The Fashionista Files (20 page)

PUT ON A LITTLE MAKEUP, MAKEUP, WE’RE GONNA HAVE A GOOD TIME, GOOD TIME

The Michael Jackson Makeover
MELISSA

My favorite friend my senior year in college was Matt, a blond varsity swimmer from Chicago who had dropped off the team in order to spend his nights at sweaty nightclubs in Chelsea, dressed only in Daisy Dukes and a white tank top. He was hilariously, outlandishly queer. Matt lived dangerously and with much gusto. He and his boyfriend, Garret, spent their junior year abroad in Paris. They arrived at the airport hungover, wearing trench coats, with a boom box on each shoulder, blasting house music at full volume. The French didn’t have a chance. Matt and I perfected the art of hanging out and doing absolutely nothing. We bonded over vodka and cigarettes, entertaining ourselves with stories from our childhoods.

One night we were hanging out as usual in my crappy dormitory room, wearing three sweaters each, since the university had yet to fix the heating. (We must have looked like winos crowded around the ashtray.) We were on our fifth cocktail, and I had just finished telling Mark his favorite story—about how my family had lived in high style in Manila.

Matt just thrilled at the word
chauffeur.
He rolled it around on his tongue, savoring it. His parents were divorced, and his mother bought all their clothes from thrift stores and once served them canned turkey for Thanksgiving; hence, he loved all things glamorous.

“What are we going to do now?” Matt asked, stubbing out his cigarette.

“Dunno.”

It was ten o’clock on a Saturday night and we hadn’t even left my room. All the other kids were asleep or flirting with members of the opposite sex. Matt’s boyfriend, Garret, was in the library studying for finals. Since we were flat broke, Matt and I had to steal a bottle of vodka from a suite on the fifth floor, which we filled with water before returning to make it look like nothing happened.

“I know! I have a brilliant idea,” Matt said. “I’ll give you a makeover!” He told me he loved applying makeup to women’s faces, and that he would be honored if I let him work his magic on me. I thrilled to the idea and immediately brought out my hefty makeup bag.

I closed my eyes and felt Matt’s soft hands fluffing, blending, brushing my face. “I think we’re going to do you as a diva!” he promised, one cigarette hanging off his lip. An hour later he handed me the mirror.

The fact that I didn’t scream was a testament to how much I valued our friendship. I didn’t look like Diana Ross, more like Michael Jackson! My eyes were grotesquely encased in a green glitter shadow, my eyebrows exaggerated for primo Bride of Frankenstein effect, and my lips were bloodied a candy red. I was hideous.

“I . . . I . . . I love it!” I said.

“Well, we certainly can’t stay here with you looking like that!” Matt said.

Oh, yes, we can.

Instead of arguing, I gulped and changed my clothes, and Matt and I hit the popular college bar down the street. A guy I had a crush on took one look at me and turned away without saying hello. When Garret met up with us later, he gave me a sympathetic look.

“Matt give you a makeover?” he whispered.

“Do you think I did this to myself?” I asked.

We never told Matt that he wasn’t going to be the next Kevin Aucoin. Some things are better kept between friends.

I Must Look Really Bad Without Makeup!
KAREN

Some people are genetically predisposed to pure natural beauty. They don’t need blush, foundation, mascara, lipstick. Clear complexions don’t require expensive facial cleansers, exfoliation formulas, and skin regimens. They can roll out of bed and be good to go. I am not one of those girls, which is sometimes a problem because I don’t really love wearing makeup unless I’m going to an event or doing something special, be it a work meeting or a date with my man.

I have dark circles under my eyes, permanent sun spots in the form of dark rings, an uneven skin tone, not to mention constant breakouts around the chin region. Because I work from home, I don’t have to make myself up that regularly. I get to stay in sweats, skip a shower from time to time, and wear zit cream on my face all day long if I need to. I don’t always think about how I look when I’m doing neighborhood errands. If I need to pick up paper for my printer or soy cheese from the health food store, I run out as is— hair atop of my head, pink splotches of drying lotion on my face and all.

I am an extremist. So when I’m not made up, I’m
really
not made up. But when I am, I go all-out. I have as much makeup as a professional artist, including specific camouflage for under my eyes, as well as a cream for the aforementioned sunspots, four shades of eyebrow filler to go with whatever color hair I’m sporting that season, over a hundred lip glosses, Bobbi Brown’s leather case of all the right brushes, two kinds of eyelash curlers (one I use for just the edges when I want an angular catlike look). I have cream shadow, powder shadow, and a million tricks up my sleeve. I use red lipstick as blush in emergencies, Kiehl’s lip balm as gloss for any lipstick, and when I want my eyes to really pop, I apply liner on the inside of the lid—on the top (a little something I picked up from makeup artist Sue Devitt)!

I hate to think that I look really different when I’m made up versus when I’m not. But I must. I practically live at Cones, a yummy sorbet shop on Bleecker Street, where it’s illegal to get a small cup with more than one flavor, but because I’m such a regular customer, the owner allows me to break the rules.

I went there after a nice dinner once and asked for my usual— raspberry and pineapple. The same guy who gives me special treatment every single day looked me in the eye and said, “Sorry, one flavor for the small cup. . . . Can’t you read the sign?”

I pleaded, “It’s me. It’s Karen.” He refused to believe me.

“Take the lipstick off and put your hair up. Let me see,” he ordered. I had no idea that I was so unrecognizable. I pulled my hair back and wiped off my lipstick. The old man apologized and told me I cleaned up nice. Call me crazy, but I’m not really sure it’s a compliment.

Lip Service: Take Care of Those Puckerers

Clean lips with an exfoliating scrub.

Pat with foundation or a specific lip-prep lotion.

If you use lip liner, do not line the lips, but fill in entirely. Dark liner surrounding lighter lipstick is very unchic.

Vary your lipstick color. If you are always wearing browns, try a rich red, a pale sheer, or vice versa. You will be surprised how much a little change lights up your face. Don’t get stuck in a rut. In fact, mix and match your colors to create something new.

To prevent lipstick from smearing on your teeth, after you apply it, stick your finger in your mouth, wrap your lips around it, and slowly pull it out of your mouth. A ring of lipstick will remain on your finger—the very lipstick that would have eventually landed on your teeth. Do this twice to make sure you get it all.

Tip: Lighter colors make the lips appear bigger. Dark lipsticks make lips look smaller and thinner.

The Color Chart

Red. Blue-red. Orange-red. Plum. Pink. Glossy. Matte. Golden. There are so many color choices to play with (and so little time). What every fashionista needs to know is how to match what’s on her lips to what’s on her body. There is nothing worse than wearing a lovely coral cocktail dress with a dark wine-colored lip gloss. Below is a color chart that displays the right shade of lipstick to complement the color of your clothes.

Makeup Lessons

Unlike those who are comfortable walking around with a naked face, fashionistas adore being made up by makeup artists. Don’t be shy about popping into a counter for a quick touch up before a party, or scheduling a session with a master. Whether you’re going to an event where an ex-boyfriend is sure to be in attendance, or you need to be made up for a special occasion like your wedding, it’s time to call in the professionals. Some tips from senior makeup artists Brent Ries and Allison McGraine from the Sue Devitt Studio:

Less is more. Technique is more important than piling on product.

When applying any product from eye shadow to blush to foundation, blend correctly for precise application.

Invest in a good set of brushes. Throw away the little applicators that come in the eyeshadow compacts. The basic brushes are powder, blush, and three different eye brushes, one for the base of the lid, one for shading the crease, and one for lining.

Liquid foundation is the best. With powder foundation you are constantly adding product to your skin. This creates a cakey look.

Never leave the house without mascara. Curl lashes before applying mascara.

Bronzer is a must, but don’t go overboard. That just-got-back-from-Aruba look in the middle of December is cheesy. Start with a light hand—you can always go darker if need be.

Line your upper eyelid to create a cleaner, softer eyeliner look.

Hide dark circles with a pearly yellow cover-up.

Buy cheap lip gloss from the drugstore, but expensive eye shadow. The ones from the drugstore don’t have enough pigment and won’t last as long.

Cover blemishes but don’t try to disguise them.

LOCK ’N’ ROLL

The Love Affair
MELISSA

My first love when I was a working woman in Manhattan was a guy named Julien Farell. Julien was a doe-eyed Frenchman with a soft caress and a yummy accent. He was the type who always had time for me. We had a very intimate relationship. He was my hairdresser.

He worked at the newly opened Frederik Fekkai salon on the penthouse floor of Bergdorf Goodman. He called me “Meh-leeesah!” and plied me with apple shampoo and $25 texturizer. The texturizer was part of my signature scent—boyfriends would say, “Mmmm . . . what is that smell in your hair!” Julien cost me $90, then $110, later $250 (with color), or even $480 (with many products) a month. I couldn’t resist his suggestions, his strict maintenance regimen, and seeing him every three weeks. Julien taught me that one must never look like one just had a haircut; one’s hair should always keep its fabulous shape.

Hairdressers are very seductive people. The marriage between fashionista and hairstylist is one that is often consummated. A close friend had a torrid affair with her stylist, but alas, when it was over, she could no longer get her hair cut at his salon. Julien and I, however, were on strictly platonic, hair-centered terms.

But alas, the affair had to end at some point. They always do.

The news came via a newspaper clipping. The
New York Times
reported that stylists at the Fekkai salon made six-figure salaries. I blanched. Here I was, playing grande madame to Julien, and the bastard was actually making more than I was! It struck me then: I couldn’t afford this. It was the equivalent of a monthly car payment—for my hair. After three years at the Fekkai salon, I walked out of its gleaming brass doors forever. But I’ll always remember Julien fondly.

Curly Girl, All the Way
KAREN

Like most girls who have curly hair, I have spent much of my time battling the twists and turns of the locks that sprout uncontrollably from my scalp. For most of my life, I fought a nasty case of triangle head, a condition whereby your hair is flat on top and bursting out on the sides such that it resembles the shape of a triangle. I cursed my curls. So unruly were they that before my very first job interview, after college, at Condé Nast, an older, wiser fashionista instructed me to get my hair straightened. “You’ll look much more put-together,” she advised. I did, but I wasn’t happy about it. I never felt like straight hair suited me. I had a curly-girl personality. My hair needed to be wild and adventurous. I just needed to learn how to manage it.

In 1997, a publicist I knew wanted me to try a new salon in Soho, and at the time I was not wed to any one hair person. So I took her up on her offer and stepped inside Devachan. Everything about the place was different from the uptight world of uptown, self-righteous hair salons that I was used to. I was greeted with a champagne flute of sparkling water. When you get your hair washed, you lie down on an ergonomically correct massage table and you get a twenty-minute rubdown.

Lorraine Massey, the owner, a blonde with tight corkscrew curls, sat me down to talk about my hair for ample time. “You’ve got to embrace your curls and nurture them like a garden,” she said in a soothing British accent. She went on to talk about how curly hair curls because of the hair matrix being fine and devoid of moisture. She began massaging my scalp in a circular motion while asking me what I wanted from life and, hence, my hair. She talked about the circle of curls reflecting emotional cycles. She had a very spiritual approach, which I took to. But more than that, she really seemed to understand my hair and wanted to cut it in a way to get the most out of my curls and enhance my features. It was the first time a stylist didn’t cut my hair and blow it poker-straight, turning me into whatever Jennifer Aniston was sporting at that moment.

Her first rule of thumb was banning shampoo. Completely. Apparently, “’pooing,” as she says, dries the hair. In the back of her salon, she whipped up a nonlathering formula of all-natural products, which she gave me as a gift. (Note: She’s not one of those creepy product pushers who get you to spend a fortune on things . . . and her products barely cost $10 each.) Then she told me that from now on, I was not to rinse my conditioner, but not to use leave-in conditioner because it has chemicals. Use regular conditioner and just leave it in, she said, comparing it to hand lotion. (“You don’t put that on your hands and wash it right off, do you?”) Also, conditioner acts as a weight, which enables the curls to fall downward, not puff out to the side. She gave me an intense hour-long lesson on styling my hair. The routine goes as follows: Scrunch wet hair with the towel or paper towels, which are thinner and, hence, reach the scalp more easily, from the end to the root, squeezing on the way up. Add a curl-friendly gel, and then, the most important part, comes the next step: Take bobby pins and insert them in such a way that they add lift to the hair. Do this where you want the hair to be fuller. Leave in until the hair dries and then remove. That trick gives the hair body. It’s also the only remedy for triangle head I have ever seen work—and last.

Lorraine cut my hair while it was dry and showed me how she cuts the curl in a way that promotes its windy movement, not prevents it. I came home and threw away all of the products that never really worked, including all shampoo. (I haven’t “’pooed” since!) And I have learned to like my hair over time. From that day forward, it grew longitudinally instead of horizontally. And every time I see Lorraine, who is now the only person I will let cut my hair, I pick up new tricks she thinks of. She is something of a mad curl scientist. She even wrote a book about it. I have sent all of my curly-haired friends to her and they have all said she changed their lives. Just like she has changed mine! The moral of the story is: Find a person who really understands your hair, someone who will give you a cut that fits your face, your life, your personality. Otherwise it’s just not worth it. Like a husband, you should never settle for anyone who’s second-rate!

Hair Affair

While a fashionista follows each gloriously fickle trend and turn of fashion, her hair should simply flatter her face, regardless of the fact that short may be in one season, straight another, and long and curly the next. Many fashionistas get caught up in major straightening moments, when they think they must have poker-straight ’dos. This usually results in hair irons, which can ultimately lead to hair frying, burning, and drying, and other atrocious mishaps. Learn to accept the limitations of your locks and appreciate what you have been born with.

A signature hairstyle can be your determining look for decades—just look at Anna Wintour and her famous bob, Ali Mc-Graw and her long brunette locks, Gwen Stefani and her platinum shade. Experiment with a few styles, invest in a relationship with a fabulous hairstylist, and canvas friends and family for their honest opinion.

Below, some tried-and-true fashionista hair tricks.

The two-day blowout—We fashionistas are a vain lot. We spend the grocery budget on perfect blowouts. Make a blowout last for two days by having your stylist spray your hair with a silicone-based lotion or hold. This will help your hair retain its shape for more than one night. At night, sleep in the “sleeping princess” position (on your back, with your hair spread on your pillow) and use a satin pillow that does not absorb moisture, which often leads to waves and curls. Do not toss and turn! Do not attempt to have any nooky! Remember, it’s about making that $50 blowout last! Invest in a shower cap.

The Pucci bandanna—The cure to fashionista bad-hair days is a fabulous printed bandanna or scarf to hide the unruly mess. Oversize sunglasses optional.

Pre-Raphaelite curls—Invigorate your curls by dampening hair with a spray bottle. Take small pieces of hair and wrap around your finger close to your scalp. Pin each curl to the scalp and let it sit while you’re getting ready (fifteen to twenty minutes). Remove pins.

The low ponytail—A
Vogue-
magazine-girl favorite, this is a sleek, classic, sophisticated look that works well with long, straight, silken hair or hair with subtle waves. A few tendrils outside for wavy-haired girls only.

The SuperSolano hair dryer—A slightly more expensive dryer than the average Conair, this is the Bentley of hot air. After you attain a style you like, give your hair a shot of cold air from the dryer. Hair is moldable like butter—heat will allow you to shape it and the cold air will keep it in place.