Lindsay Woods: I have lost my way when it comes to cosmetics
I recently went on a very overdue night out. One of those ‘out-out’ nights.
As a result, I came to the following conclusions: Firstly, opening a tab at the bar is the equivalent of tying a couple of sirloins to my body and entering a lion’s den; it’s not pretty.
Secondly, I have lost my way when it comes to cosmetics.
I have always subscribed to the ‘less is more’ approach in regard to products. Purely, because due to the dimensions of my face, anymore than less gives the appearance of moonlighting at a kid’s party as the entertainment under the stage name of ‘Bobo’.
I admire the artistry of others and wonder at the deft flicks of liner applied with such precision in mere seconds, but, I have come to accept that certain looks, no matter how much I covet them, invariably end up wearing me.
The ‘less’ approach did nothing however to essentially lessen my love of all things beauty product related. A just so sheer foundation promising a dewy veil of translucency? Needed it.
A pop of pink to the cheek which conjured images of tea dresses and running barefoot through fallen apple blossoms? Wanted it. All in sleek packaging neatly housed in an equally sleek makeup bag.
Then, I had children.
The ‘less’ became further lessened. My routine became showering on alternate days. If I was lucky.
My fragrance became Febreze. My moisturiser? Sudocrem. Yet, it mattered not one jot. Until the day came to climb out of the haze and look around. That ‘pop of pink blush’ now had fingerprints and teeth marks in it.
The ‘just so sheer foundation’ had been smeared on the walls in some form of bizarre protest. The ‘sleek makeup bag’ now contained Liga.
Add to the above that the encyclopaedia of knowledge I had once possessed in relation to beauty hits and misses now suddenly eluded me: well, you can then probably understand why I just wanted to resort once more to Sudocrem.
Until that night, when my friend reached into her bag and produced a compact and with a deft sweep of a dense kabuki brush obliterated shine and pores in one movement.
“What IS that?”
She offered the compact to me and nestled inside was a solid, slightly golden hued, yet devoid of any nausea inducing glitter, powder.
“It’s MAC’s Mineralize in Medium plus… you’ve used it before, haven’t you?” I looked down at the compact with a misty-eyed affection, “Hello Lover”, I cooed as I swept the brush across my nose.
The next morning, while over a nutritious breakfast of Wheelies, Coke Zero and Twirl bites I logged on, dropped it in my basket and checked out faster than my child forced to watch educational TV.
The beauty industry and the retailers seem to have forgotten: Mums talk.
Stores frequently tout events in relation to bridal and wedding guest tutorials. Or advanced masterclasses highlighting trend alerts.
We’re left with a hefty campaign which rolls around once a year: Mother’s Day, where stores market every available product in their repertoire.
But guess what Janet? It’s no good if I don’t know how to use any of it.
Instore events are becoming equally as stale. I don’t want to sit alongside someone with a fake following for a photo op all for the sake of a below par glass of cava.
I want to sit next to parents who I can offer reassurance to that even though their child swallowed a piece of Lego, mine had inhaled an entire Sylvanian family before breakfast and they were grand.
I want to reassure them that they too will be grand and that this magnificent concealer will essentially be our warpaint and will make us look as if we have gotten at least four hours sleep.
I want to be taught that Sudocrem is not my last resort for restorative purposes. By a woman or man who understands and can take me from zero to sixty in exactly that, sixty seconds.
Because she or he knows that is my entire window of opportunity prior to school runs in the morning. I want hardworking and multitasking products that make me feel like me.
I want to be served one decent glass of hooch amongst other women and men who are ready to tip the Liga out of their cosmetic bags.
Because here’s the clincher. We’re time poor. So, you better believe if we trust you, we’ll come back.
It may be online because we’re stuck waiting on a parent-teacher meeting/rugby training/having our souls sucked out from our being listening to our child eviscerate ‘Hot Cross Buns on a violin but we will repeat purchase.
Because we talk. Oh, and you’re going to need that Mineralize in your life… trust me.
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