Grace & Style Page 7
Love,
Sweatpants
vintage grace
I WAS THE DAUGHTER OF AN AVON LADY
My relationship with makeup started at a young age, against my will.
You might not know this, but I come from a dark, contoured past. When I was growing up, my family was in the makeup drug-mule business.
My mother was an Avon lady.
For those of you who don’t know what that is, let me paint you a delightfully desperate picture. Imagine those Girl Scouts who hawk cookies outside the local grocery store. They blindly exploit themselves and their delicious wares for the sake of a larger entity, under the guise that if they sell the most boxes, they can win that Barbie bike that Barbie herself definitely never rode on account of it messing up her hair, but still . . . a BarBIe BIKe.
Now imagine those same girls as forty-year-old women. But instead of cookies, they’re selling inexpensive makeup with the same blind ambition as their eleven-year-old predecessors. But they’re not competing for a Barbie bike; instead they’re competing to convince their clients they can look like Barbie.
OOF.
But everyone’s gotta make a living. My well-intentioned mother spent a few years of my childhood moonlighting (during the early afternoons) as an Avon lady while balancing single motherhood and real-world-job-hood in an attempt to support three beautiful monsters children.
Maybe she was born that way? Maybe she selflessly worked her butt off to create a cool life for her kids?
As a little girl, I had no awareness of what was going on; only in my adult years have I had time to reflect and understand that the life of an Avon lady has a LOT of hilarious parallels to drug smuggling.
The life of an Avon lady has a lot of hilarious parallels to drug smuggling.
Like a real drug lord (or at least like the ones movies tell me about), my wonderful-and-will-hate-me-forever-for-ever-comparing-her-Avon-ladying-to-selling-drugs mother had small plastic bags of travel-sized makeup samples all over her dresser. She had messy stacks of envelopes for monthly orders and suspicious-looking-powder-smudged makeup mirrors from her translucent powders and loose eye shadow.
My mom was a South Jersey makeup boss.
I have no idea how much makeup she actually sold on a weekly/biweekly/monthly basis, but I do know that every other week we drove to an ambiguous and kinda grimy apartment complex where she’d draft me or my older brother to run an envelope up to a mysterious apartment. We never questioned it. She’d tell us to put the envelope under the door, knock quickly, and hurry back to the car. Never questioned a single second of it; I was too distracted by my own stupid puberty, and my older brother was neck-deep in his Magic: The Gathering decks.
It wasn’t until I saw Requiem for a Dream in college that I noticed the similarities between my mom’s Avon transactions and the drug trade and thought, Well, thank God Avon never made any double-ended lip glosses. That could have been real bad.
I’ve had a curious relationship with makeup. As I was growing up, my mom’s room was always full of new face paints and powders and pencils. She accumulated an extensive makeup collection mainly because she was a passive salesperson and had to meet an Avon quota each month, so she’d end up buying herself different products in order to skate by. From time to time I’d watch her put on makeup while she openly admitted that she had no idea what she was doing. Usually she’d get distracted by something else she had to do for us and would settle for however her eyeliner looked in one take. And almost every time it was a good half inch above her eyeline. God bless.
I learned a lot about makeup (intentionally and unintentionally) from my mom. I also learned a lot from magazines, makeover shows, and from one of the most formative makeup moments of my life, my senior-prom makeover.
My high school prom was a solid four out of ten. And the prep process was a solid “ehhh” out of “awww.” I didn’t have a ton of girlfriends in high school, but I still wanted to feel “young, fun, and independent” while I got ready for what magazines told me was my “big night.” So my mom gave me some money to get my hair done at the JCPenney’s hair salon—Yes, JCPenney has a hair salon, and Yes, it lives up to the “penneys” name. They specialize in creating styles that look great from far away done by women who refuse to understand if you don’t like something. To us, it was luxury; it wasn’t a Supercuts, it was a salon. My mom got her hair dyed there from time to time (when she’d consolidate her coupons like a TLC reality show and get a dye job for the price of a single pair of panties). I’d go with her, thinking she was a suburban Mariah Carey; we’d spend the day at the saLOn getting pampered (i.e., she’d be put under a dryer next to some dying daffodils and a giant print of a woman with a razor-sharp bob while I read Seventeen magazines from six months earlier).
To get my prom hair done at Penney’s was a treat. My mom definitely didn’t have money for that, but somehow she made sure it happened. God bless that lovely lady. It was 2003 and messy asymmetrical updos were all the rage. But I knew when I asked my forty-plus-year-old Penney’s stylist for a “choppy updo” that I was in for a surprise. And I was surprised . . . that she was able to give me something close to what I wanted! It was definitely piece-y and choppy and 2,394,723,765,239 other stylists in the salon made sure to give me compliments as if to force me into feeling like it was eXacTLY what I asked for. Good enough for me! Success!
I had been getting my hair dyed, cut, colored, and permed (OOF) for years.
Now on to the makeup part.
I had been getting my hair dyed, cut, colored, and permed (OOF) for years, so the concept of having my hair professionally done wasn’t an entirely new feeling. It definitely wasn’t familiar, but it was way more familiar than GeTTInG mY maKeuP DOne! Which was what every girl did for prom. Makeup separated the babies from the babes. It wasn’t prom unless a professional was putting things on your face. My mom not only gave me money to get my hair done at Penney’s, but she also gave me some cash and the suggestion of walking across the mall to the Macy’s makeup counter to get my makeup done. The women at those counters will give you an entire makeover if you promise to buy at least one product from them. It was something I’d never done before and would never think of doing now, but the adrenaline rush of grooming and graduating took hold of me and I walked right up and asked a lady with an aggressive amount of various products on her face if I could get my makeup done for prom. She and her coworkers immediately “aww’d” and I immediately got awkward. I felt so out of place in comparison to their exaggerated eyebrows and pronounced pouts.
When she asked what I was wearing, I told her a black halter dress, and this lit up her life. A black dress was a blank slate. With a “fun updo” already in place, her creativity knew no bounds. Every color/product/look she suggested I blindly agreed to. She was swiping iridescent colors on my eyelids and wiping highlighters on my cheeks. I felt like Tai in the makeover montage from Clueless.
But the results weren’t exactly the same. When she finished her last swish of mascara, just like at the salon, the other makeup artists started aggressively complimenting the makeup artist and me on my new look. All of them had such extravagantly contoured expressions—if they thought I looked good, I thought that I must look like a member of the Insane Clown Posse. My makeup artist offered me a handheld mirror, and I looked . . . fine? aH! nO! I looked like a lady of the night in training. My eyelids were silver-coated disco balls twirling above a mouth overrun with dark lip liner and frosted lipstick. I was ready to apply for my new life as the failed sixth Spice Girl. And it wasn’t the makeup artist’s fault. To her credit she gave me a look that I didn’t say no to. Ironically, I think I ended up buying the silver eye shadow to pay for the transformation. I quickly said thank you while the other makeup artists were still gushing over my eyes, and rushed to my car.
When I got home, I lost it. I ran into the bathroom and started crying. My mom immediately came to comfort me, agreeing that yeah, my eyes looked kind of crazy. The wors
t part was that the hair and makeup had taken so much time that my date was already on his way. (I went to my senior prom with a friend from my track team. He was handsome and nice and quiet. We had a minor moment of infatuation, but it was very bland after that.)
But I wasn’t worried about what I looked like for him (no offense, Jake!), I was more concerned about living up to the magazine-mandated standards that had been pushed onto my person. According to my superficial calculations, I was currently failing at my perfect prom appearance. So, with minutes to spare, my mom and I MacGyver’d bits and pieces of her Avon makeup in an attempt to soften my unintentionally eighties-inspired look. We ended up with something I can say I don’t hate and am not completely embarrassed by. It was very 2003. In fact, it was so striking that my teachers voted me into prom court. (My school did a really PC thing my senior year: they allowed two girls and two guys to get chosen to prom court by student vote and three to get chosen by teacher vote from the runway show before the actual prom. Before the dance, everyone (who wanted to) participated in a runway show in the auditorium of our high school. It’s where they took the classic prom photos every year, but to make it more “fun,” they added the runway portion, where three teachers would choose three guys and three girls who they thought “looked great” to make it onto prom court. Very American Idol. From there, the five girls and five guys opened a box with a rose inside. If you got the red rose, you were crowned King or Queen. It was the school’s way of trying to prove Prom King and Queen wasn’t just a popularity contest. It was also a gambling and looks contest judged by slightly bitter teachers who had nothing better to do on a Saturday night. Fun!)
But somehow my choppy, sloppy, overly sultry look won the respect of the teachers and I made it onto prom court. I did not win Prom Queen, thank God. I don’t think my brain could’ve handled any more unexpected attention that day. Instead, I celebrated my loss by awkwardly slow-dancing with my white rose and my quiet date.
My fascination with makeup has grown and evolved. In high school, I’d watch all kinds of makeover shows on TV. My dad used to take me and my brothers to the bookstore pretty regularly and I’d stand in the magazine section trying to absorb all the Seventeen and YM articles about “which glitter shadow is this fall’s go-to” as fast as I could so I wouldn’t have to actually buy the magazine. I did, though, buy a Bobbi Brown makeup guidebook in high school. And now I currently binge on YouTube beauty guru videos whenever I’m hungover or feeling generally disgusting.
I really like makeup. I think it’s fun. It can make you feel a lot of things: confident, sexy, cute, gothic, glamorous, etc. Look how powerful it made those guys in KISS feel.
basics
MAKEUP
Obviously, I’m no master makeup artist.
Though I’ve attempted to “paint the barn” on my own, I’ve also had enough pretty professionals take a brush to my face to give me an understanding of the basics.
I have to admit it feels a little self-serving to take up readers’ time talking about what I like and use and blah blah blah. But then I remember that I genuinely enjoy hearing about the things other people are into because it educates me about new products and techniques. It’s how I learned that filling in your eyebrows is a thing. So, without further uncertain adieu, here are the essential members of my makeup bag.
Sidenote: The specific products I use change constantly because new makeup is created faster than new potato chip flavors (how old am I?!). Also I buy a lot of my makeup like a kid who gets three minutes in a toy store to pick out as many things as she wants. I tend to just grab stuff without thinking until I’m out of time.
Moisturizer: I don’t use it nearly as often as I should. It’s like dental floss for the face. I buy it with the best intentions and the secret hope that someone sees it in my house and thinks I’m one of those girls who has enough time/wherewithal to moisturize, so clearly I must have my sh*t together. But the reality is the moisturizer never gets used. Though I do use tinted moisturizers as primer for foundation from time to time. Mostly because the font on the packaging is so small that I don’t realize it’s a tinted moisturizer until after I put it on originally thinking it was a regular foundation. I know, I’m amazing. Currently I’m using Laura Mercier’s tinted moisturizer because I got it as a free gift with the purchase of too many other makeup things at Sephora. It’s great!
Foundation: I go for high-coverage foundation. I have skin that’s really sensitive to temperature and embarrassment, so I blush and have redness constantly. I don’t have any real requirements for foundation other than full coverage (or a coverage that can be built up) and the hope that it sort of matches the rest of my body. From what I understand, I have combination skin: it’s not overly oily or overly dry. Like my personality, my skin has a hard time making decisions. Very on-brand. My current favorite foundations are Too Faced Born This Way oil-free foundation, Tarte’s Amazonian Clay full-coverage foundation, and L’Oréal’s Infallible Pro-Matte foundation.
“Nothing makes a woman more beautiful than the belief that she is beautiful.”
—SOPHIA LOREN
“Nothing makes a woman more beautiful than the belief that frozen yogurt has negative calories.”
—GRACE HELBIG
Under-Eye Concealer: I’d never fully understood the deal with concealer other than for covering obvious zits and blemishes. I’d see girls using it on their noses and chins and Cupid’s bows (that’s a thing on your face!) and thought it seemed unnecessary. Until I discovered the witchcraft that is under-eye concealer! My overly anxious brain and excessive caffeine intake keep me from sleeping as much as a regular human should, but under-eye concealer makes it look like I almost got close to a healthy amount of sleep. I love it. It’s the most advanced version of Photoshop I know how to use. I love Maybelline’s Instant Age Rewind Eraser; it’s the one consistent makeup product I’ve used longer and more often than any other.
Bronzer: I love bronzer. Bronzer tricks me into thinking I have a healthier lifestyle than I do. When it’s used appropriately I feel like it adds such a flattering glow and makes me look like I go outside for fun. Ha! But it’s tricky, because bronzer can cross a line really easily. You have to be modest. It’s like vanilla extract. The tiniest bit packs a punch. And, for whatever silly reason, when I see someone who’s used a flattering amount of bronzer, I assume they have their sh*t together. I don’t know why, but the subtle sun-kissed glow gives the illusion that they’ve just gotten back from a vacation on some cool island I’ve never heard of before, which was desperately needed because their wildly successful amethyst-crystal-crotch-sweatpants line sucks up most of their time and energy throughout the year. What a life. The bronzers I currently love include, but are not limited to (because I constantly buy new brands just to see), Tarte’s Amazonian Clay Bronzer in Park Avenue Princess and Benefit’s Hoola Matte bronzer.
Blush: I sometimes get hesitant about applying blush, because my face blushes so easily by itself. But I’ve edited enough videos of myself to know that when I’m not wearing blush or in a state of embarrassment, I look like the Crypt Keeper. So I usually always throw some on. I’m big into Maybelline’s Dream Bouncy Blush in Coffee Cake and Tarte’s Amazonian Clay 12-Hour Blush in Honeysuckle.
Eyebrow Filler: Only within the last year have I understood the beauty and magic of filling in your eyebrows. I’ve watched so many makeup tutorials thinking the girls were wasting precious minutes of their lives and mine by filling in their eyebrows, but now I get it. Eyebrows frame the face. When your eyebrows are filled in, it gives the appearance that your face is more “made up” than it actually is. It’s like when you take a dumb Fall Out Boy poster and you put it in a chic, Pinterest-esque frame, suddenly it looks less like a complete piece of juvenile sh*t and more like a purposeful piece of art. My current brow buddies are Urban Decay’s Brow Box in Brown Sugar, Tarte’s Amazonian Clay Waterproof Brow Mousse in Rich Brown, and Anastasia’s Brow Wiz in Medium Brown.
; Liquid Eyeliner: If I don’t feel like diving into the eye-shadow game, which can quickly become a disaster for me, I opt for a simple winged look with liquid liner. It’s relatively simple, once you get past the initial stage of being awFuL at applying liquid liner. Don’t worry—it’s just cat-eye puberty, everyone goes through that phase. I don’t experiment with as many liquid liners as I should, but currently I go for Kat Von D’s Ink! Liquid Liner in Trooper or L’Oréal’s Carbon Black Lineur Intense Brush Tip Liquid Eyeliner.
Mascara: Mascara is one of my face’s BFFs. If I have absolutely nO time for makeup, I go for a quick coat of foundation and some mascara. With it, I feel like I look more like a grown human rather than a newborn fetus. It helps compensate for the lack of sleep by making my eyes look wider, suggesting I’m well rested. Basically mascara is that friend that backs up the lies you tell to the rest of the world. Thank you, mascara. Currently I’m in lust with Too Faced Better Than Sex and Tarte’s Lights, Camera, Flashes.
Lipstick/Lip Stain: I rarely put things on my lips unless I’m performing or going to an event, shooting a video, or near French fries. And for the moments I do wear lip things, I opt for a lip stain, on account of the fact that French-fry eating can happen for me at any moment and I might not have time to retouch my lipstick and I’m definitely not passing on the French-fry opportunity. I love Revlon’s Just Bitten Balm Stains and reaLLY LOVe Too Faced Melted Liquified Long Wear Lipstick in aLL THe COLOrs.