Wednesday, January 14, 2015


This post was written in 2009, and it remains one of my all-time favorites.  


Everyone one of us will have that aha moment when we realize that no matter what we do or what we are willing to pay or how much we wish it, some things just ain't (yes, I have used the forbidden word) reversible. Like when you're 52, you're 52. A--HA! It doesn't matter that your mind lives in denial and you're willing to spend whatever it costs (well, excluding investing in surgical procedures and anything involving needles with puff-it-up or plump-it-out or freeze-in-place capabilities) or you've blown out a zillion wish candles--my point again. Time waits for no man--or woman.


You would think that life experience coupled with two years of hot flashes peppered with a fair amount of hormonally-induced emotional outbursts at inopportune times would have prepared me for the changes that seemingly overnight have taken place to my face. But it hasn't. That occasional glimpse as I walk by a mirror in a public place reminding me that I ain't no spring chicken any more still surprises me.

I have arrived though.

Last night's experience of being stark naked--not literally--what a god-awful thought--but make-up free under bright lights in a public place surrounded by young people has finally done it. If acceptance is a twelve-step program, I am now on number 13. How lucky for me.

I don't really care how many times the young MAC artist told me differently. I probably should have been in the Clinique chair to begin with. Notice the close proximity behind Aunt Marie.


Whatever was I thinking. And who's idea was it to go to my first ever makeover with 30-year-olds? Yes, Aunt Marie was there, but her skin is amazing and she wasn't having an identity crisis.

The whining must stop and the show must begin. Too bad for me.

Oh, and one more thing. I will offer very important advice throughout this post just because I am older and wiser. Those tidbits will be in red for obvious reasons.

Emily was just full of astute observations and sage advice after the fact. So, if you are inclined to go for a makeover with a young person with flawless skin--which I strongly discourage--please require them to share this information on the front end. Trust me on this one.

My makeup artist would not allow me to photograph her, only her necklace. so that leaves the description up to me. Two words: Tammy Faye. I know, Edie, you love it or you don't. I don't.


While I was getting my face scrubbed would have been a good time for Emily to share her sage advice: Always choose a makeup artist that sports a look you would like to have.


Hello! I didn't know that. I honestly would have chosen hers if she had told me in advance. She did not play fair, and that is all I'm going to say. And I will have to post the following photo out of order to make my point.


The second bit of advice that Emily and everybody else seemed to have after the fact was to communicate clearly what you want. Hello again. Don't you go for a makeover because you don't have a clue what you want? I have watched countless episodes of What Not to Wear, and Carmindy always takes control. I was trusting the expert when I said, "You decide what will work."

Perhaps if she asked me what I did for a living or how many grandchildren I had or where I shop or what I do in my spare time, the barn may have been painted differently. But she didn't. I was assured though that she was a soccer mom and her son was a very good student. She must have been judged by her appearance in the past to share such information. I wasn't judging.


Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Marie was really bonding with her artist, and Kelly was snapping photos and waiting patiently while hers waited on customers.



It physically pains me to post this next photo. I realize that I wasn't quite finished yet, but the camera does not lie. And I'm too poor now to buy Photoshop.


And my good friend, Emily, does not lie either. I believe her exact quote was "I like the top of your eyes." What are good friends for anyway?


The artist suggested that I fluff my hair.


No amount of fluffing was going to help.
I looked like Tammy Faye without the lashes. Lashes were out of the budget. I know that because I asked just to be polite and to make conversation with my artist who buys them by the case. She must get a discount.


Really, I tried to like the new look, but when I got up to view the others' progress, something happened inside. It was not just the realization that I was older and more wrinkly than the rest, but nobody else had been made up to look like a pentecostal preacher's wife--even though one was at least the preacher's wife part.



Although, at one point, Kelly did look like a battered wife. She learned that eye makeup is to be applied first so that you can clean up the overdusting. Yes, I made up that word, and she did not want me taking this picture.


And the end results were pretty amazing for Tammy's friend and relatives. Some were more comfortable in front of a camera than others.




Aren't those eyes amazing?

kelly's eyes

We are just about at the climax of this story. It was about this time that something started to happen to me. It wasn't just the hot flash or the low blood sugar or the trauma of being naked in the department store. This uninvited and unwanted wave of utter disappointment in the finished product just came over me, and it made me cry--I mean literally. My makeup artist left to no doubt spend time with her well-adjusted soccer playing son, and I was left feeling abandoned and wishing that I was not going to be the one to prove that MAC was waterproof.

Not that I really wanted to be able to repeat the look at home, but I wanted to buy something. Confusion and a whole host of other feelings hit me like tomatoes being thrown at a performer. Only I wasn't performing. I just wanted to look my personal best, and I was certain that this was not it. Or was it.

It's pretty sad when the MAC makeup artist asks to hug you . . .


and counsel you . . .


. . . while your friend dances to cheer you up.
How sweet. How humiliating.
How so much a part of this hormonal time of life.


By some miracle, I was able to dry my tears and allow her to do her magic. She wiped and swiped and concealed, and in the end restored my spirit and emptied my pocketbook.





Our department store visit ended with a visit to the Chanel counter where we met Jeffrey who allowed us to take his photo. We promised to go back for another makeover with him in a few weeks. He shared a few of his tricks with us and promised to have even more after his conference next week. We think he used to smoke something funny, but that is another story for another day. He even allowed us to take some final shots under his lighted umbrella. We felt like models as Kelly kept reminding us to smile with our eyes!






Surely, this post will get the Edie award.
That's all I can hope for.


1 comment:

Kimberly Hoyt said...

Hahaha! I didn't find your blog until this past year so hadn't seen the original of this post. I can SO relate :) Thanks for sharing again, because this just tickled my funny bone and made me laugh out loud!