Beauty Regimen

No one wants to grow old and most of all no one wants to look old. I know. I get it. The cosmetics industry, including anti-aging products, are a booming business and the money these companies make off vanity and insecurity (women’s and men’s) is astronomical. I’m not above it all. I want to look the best I can when I do decide to wear make-up. And while I haven’t succumbed to the siren’s call of anti-aging products thus far, I may still yet.

The sheer number of products available to curb Father Time is overwhelming and quite intimidating if you ask me. I mean, I can’t decide what I want for dinner most evenings for goodness’ sake — and here I’m supposed to choose from among a gazillion different beauty products destined to make me look like the 25-year-old model poised tantalizingly in their ad? Speaking of which, really!? Since when do 25-year-olds need anti-aging creams? Yeah, yeah, sunscreen, moisturizer, you’re done. You’re beautiful. Don’t rub it in (a pun, ha!). But the genius behind the marketing has even the youngest, most beautiful women with nary a wrinkle anywhere on their body, let alone on their face, feeling they need, no, absolutely must have that fine-line diminishing cream.  And it doesn’t end there. Oh no.

There are anti-wrinkle creams, under eye creams, over eye creams, creams that will magically destroy the jowls you’ve been working on since you took the leap into your 40’s. Some of these products are so perfectly ensconced in their pretty little jars that I simply love to stare at their glistening, velvety texture. It seems a shame to ruin that flawless, minuscule Dairy Queen twist by actually using it. Oh hey, didn’t Dairy Queen have a two for one cone special today…!?  But I digress.

Several of the products I’ve seen and have sampled at various counters smell divine while others reek more of the wildlife exhibits at a less than fully janitorial-staffed zoo. I received a makeover once at an upscale cosmetics counter and the neck cream the woman liberally applied (couldn’t complain about them being stingy with products!) was lovely and had a strong perfume-y odor which I suppose is better than an elephant house at the zoo theme, but it was so pungent that within seconds of it being applied, I had an allergic reaction to the smell and my throat closed up. Not exactly the look I was going for when I got there, thank you very much.

Navigating the vast reservoir of choices in a drug store or online are no different. Maybe it’s my age, which would indicate I need a hell of a lot more than just these products on my shopping list, but not only are the ingredients confusing – most of which I cannot pronounce – the promised results are often contradictory.  Oils to reduce wrinkles on acne prone skin? That one just doesn’t make sense to me.  Vanishing cream!? Doesn’t work the way you’d think. I tried. Was greatly, GREATLY disappointed to still be visible, I’ll have you know.

Things used to be so much simpler. When I was growing up, my mother had PHisoderm. That was it. And my brother and I were not allowed to touch it. It was hers. She always had beautiful skin. I guess I wouldn’t have shared with the likes of my brother and me either. They don’t make the original version of PHisoderm any longer. Oh, you can buy the new generation of formulas the company has on the market. But the original has apparently gone by the wayside. Too bad.

Of course Cleopatra supposedly bathed in milk to stay young and supple. But look where that got her. So not sure I’ll be trying that beauty regimen any time soon.

So. You can see the issues I’ve been having with choosing an anti-aging beauty regimen at this stage in my life. Although I’ve tried to be the “modern woman” and get on this whole “turn back the clock train,” I usually just end up slathered in overpriced foul-smelling goo desperately asking no-one in particular “is it supposed to sting!? No, seriously, is it supposed feel like this!?” and then staring in the mirror for over an hour with a magnifying glass looking for minute changes. Who has that kind of time? Not to mention the pain threshold.

and inside look into my nightly beauty routine

an inside look into my make-over attempts

 

Me, Myself, and I

On a recent trip to a store that was half pharmacy, half general store, and half weird knick-knack closet that deserved its own episode of hoarders but an episode that is geared to a much more upscale audience (and yes, I realize I obviously can’t do math in my head), I stumbled across a good amount of meaningless, albeit amusing items. Quite honestly, it’s my new favorite place to hang out. I couldn’t afford anything there, but hey, I loved it nonetheless.

After spending quite a bit of time in the card aisle laughing all by myself like a loon, Sarah having abandoned me for her own exploration of this quirky piece of Heaven, one gift-y sort of item in particular caught my eye.  At first I only saw it as a gag gift, but it soon dawned on me that in this day and age it could be seen as a heartfelt present.  It was a photo album for selfies. Selfies! Let that sink in for a minute. Oh and we’re not talking some plain, unobtrusive, perhaps even elegantly designed album.  Oh no.  It was bright red, leather-bound, and the cover has a mirror.  A freakin’ mirror, people! And inside are empty pages reserved for pictures of most people’s favorite subject…themselves. You can make a scrapbook of nothing but self-portraits. You laughing hard. You on vacation. You with a hot new haircut. You making a sexy face.

I thought this was a pretty funny little book. But we’re living in 2016. Selfies are a way of life now. The thought hit me that, oh my god, if you gave this book to a certain class of people (and you know who you are), instead of seeing the sarcastic intent they might get a little teary-eyed at the thoughtfulness.

I can already tell many of you reading this are thinking “Who would take this gift seriously!?” but gag gift or not, at $25.95 it’s a pretty pricey joke. For a hardcore selfie enthusiast this is a solid purchase, a way to preserve their uncontainable beauty even more. And people must buy it. If not, it’d be in the $2 bargain bin.  If this place had a $2 bargain bin. Which it didn’t. A $10 bargain bin maybe.

The truly funny thing is, those people who would take the book seriously, and trust me, I know a few…I can see them taking pictures of the pictures they place inside their nifty little selfie book and posting THOSE online with a comment “Just look at me…hanging out and adding a new pic to my selfie book. Isn’t it perfect?! I said, look at me! Just look!”

 

selfie book

yep, that’s a mirror.

 

selfie book_lol

because I’m just so funny!

 

selfie book_no filter

au naturel.  yeah, right.

 

selfie book_on vacay

who are we kidding? this one would be photo-shopped because since when do I have money to go on vacation??