Everything About Me Is Fake . . . And I'm Perfect (5 page)

                I nodded, swallowed, and gave her the good
and bad news. “Swiss Kriss, honey,” I shot back. “It’s all about laxatives and
diuretics.” I figured she already knew about canyon walking and yoga.

                She was fascinated. “Can you repeat that?”

               
Opposite: Tina Turner lives. Selling
panty hose for a German magazine.

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                “Swiss Kriss. It’s a laxative. Once a
week—boom—flat stomach. Just stick close to the john, or things could get ugly,”
I warned her with a smile.

                Now I can’t say for certain, but Babs was
starting to look like she was digging this conversation. I was ready for her to
whip out a notepad and start taking notes. I just shook my head. “You know
what, Babs? Everything about me is fake—including my intestinal tract.”

                At this point, Babs laughed so hard that her
Evian began to spill on the sleeve of her latest Donna Karan black-brushed gold
shirt.

                “You should try a good laxative tea—they
work, too,” I told her, knowing it was my duty to spill the beans. “A few sips
in the morning, and . . . thunder!” I said. Now Babs was laughing so hard she
was clutching her own stomach.

                “I can’t believe we’re having this
conversation,” she said in that wonderful Brooklyn whine she never really lost.
(Thank God.) I was amazed: here was a woman who truly has it all. Yet despite
the money, the fame, the work, the acclaim, and the love she’s found in the
last several years, even she still doesn’t feel perfect enough.

                “Life is a shit sometimes,” I told her.

                “Janice, you said it,” she replied.

                Unfortunately, not every icon behaves quite
that way. Some time back, I was on a first-class flight from Los Angeles to
Munich with my old friend and flame, photographer Michael Reinhardt. The two of
us were arguing about the simple things in a love match—

                things like territory and control. Mike and
I were two alphas; we were always going teeth to teeth with each other that
way. It’s tough to be in a relationship with someone whose personality is
exactly as strong as your own—especially when that means extra-strong.

                On that flight, I let him win—but not because
I felt like giving up, mind you. He won because I had to take myself out of the
fight. Thanks to severe thunderstorms, the plane was rocking. Before too long,
the pilot gave us the bad news: “Attention, ladies and gentlemen, I’ve been
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                formed that we’ll have to circle for the
next forty-five minutes.” At that point the piece of toast I’d consumed earlier
that day—along with all the vodka I’d been chugging on the flight—began to
churn. So I ran to the bathroom and hurled. Mike just sat there reading his
magazine, totally oblivious. (Did he deign to move one leg so I could squeeze
past him on my way to the john? I can’t remember.)

                Afterward, I felt so ill I wasn’t sure how I
was going to make it back to my seat. When I opened the bathroom door, I looked
like death warmed over—but my spirit was suddenly lifted when I locked eyes
with this little angel of a girl, standing there patiently waiting her turn.

                “Lady, can I help you?” she said in a wee
voice, filled with concern.

                “You all right, lady?” I glanced up to see
who mothered this beautiful little girl, but much to my horror discovered the
face of gloom. “Get back to your seat and leave her alone!” screamed Ms. Diana
Ross to her daughter.

                God, no wonder she has such a reputation, my
one brain cell thought.

                “Doncha talk to my kid,” Ms. Ross said,
practically shoving me out of the way to go into the bathroom while her kid
waited there silently, legs crossed. When your mother’s a diva, I guess you
have to hold it. Ah, the kindness of strangers. It’s a good thing Ms. Ross didn’t
ask me for any beauty tips. The first one I would dish out? Lighten the fuck
up. Some people who get frown lines actually deserve them.

                22.

               
The Best Beauty Tips Ever

                I know you read all the fashion beauty books
and magazines that offer a thousand different tips in the name of beauty every
single month. I won’t mock them—I figure you all know by now that it’s a bunch
of bullshit, right?

                Girls, you honestly don’t need to spend
millions to turn your already overcrowded bathroom counter into a shrine for
the beauty product line of the moment. When it comes to sharing the best in
beauty tips, I have it down to a science. Read on, and follow these tips if you
want to be . . . totally perfect.

               
For the Bod

                How hard is it to keep your chassis tuned?
Ladies, it’s grueling, I know. My life has been grueling since the 1970s, and
it ain’t getting any easier. But if you break it down into a million tiny jobs
along the way, you might find it easier to cope with what you have to do to
stay in control. You’ve

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                got to tell yourself what to do. Hit the gym
five or six times a week. (Get over it!) Eat all the greens on your plate. (Don’t
make that face. I mean all of them, young lady!)

                And you’ve got to remember what’s at stake
if you don’t. I’m a waistlineis-half-full kind of gal. You can call me pessimistic
if you want. But you’ll never call me fat.

                It’s all about what you do with your
body—what you put into it, and what you do with all the energy that’s waiting
to get out of it. People often ask me: “What do you eat now, Janice?” Here we
go: I start the day with an egg-white omelet. It’s a great shot of protein that
keeps you feeling full. A little bowl of oatmeal is fine, too—the plain
oldfashioned kind, not Maple & Two Tons of Brown Sugar. You must eat
breakfast. It gives you the energy you need to get the day rolling. For lunch,
I eat anything that flies, swims, or crawls. And I never have bread with it.
For a snack during the day, I eat plain celery. Why? I work really hard on my
body, and I don’t want to blow it. I’ll also have a small handful of almonds if
I’m hungry between meals. I don’t mean the whole can, although I do believe it’s
important to pig out once a week on good stuff that you love. Yesterday, for
example, I had a few cookies. Today, I won’t. The key is not to abandon your
self-control every single day. You can’t go wrong with salmon. Grilled,
poached, or chilled, it’s great for your body. I eat it once or twice a week.
It’s good for your brain cells, too—the ones you have left, anyway.

                Power Bars, or energy bars, are better than eating
a sandwich for lunch, but you can’t snack on them relentlessly, thinking that
you’re doing your bod a favor. They’re packed with calories.

                I have a huge sweet tooth, and since I
stopped smoking it’s gotten worse. Giving up alcohol made it even more
difficult because alcohol has a ton of sugar. (Remember that the next time you
want to go out and have a few drinks and no dinner. You’re better off eating a
little something and
Opposite: Run a series of these exercises, please.
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                having only one drink.) Anyway, when I quit
smoking and drinking, I did what anyone does: chew, chew, chew. I even did
something surprising for a model: I got interested in fabulous baked goods.
That’s when I noticed my skin was starting to get blotchy. Alas, that’s sugar
for you. Resist! The saddest thing is when I see someone work out really hard
and then later eat a ton of white sugar—or cheese, which works the same way.
That’s like having liposuction, and then having the pounds sewn right back onto
your hide.

               
For the Fashion-Conscious

                For me, exercise and fashion go hand in
hand. If you can’t feel good about your body, it’s going to be harder to feel
good about your clothes. And if you hate what you wear to exercise, you’re not
going to feel good about getting fit. So let’s go over what it takes to get
yourself and your wardrobe in shape.

                First of all, exercising is crucial. The PC
police will kill me for saying this, but for me the two best motivations to
exercise have always been these: the hot guy I’ve got in bed (and want to keep
there) right now, or the next hot guy I’m trying to land. I’ll bet you’ve got
one or the other, right, girls? Now close your eyes and think about him for a
moment—naked. Doesn’t that make you want to get on your feet and work those
buns?

                I learned as a ballerina that all exercise
should start with stretching. I do it every day; if I don’t, I feel rusty.

                What to wear on a run? Whatever you do, not
one of those popular J.Lo–type jogging suits. Here’s what I think of them:
Hideous! Bleh! Forget ’em. They look as if they were made out of material Motel
6 wouldn’t even use for their towels. Can’t people just look inside Vogue and
see what’s fashionable? Is that really too much to ask?

                I’m not saying we shouldn’t wear clothes to
relax in. All I wear for hanging out is a pair of stretchy black leotard pants
and an oversized T-shirt. Try it. You’ll love how loose-fitting they are
compared to those tight Juicy jackets. Think classic. Nothing is sexier than a
crisp white T. Nothing!

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                It’s not really the best idea to go hiking
after lunch wedged into a pair of Dolce and Gabbana pumps. But you’ll never
catch me taking a quick power walk through Beverly Hills in those dreadful,
butt-ugly athletic shoes women all over the country are wearing. Unless you’re
training for the freakin’ Olympics, do yourself a fashion favor: throw those
stinkboats
Downtime. No makeup and feeling my groove.

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                in the trash and get yourself some sexy
workout sneaks before you get out there and walk off every meal.

                Then again, when you’re not exercising, you’ve
got to work it. And all I can tell you is this: please learn how to walk in
high heels. The key to finding good heels is making sure they’re secure on your
feet. In other words, find your size—or get ready to come face-to-face with the
pavement. Believe me, it’s worth it to invest in one good pair of
four-hundreddollar Christian Louboutin shoes rather than four pairs of cheap
ones from the mall. I discovered Louboutins at a Paris show for Diane von
Furstenberg years ago. Fabulous! Carrie Bradshaw wore pink ones for her last
date with Mr. Big before he moved out of New York (was he nuts!?) on Sex and
the City. If they’re good enough for both Janice D and Carrie B, well, they’re
good enough for you, no? They even make your toes look hot. Get them in every
color if you can! Have the man in your life buy them for you if at all
possible. And here’s the key: practice walking in them with attitude. Even
better, dance in them with abandon. You won’t be sorry.