Move Over, Sue Ellen
Now that I have my blonde highlights, I figured I would go out and buy yet MORE new makeup.
After all, now I’m a blonde (sort of), and so I might need slightly different shades.
Although my favorite makeup arena is the drugstore aisle, I treated myself to a trip to Sephora. Sephora lets you play with their stuff, and I wanted to try colors against my new semi-blondness.
I think that Sephora needs classier background music. Perhaps Verdi would make me feel beautiful. Or something French. French is beautiful. But Sephora throbs with pop tunes – throbbier than Lady GaGa. In fact, Lady GaGa would sound like Edith Piaf after fifteen minutes in Sephora.
I wandered up and down the colorful rows, which of course were completely changed around since the last time I was there. But before I could dip my fingers (just kidding–I used their nice sanitary sticks) into the pots, the saleslady came to help.
There were four salespeople in the store.
Three looked like this:
A little winged on the liner, but overall, nicely done. Young, stylish but understated (except for the wings). These young girls might know a thing or two about makeup.
The fourth lady looked like this:
This was the lady who waited on me.
At least she’s my age, I thought. The last time I went to Sephora, the adolescent sales associate showed me how swell I would look in gray eyeshadow. Yeah, lead-pipe gray is great on sixty-one-year-old eyelids.
I explained about my new haircolor, and of course the saleslady agreed that I needed to update my blush.
“Tangerine is the new hot color, and it will be perfect,” she said.
I expressed my doubt about orange blush.
“Well, how about a beautiful coral?” she asked, and took out a pot that was definitely tangerine. “It goes on sheerer than it looks,” she insisted.
And surprisingly, it wasn’t too bad. The more I looked at myself, I thought it was quite attractive. This Tammy Faye look-alike might actually know a thing about makeup.
So I asked her about a concealer. Yes, I know I just wrote about my new favorite concealer. But that doesn’t mean there might be a better one out there. One that would conceal thirty years.
Of course she had one. It was concealer on one end and illuminator on the other. I’m not sure what illuminator is, but I could need it.
Then it was lipstick time. Saleslady took out bright orange, but I demurred.
“Teeny lips and bright colors don’t work,” I said.
So she took out muted bright orange.
“With thin lips, you just extend a bit outside your natural lipline.” she advised, and drew me a much fuller mouth. It didn’t really bear too much relationship to my own mouth. I guess lips are just a suggestion that you don’t necessarily have to follow.
And she added eyeshadow and eyebrow pencil and liner. And kept going. She’d run from one aisle to the next, while I wiped some of the excess off with a tissue.
But I liked the blush and the concealer.
“You can trust me,” she said. “I’ve been doing professional makeup for forty years. I did the makeup on ‘Dallas‘.”
That explained a lot.
When she was done, she was so excited by my metamorphosis, she gave me a nice hug – although she was careful not to smudge either of our thick faces.
And while she was putting away the dozens of products she had taken out, I picked out a nice honey-colored sheer lipstick.
And since I’ve had several requests for the big reveal, here it is:
Crazy flashy to me. Probably too subtle to notice for everyone else.