C'mon Vogue

Dear No One in Particular,

I was going to write a post about food, and scratching a goal off my Life List, because hello -- are you new here? I'm Amanda and I live to eat. I also write to eat and slang strollers so that I can afford to eat at delicious restaurants.

But.

Gorgeous Vanessa from Chicken Soup for the Dorky Soul (which is how she should introduce herself from now on) posted about something that irritated me to the point that I can no longer ignore my blog and lie on my sofa watching re-runs of 'The Office'.

Apparently blinding, psychotic rage is my muse.

I've written about fashion and public perceptions of beauty quite a bit, because I believe that the notion that fashion is frivolity and therefore below examination is really very dangerous. I would argue that the fashion and beauty industries control quite a bit of the average Western woman's life; to ignore that, or to dismiss it as fluff belies how incredibly menacing they can be.
How many stories have you heard of aspiring models being hospitalized due to eating disorders? How many skin bleaching products line the shelves of pharmacies around the world? Waving these questions off as unimportant is tantamount to waving off all the women who slave under the misapprehension that if only they were skinnier, whiter, younger -- if they simply fit the ideal -- they would be set for life.

At the centre of this maelstrom of self-hatred and misogyny is Vogue. Not just American Vogue, which, let's face it: is almost a parody of its former self, but the whole Vogue family.

Vogue Italia (which I used to hate marginally less than most Vogues) recently added a couple of subsections to their main website: Vogue Curvy and Vogue Black.

I have to admit: I kind of love both of these websites. They're well-laid out, the articles are really good, and most surprising of all: they feature what they advertise. The curvy ladies splashed about are actually curvy; no Lara "boobs = curves LOL" Stone here. 'Vogue Black', hilariously enough, opens with a giant shot of Michael Jackson, but also features Grace Jones.

Sure, I should be glad that a captain of industry such as Vogue would dare acknowledge such outliers as women with curves and black people, but I'm not -- at least, not really.
In fact, my initial reaction was: Fuck me, Vogue is obnoxious.

They are so backward in their thinking -- and so self-righteous in their ignorance that it's maddening. I thought it was just Wintour that acted like a pompous ostrich with her head in the sand, but it appears that the whole Vogue family is infected. And I LIKED Vogue Italia for a minute there, specifically when they published that fabulous Black Issue.
Vogue suffers from delusions of grandeur: they think that if they release an issue with a handful of pages featuring women who fall marginally outside of their norm they should be lauded as heroes. What's even more maddening is the way they treat such features: the copy is heavy, weighted down with style-jargon trying to explain how they dare let such freaks associate with their shining white name; the photos are airbrushed to the point of amusement; and the features only exist to highlight the "otherness" of the subject.

Vogue (and publications like it) takes gorgeous women like the ones featured on the new websites and makes them into a sideshow of freaks. They are not normal -- they're barely even human -- because they fall outside the "obscenely skeletal white teenage girl" norm that dominates Western fashion.

I refuse to believe that I'm simply bitter because I fall outside the norm. I continue to hope against hope that the fashion industry will start to look more like a rainbow rather than a gathering of emaciated Hitler Youth.

We need to stop segregating minorities from the rest of the fashion world and start not just including them, but welcoming them into fashion proper.
Fuck the fashion magazines that publish spreads with Crystal Renn and Chanel Iman and then demand praise as if they did something extraordinary. I want to open a magazine and see women that look like me: women with boobs and hips, with wild curls, and darker skin. That is a magazine I would praise with my hard-earned cash. I know that this magazine is out there, waiting to be willed into existence.

C'mon, Vogue.

--amanda

Beauty Misadventures: Smooth Away Layers of Skin!

Dear No One in Particular,

I am a huge fan of infomericals. I think they're hilarious, and if they're good (or at the very least, ubiquitous), I'll consider buying whatever they're shilling. I blame this on my mother, who is Billy Mays's dream customer. She'll buy almost anything, so long as she can convince herself she really does need a special chair to help her wiggle her way to a smaller waist. But this isn't about her -- not yet, at least.

Ok some background information: I am a hirsute lady. I'm not about to join a sideshow or anything, but I've always been aware of -- and therefore painfully self-conscious of -- my general furriness. No joke, I've met men with less arm hair than me.*
Only recently have I adopted an "Eh, fuck it" attitude about these things, but that changed when I saw the informercial for that best-selling European depilatory product, Smooth Away. $10 and I can have the hairless arms I've always wanted?! Jiminy Cricket was right: when your heart is in your dream, no request is too extreme. My request? Not looking like Teen Wolf.

About a week after my television beamed video of some toothy dame gleefully rubbing her hair off her arm into my living room, I traipsed into my local As Seen On TV store and was greeted with the glorious sight of a Smooth Away display. I eagerly grabbed one of the shiny pink-and-white boxes, daydreaming of my soon-to-be naked arms.

When I got home, I opened up the package to find a little blue plastic oval with something that looked like fine-grain sandpaper stuck to one side. It reminded me a bit of a curry comb, only more industrial.
I decided to try it out on my legs before I moved to virgin territory. I followed the directions, gently rubbing the Smooth Away in circular motions over my skin. It took a bit of time, but it did what it advertised: it removed the hair and left smooth, if slightly grey, skin in its place.
So emboldened, I went to town on my forearms. Again, it took some time (probably somewhere in the vicinity of 45 minutes) and a lot of effort, but my arms! They were bare! I danced around my apartment singing "Nooo hair! Nooo hair!" for about five minutes before the burning set in.

That's right: burning.

I don't know why I was so surprised (although, in my defense, the ad did say it was "painless"), since I was rubbing my hair off with "superfine crystals". My arms hurt so badly, the Boy suggested I apply some aloe vera to soothe the irritated skin. I don't know what happened, but "soothe" the aloe did not. It felt like I had dipped my arms into carbolic acid. I spent the rest of the night with ice packs on my forearms, whimpering about what went wrong.

We eventually chalked it up to applying too much pressure when rubbing with the Smooth Away pad. It sounded plausible enough, so a week later, after the burning subsided and the hair grew back, I (idiotically) tried again. Despite my best efforts to be as gentle as possible, the burning returned, and this time, it brought friends! Along with the pain, redness and rash decided to join the party. More weeping, more ice packs, etc. I decided that the Smooth Away people were sadists -- rich sadists, no doubt -- and liars, so I ended up tossing the whole lot.

Two weeks later, I get a call from my mother.**

Mom: You know that hair remover you bought? Rub Off? Hair Away?
Me: Close; Smooth Away. What about it?
Mom: I saw it at Walgreens and decided to try it!
Me: What? Why? I told you about what happened to me.
Mom: Yes, but that was you. I wanted to try it anyway. So, I bought it a while ago but I forgot I had it until last night. I wanted to try it on my moustache.***
Me: Oh God.
Mom: So I rubbed like the thing said and it hurt!
Me: Why didn't you believe me? I told you.
Mom: [swears that I shall not translate] And then, when I woke up this morning, it was all red! Really, really RED. And I had little ... you know, spots? Like pimples. ALL ON MY UPPER LIP.
Me: *can't breathe, I'm laughing so hard*
Mom: WHY YOU LAUGH? DON'T LAUGH. I had pimples! RED PIMPLES all over my lip. I didn't know what to do! Oh God, Aman, I had a big meeting this afternoon, and I was talking to, you know, a manager, and she couldn't stop staring at my lip! She was giving me this ... look ... like she was so grossed out. She was so grossed out.
Me: *gasping for breath* Stop! I have to go to the bathroom!
Mom: Oh. My. God, I looked AWFUL. It kept getting worse as the day went on, too. And that's not the worst part.
Me: You're kidding.
Mom: I was talking to my coworker, and I told her about the Smooth Away, and how it made my skin blister and she said "Oh, thank God. I was going to ask my husband to get me some tonight, and now I know to stay away." BECAUSE OF ME.
Me: She owes you $10.
Mom: I'm the opposite of a billboard for Smooth Away!

Moral of the story: Smooth Away is terrible. I can't get over how something so simple caused so much pain. For all the irritation, I'd rather wax and have the results last longer.

Anyone else try it and have a positive experience?

--amanda

____________________
*I've also met men who insist on pointing this out. Yes, I have hair on my arms, thank you for pointing that out. You will have intense pain in your groin in 3 ... 2 ...
** She'll probably kill me for telling this story, so shhh! She already thinks I'm the Bad Seed.
***Her word, not mine.

Beauty Misadventures: MyChelle, MyBelle

Dear No One in Particular,

I have seriously troubled skin. You know those ProActive commercials that feature teenage boys* who traded in their dignity for some cash? The ones who are all pits, and whiteheads, and scary cystic acne that makes you cringe just to look at them? Yeah, I have skin like them. And I've had bad skin for a long, long time.

I've tried just about every thing to help calm my acne-ridden, greasy skin: ProActive, which served the same purpose as poking a sleeping dragon with a very sharp stick -- it just made it angrier; Retin-A, which helped for a while, but did little-to-nothing for my scars and giant pores; Neutrogena products, which may as well have been pure water for all the results they provided.

I recently stopped using Retin-A for various reasons and my skin has staged a rebellion of epic standards. So I decided to return to a line skin care products that has worked wonders for me in the past: MyChelle Dermaceuticals.

I found them a couple of years ago, while trolling the aisles of a local Elephant Pharmacy. I figured, I'd gone the intensive chemical route to no avail, so why not try a kinder, gentler, more natural route? I've since discovered that the less I try to beat my skin into submission, the more likely it is to calm down on its own. Enter MyChelle.

MyChelle is an all-natural, paraben and pthalate free, vegetarian friendly, cruelty-free, all-around good for you line of "dermaceuticals". Essentially, they take a "non-toxic" approach to skin care, opting for plant-based ingredients to better revitalise and heal skin. It's a feel-good, good-for-you, crunchy-happy-people attitude that's easy to get behind, especially since their products work.

As I previously mentioned, I have terrible acne and extreme combination skin -- the T-Zone looks like the Exxon-Valdez wrecked all over my face, while my cheeks are flaky and desert-dry. I opted to control my biggest problems (acne and oil), following MyChelle's suggested skin care routine**. Here are my findings:

• White Cranberry Cleanser: this used to be just the Cranberry Cleanser, but all of MyChelle has undergone a major reformulation/makeover, like the Swan. This was the first product I ever tried, and it made me a believer. It cleared up my acne right quick; quicker than one would expect with an all-natural line. I did find that continuing to use it after my skin had cleared made my skin really tight and dry. Should this happen again, I'd probably work a gentler cleanser into my routine and phase this one out until my skin flares.
  
• Clear Skin Serum: I incorporated this into my routine out of desperation. I wanted my acne gone 2 years ago, and was willing to pay any amount to see it out the door. This stuff was surprisingly strong. You only need a tiny bit; it's very thin, and very potent. True story: I saw a dramatic difference in the size, amount, and intensity of my acne the very first time I used it.
  
• Fruit Enzyme Mist: a total waste of money. I have no idea why people continue to use toners; I have no idea what purpose they serve. I was told, very adamantly and by a large number of people, that I absolutely had to use a toner after using the cleanser or else my face would fall off and the universe would collapse. So, not wanting to shoulder the blame for the downfall of all life forms ever, I bought some. And immediately regretted it. You may as well rub sugar water on your face for all the good this stuff does. It goes on heavier than you would think and it made my face feel sticky, like I rubbed sugar water all over it. It does have one thing going for it: it smells really good. But that's all.
  
• Oil Free Grapefruit Cream: "cream" is a bit of a misnomer in this situation. It's actually a very thin lotion, which works well for me. It does a fair job of reducing my sebum production, and it also works to clear my skin. It's a nice moisturiser to have in my arsenal, but I'm not about to sing praise and hallelujah from the mountaintops. Also: it smells nice, which is important in a moisturiser.
  
• Incredible Pumpkin Peel: This, I will sing praise for. It is AMAZING and I will end you if you try and take it from me. It's not perfect, but for all the wonderous things it has done to my skin, I am willing to overlook the faults. First, it burns. Don't let anyone tell you it simply "tingles". No, it's a distinct burning. But, on the flipside, you'll get used to it in no time. I can leave it on for upwards of 10 minutes (although you probably wouldn't want to) and I don't need to put a leather strap in my mouth to deal with the pain. Another important piece of information: it's not a peel. I don't know who comes up with the names for these things, but you don't peel it off. It's a simple mask. I guess it's like a chemical peel? I don't know but lord it is good. My skin is smoother, my pores are smaller, my acne less furious and plentiful. Baby ass skin, people. Also: it smells like pumpkin pie. Good-smelling products seems to be a theme with MyChelle, and I'm not going to fight them on it.
  

Ok, here's a piece of advice you may or may not want to follow, depending on how high your pain tolerance/how dumb/desperate you are: after washing off the heavenly Pumpkin Peel, slather on the Clear Skin Serum. I know I said that the peel burns by itself, but it's not that bad. Well, the combination of the two is just tortuous. I could deal with the peel, but when I slapped some serum on my freshly exfoliated baby skin? I was fanning my face like an idiot (which I was), begging "DEAR LORD TAKE ME HIGHER".

But.

My skin never looked better.

Clear skin overnight. Like my face had miraculously been transplanted with Freida Pinto's, it was so good.
Naturally, I've done this many times and every time I found myself doing the same thing: fanning my firey face praying to be lifted up. And every morning, my skin looked amazing. Totally worth it, in my sick mind.

The big, big downfall to MyChelle? You have to be Warren Buffet to afford it.
I am not, but I am willing to use whatever money I have to maintain/continue my quest for good skin. There is a tiny consolation, however: their products will last you for.ev.er. It took me about 5 months of twice-daily use to use up a tiny bottle of cleanser, and, 1 year later, I'm still eeking out my grapefruit cream.

Despite the exorbitant prices, MyChelle Dermaceutical products are worth it. They work fast, they work hard, and they're good for you.

Totally worth it, in my (sick) mind.

--amanda





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*Speaking from personal observation, teenage boys tend to have worse skin than girls. Probably because grimy bastards don't invest in decent skincare.
**Yes, I used all of these products every week. The majority were used both AM and PM. I should have stock in the company.

Beauty Misadventures: Scents for the Streetwalker in Your Life!

Dear No One in Particular,

I've been wanting to blog for a while now, but I'm currently wrapped up with a ton of school work, specifically a 15 page/4,000 word (whichever comes first) essay on the role of women in the Islamic Revolution. Fascinating stuff, no doubt, but not fun to write about -- at least not to that length. I have a couple of features all lined up, but they'll have to wait for a bit longer.

I'm taking a quick break from my marathon writing session* and browsing my new favourite website, Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab. I'm a bit obsessed with perfume right now, and am trying to find a signature scent. BPAL's names really tread the line between quirky and obnoxious (a little too OMG so goth! for me), but themes are cute, and the selection is bananas -- almost to the point where I overload and want to lie down for a bit before looking at the lists and lists of oils available.
But lo! They have "imps' ears": 32 oz sample vials of their perfumes for the low price of $3.50 each or $20 for a selection of 6 scents. Fabulosity for ficklehearts like me. So, utilising my best friends, the search box and MakeupAlley.com, I begin to seek out 6 possible perfumes.

Sounds like fun, no? Um, kind of. Here's a list of the scents I've shortlisted for my shopping cart:

• French Love
• Sacred Whore of Babylon
• Loralei
• Delight
• Rapture
• Old Venice
• Phantasm
• Cheshire Cat
• Succubus
• 51
  

Apparently, I want to smell like a French bordello. **
Or at least like a whore. With a predilection for Alice in Wonderland and alien-based conspiracy theories.

I guess ladies of the night really like jasmine and neroli? Because that's what I was searching for. I'm looking mostly for a complex white floral, but what comes up are skanky scents christened with the names of floozies.

Has anyone else out there tried BPAL? Have a signature scent you just can't live without? Do tell! The next time I'm out and about, I don't want to be solicited when all I'm doing is waiting for the light to change.

--amanda


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*My sincerest apologies if this update makes little-to-no sense. I'm already half a bottle of red to the wind, and I'm a bit of a lightweight.
**Not true. Very much not true.

Dear No One in Particular,

I'm testing out a new moisturizer, and really, all I can think of is:

Damn my face stinks.

[ETA: yeah, that didn't last. I had to wash it off. It's going back tomorrow.]

--amanda

Beauty Misadventures

Dear No One in Particular,

Have you ever had one of those mornings when it's not so much that everything goes wrong, so much as it's the fact that the little things get screwy? Like a simple, everyday makeup routine results in panda eyes and Tammy Faye Bakker lashes? Yeah, I had one of those days yesterday.
I, like every other woman, am on the quest to find the Holy Grail of mascaras. I should admit here and now, I do not want natural-looking lashes. I want my lashes to be dramatically lush and long, like false lashes. My God-given eyelashes are actually really long and curly, but I don't think they're thick enough, and they're certainly not going to be mistaken for falsies any time soon.

Given my fondness for user-generated review sites, I frequent MakeupAlley.com for tips on buying my next tube. I had heard good things about my most recent purchase, Max Factor Volume Couture. It had a high rating, and after reading a couple of reviews, I figured it'd be worth a spin.

So. I put on some simple eye makeup and began to apply. First, the brush and handle are ridonkulously unwieldy. I've used Lash Blast without issue, but for some reason, I was not able to apply this mascara without getting black all over my eye. I looked like a five year old playing with Mommy's makeup. I'll forgive a lot for results, so I was willing to overlook the fact that it got more mascara on my eye than on my lashes if it gave me full lashes.
No forgiveness for Max, though. I must admit, I don't like rubber bristle brushes. I know they separate like nothing else, but this mascara gave me fat spider leg lashes. About 5 spider leg lashes per eye, to be exact, which I guess is better than the usual arachnoid, but worse for the human eye.

Normally, that would be the end of my beauty issues, but it didn't stop there. Apparently, like stank perfume and bad exes, bad mascara holds on long after you've washed your hands of it. I couldn't get this crud off. When mixed with some water, the spider legs decided to bond together, forming 2 huge spikes instead of 5 legs. Wonderous. On top of this, what mascara I was able to rub off had melted all around my eye and was spilling onto my cheeks. I looked like someone who just lost their shit and forgot they weren't wearing waterproof that day.

Frantic (because I was running late for school at this point), I spied a Prescriptives makeup remover sample hiding on my shelf, and smeared some it on my lashes. Holy hell, it felt like I just doused my eyes in battery acid. Whimpering like a beaten greyhound, I quickly washed off the carbolic acid that was burning holes in my face. Luckily, the makeup remover worked on the insidious mascara, and I was able to get most of the sludge off.
I realised a little too late that the bottle of calendula oil I have sitting on my vanity also works as a makeup remover. On the upside, I was able to use this to remove the traces of sad panda that the Prescriptives left behind.

Moral of the story: never test a new mascara while running late. Unless you like the Tammy Faye Panda look.

(Also, I am back on the hunt for the Holy Grail of mascaras. Should you chance on this site and have knowledge of one, please send word and let me know it exists.)

--amanda

By a Thread

Dear No One in Particular,

I love Yelp. Really, really love it. There are a lot of reasons why I am so enamored with this website that I want to marry it, like Pee Wee did with fruit salad. First, there is the totally selfish aspect, the fact that I can find and review various businesses in a given area. I am extremely opinionated, yet I always feel better trying out something new if other people have given it their seal of approval. But more on that later.

The other reason why I think Yelp is the greatest is the fact that its real people -- or at least it was for a little while -- giving real opinions. Websites like Yelp, Chowhound, that hotel reviewing one -- they define how our computer-loving generation communicates. Previously, if I wanted to know about, say, delish Ethiopian food, I would have to rely on word-of-mouth. But now -- but now! -- there is yelp, offering me myriad choices, all rated and reviewed by curious people like me.
This is not to say that word-of-mouth is obsolete. Of course it's not. But I feel as though I can broaden my horizons with websites like yelp; I can look up bizarre foods and check to make sure certain restaurants are worth my time. Sometimes, word of mouth -- for whatever reason -- fails. In which case, yelp is there to help. (Hee!)

Well. Yelp was my saviour this week, when I realised that my previously preferred hair removal method (wax) was no longer viable, yet my brows were unruly. I hate tweezing with the fire of a thousand suns -- appropriate, since that's what it feels like every time I accidentally yank at my skin instead of my hair. I had heard of threading before, and decided now was the perfect time to try it, especially since "brows are the new lips."

Yelp wisely guided me to the M & M thread salon, where I had an absolutely amazing experience. I believe that the girl who did my brows was new to the salon -- yet not new to threading, natch -- so it wasn't exactly a 10 minute session. It wasn't a huge ordeal, either; it lasted about 20 minutes, and while it was more work than I had originally imagined (threading is all about teamwork), I now have some great brows. The owner (I believe) was very concerned about my brows being cleans, which I appreciate. I've had one too many aestheticians send me packing with clumpy brows. While it was a bit painful, it was no where near the level of tweezing, and it was a mite less than waxing. It was also dirt cheap, which everyone can dig.

If you have a thread salon near you, go! It's a wonderful option for hair removal. Just be sure to yelp it first.

--amanda

White is alright?

Dear No One in Particular,

While I have long been aware of the prevalence of skin-bleaching products in south, east, and south-eastern Asia, I was recently reminded of how detrimental such products are by this article on Jezebel. *

Interestingly, this article comes to me only a day after my mother received a huge care package from her relatives in the Philippines, which included an exorbitant amount of whitening products. Her sister sent her not one, not two but SIX bars of whitening soap and two tubs of whitening deodorant. Three of the soap bars are made with placenta -- whose placenta, I do not know, but apparently, afterbirth is a great skin bleach!

The fact that there is such a prevalence is incredibly disturbing. Jezebel links to a number of separate sites and articles that show just how dangerous such products can be. Not to sell women short, but the onslaught of media messages telling us that no matter what, we are not good enough has deadly ramifications.

I can only speak from experience on this subject, and as a woman who is part Filipina, I am no stranger to being told that I am "too dark". Of course, as an American woman -- specifically as an American woman living in Hawaii, where tans are not only de riguer, but mandatory -- I love being tan. Personally, I feel that I look better tan than fair -- I have olive skin, and as I get paler, I look more yellow and thus more sickly. Sure, there are people out there who can rock the lovely porcelain skin, but I am not one of them.
At any rate, as soon as my mother saw me she commented on my skin tone, saying that I look so dark. Really, she said I looked black -- I can't honestly comment on whether or not there is a difference between the two (she was speaking to me in Filipino) but I know that the feeling was there -- I was too dark, and needed to lighten my skin tone.
One of my Filipina aunts slathers herself in sunscreen and drives with a covering on her left arm for fear of becoming too dark. As a child, she had naturally very tan skin, and from what my mother tells me, she was teased A LOT. She also had kinky curly hair, which she now has permanently straightened. I wish I could tell you that she looks good, with her flat-ironed hair and pale skin, but she doesn't. Like me, she is olive-toned, and really, olive =/= porcelain. She looks a bit peaked all the time, but don't tell her I said so.

Naturally, this goes beyond just vanity. There are a myriad of race-related issues surrounding this. My naturally curly, tan aunt for example, was often called "black" (as in African) as a taunt, and, for her entire adult life, has endeavoured to escape that cruel taunt by becoming as white (as in Caucasian?) as possible.
When was it decided that anything dark is bad? Look at the dearth of black supermodels -- at the root of it, the myth that dark = ugly is being perpetuated. We need to stop perpetuating the ridiculous notion that to be considered beautiful, women need to be fair-skinned and straight-haired. You know who else perpetuated that ideal? HITLER. (Kidding, kind of.)

Truthfully, the entire beauty industry needs an overhaul. More models of colour (not just black, but Asian, Hispanic, and hapa!), less skin bleach. More curls, less flat-irons. More acceptance, less hatred.

--amanda


*Great website, or greatest website?