Make-up, schmuck up

An interesting incident which I failed to write about earlier this month. I got roped into a make-up session with a visiting and allegedly talented professional make-up artist working for Lancome. So I found myself at the mall approaching the Lancome counter on the day of the appointment; a little nervous, a little wary.

Insult #1: the make-up artist carrying out my half-baked facial (by this I mean, half-assed; and I just broke my rule about swearing on my weblog) asks me my age, hears my answer, tells me, "oh, you're a baby!" then goes about making her colleagues guess my age by looking at my face.

Insult #2: after the same girl - who happens to be my age and looks stunning and appropriately her age - completes my half-baked facial and applies foundation in the wrong shade (I'm not a make-up artist and I do get this right on my own) to my face, she guides me to wait for the fella who's supposed to turn me into a goddess, or a demi-goddess, at least. I look at the other women he's just transformed, and think, hmm, okay not bad. My turn, and he says to me, "Oh you remind me of my friend so-and-so." (I can't remember the name.) I try not to roll my eyes and say, "Let me guess, I look young, right?" He smiles and nods and says, "So you want something for the day?" To which I reply, yes. He does things to my face, sweeps something here, something across my cheek, puts mascara on my lashes, lines my quivering eyelids (I have delicate contact lenses inside), dabs something on my lips and finally whips a mirror in front of me. I look like a teenager desperate for adulthood and just about ready to go to the disco. He's lined my eyes in dark purple, put shimmery blush on my cheeks and even more shimmery lip gloss on my lips. No, I look like a deranged 80's Tinkerbell. My eyes look like they're about to explode. Somehow, he's used his talents and energy to make me look even more juvenile. Wrong direction, mister. Somehow, I exude courtesy, thank him, stumble out of my chair and back to the counter where I decide to buy none of the products he used on me. Thank goodness the session is free, although we have to buy something, so I select a blusher that I wanted months ago. Something subtle and with zero shimmer.

Insult #3: The lady who handles my purchase looks at me and says, "You look lovely!" I try hard not to hit her, hand her my credit card, take my bag and coat, thank you very much, and leave the mall.

I don't think I'll be headed that way for a while.

Posted by Monoceros at March 17, 2004 4:37 PM