead of expounding. 

In addition, the main character was portrayed much differently in the book than in the movie. In the book she was a bit of a geek, shy and not in the party crowd. In the film she’s more of a girly-girl and actually has a shot at landing the high school quarterback.

But my main beef with the film revolves around Chloë’s character’s perfect hair and makeup at the height of the apocalypse. Yes, there were scenes when she appeared disheveled and besmudged. But, in the final scene, when her tiny band of humans is on the run from the bad guys from outer space, there she sits with freshly washed hair and perfectly applied makeup–right down to the soft green eye shadow highlighting her pretty eyes.

 

There was far too much of the girl on the left and too little of the one on the right to make this film believable.
 
I call foul. Foul, I say! 
Still, the novel was good, as was the sequel. I’ll buy the third installment upon its release, but the movies won’t get any more of my hard-earned money.

Peace, people!

Conundrum

I roused myself from bed fairly early Monday morning, showered, drank a couple of cups of coffee, and did my best to look presentable before leaving Doright Manor on a minor shopping expedition. On most days my efforts at self beautification are wasted, and I leave the house looking, at best, like a third generation homeless woman on a epically bad day. 

On this Monday, though, the stars were aligned, the makeup gods full of good will, and I looked really good for a 59-year-old grandmother. Dare I say I was glowing? I blew myself a goodbye kiss in the mirror and took off in search of items Studly Doright wanted for his new diet. (More on that in a future post–if I don’t kill him first.)

 

No, this isn’t me, but if you squint and pretend then it’s almost me.
 
While pushing a cart around Whole Foods I stooped to pick up a can of cranberry sauce from a bottom shelf and felt my back suddenly go “squitch!” I winced in pain and attempted to stand up in the throes of a full blown muscle spasm. Abandoning the cranberry sauce I crab walked to the checkout and paid for the things in my basket. 
 
Again, not me.
 
My face must have reflected the squitching going on in my lumbar region because the lovely young cashier found someone to carry my groceries to the car for me. Truly sometimes age and its accompanying pains have their perks. 

Once in the car I thought in my practical self voice, “Go have a massage.”

My vain self answered, “But, but, your makeup looks so good today! You know that only happens once ever decade or so.”

For a heartbeat I listened to my vain self. Thank goodness I decided to go with practical me, but for a heartbeat I was faced with the ultimate conundrum: Is it better to feel good or to look good? In a perfect world I could do both.

 

This is what I think I look like when getting a massage.

 
This comes closer to the truth.
  
Peace, people!