I remember my first couple of weeks of high school well. My uniform hadn't come in yet-- it was a Catholic school, so we had obnoxious little plaid skirts and bland, ill-fitting blouses. That was on back-order, and I was allowed to wear regular clothes, making me stand out in a sea of uniformity. So for a short, heady moment, I was the best-dressed girl in school, something that had never happened to me, before, and certainly never again since.
This was only a season after I had trimmed down from my slight early-teens overweight, and I'd just begun wearing makeup... but had been practicing for a year as well as watching my sister Linda when she put on her face, as she lived upstairs in the same house as us, with her children. Sometimes, when desperate for the company, she'd dress me up and take me to her favorite disco bar at night, just so she wouldn't be alone among the lotharios. So I'd worn "grownup" makeup already, and had passed as an adult, before I started putting on a face everyday myself.
And I'd been doing it all summer-- newly thinner and revealed as shapely, a new perm & dye job giving my old boring straight hair some bounce and glow, new clothes and a new confident attitude, along with carefully applied, full-out makeup. Linda, kind of glad for the change in me, allowed me to borrow some of her clothes to wear to school each day, and even enjoyed helping me put together snappy outfits, complete with her jewelry. And then something weird began to happen to me in school--
I was popular.
Not infamous, as before, not joked about or made fun of, or mentally tortured and preyed upon-- popular, with people liking me, seeking out my company.
It threw me for a loop, at first. Girls I didn't know, upperclassmen even, knew my name, and called out friendly greetings in the halls. People complimented me on my clothes, my hair, my skin, my style. Girls began following me into the lav to ask if I would do their makeup, or help them with their skin issues. Without trying, I'd become a sort of guru, and more than that, I had somehow accrued some natural "cool."
No duckling to swan story has ever been more shocking to me than my own. But all this is just a setting for a small detail that caused a large lament-- a lament over discontinued products.
You see, one of the ahead-of-my-time techniques I used was to line my lips with a neutral colored lip pencil, and then fill them in entirely with the same color. This is during a time when the whole less-is-more ideal about lipstick was happening-- lip liners were only for old ladies or movie shoots, to keep lipstick from bleeding, and most people I knew wore lipstick or gloss but not both, unless they were going out to dance in a nightclub-- thank you, Disco. And no one else did what I did, lining and filling in, then applying several coats of lipcolor, blotting in between, and finishing with a different shade of gloss.
I liked dark colors then, so I mostly wore the deep brick tones or blackberry shades I found in the black women's makeup section (always a too-small selection). I'd use my same lip pencil, a different lipstick each day, and then, usually, my favorite sheer gloss. The gloss was a clear jello red, tasting of strawberry, as it came in a special container shaped just like one perfect red berry-- the two halves each held a different gloss, one creamy pink, the other my ripe red. I still miss that gloss! But it's the pencil, whose exact color and tone I've never seen replicated anywhere-- and if they were they wouldn't have the same texture. It was an Avon product (my sister Linda was a rep) called Candied Clove.
Despite the several decades between now and then, I still own two pencils of the stuff, worn to nubs which I am prepared to dig out of the wood and use with a lip brush when the time comes. I stocked up the last time I ever saw it in a catalog, and kept the pencils neatly in their boxes, locked away from air and light, for years.
I don't use it the same way as I did back then, but it's still a perfect neutral for me, and I fear the day I won't be able to rely on its subtle tone to shape my pucker.
When Mary Kay stopped making the foundation color I used-- the lightest of three ivory shades-- I wasn't able to stock up, having been told too late. Just the same deal when I went to the department store to get my Clinique face powder. Which goes to show that you should always stockpile your basics a bit. Most cosmetics keep fine for years if unopened and stored carefully, (except mascara) and that last extra tube of your everyday concealer will help you get through the transition period of looking for a new brand. I have learned my lesson, folks, and always keep a backup for the must-haves now.
So many other items, though, I wish I had stockpiled while I had time-- the Freeman brand creamy cleansers I used to use; in particular, now that cold cream is about the only facial cleanser that doesn't have to be rinsed off forever, like soap. And the dry-to-wet liners I once loved. There are whole lines that no longer exist, and some companies redo their lineup constantly.
At least I still have that last box of Maybelline cake mascara!
What beautiful thing do you wish had never been discontinued? Tell! And please, tell us how you used it-- backstory is fun to read.
Have lovely Sunday--
Mari
This was only a season after I had trimmed down from my slight early-teens overweight, and I'd just begun wearing makeup... but had been practicing for a year as well as watching my sister Linda when she put on her face, as she lived upstairs in the same house as us, with her children. Sometimes, when desperate for the company, she'd dress me up and take me to her favorite disco bar at night, just so she wouldn't be alone among the lotharios. So I'd worn "grownup" makeup already, and had passed as an adult, before I started putting on a face everyday myself.
And I'd been doing it all summer-- newly thinner and revealed as shapely, a new perm & dye job giving my old boring straight hair some bounce and glow, new clothes and a new confident attitude, along with carefully applied, full-out makeup. Linda, kind of glad for the change in me, allowed me to borrow some of her clothes to wear to school each day, and even enjoyed helping me put together snappy outfits, complete with her jewelry. And then something weird began to happen to me in school--
I was popular.
Not infamous, as before, not joked about or made fun of, or mentally tortured and preyed upon-- popular, with people liking me, seeking out my company.
It threw me for a loop, at first. Girls I didn't know, upperclassmen even, knew my name, and called out friendly greetings in the halls. People complimented me on my clothes, my hair, my skin, my style. Girls began following me into the lav to ask if I would do their makeup, or help them with their skin issues. Without trying, I'd become a sort of guru, and more than that, I had somehow accrued some natural "cool."
No duckling to swan story has ever been more shocking to me than my own. But all this is just a setting for a small detail that caused a large lament-- a lament over discontinued products.
You see, one of the ahead-of-my-time techniques I used was to line my lips with a neutral colored lip pencil, and then fill them in entirely with the same color. This is during a time when the whole less-is-more ideal about lipstick was happening-- lip liners were only for old ladies or movie shoots, to keep lipstick from bleeding, and most people I knew wore lipstick or gloss but not both, unless they were going out to dance in a nightclub-- thank you, Disco. And no one else did what I did, lining and filling in, then applying several coats of lipcolor, blotting in between, and finishing with a different shade of gloss.
I liked dark colors then, so I mostly wore the deep brick tones or blackberry shades I found in the black women's makeup section (always a too-small selection). I'd use my same lip pencil, a different lipstick each day, and then, usually, my favorite sheer gloss. The gloss was a clear jello red, tasting of strawberry, as it came in a special container shaped just like one perfect red berry-- the two halves each held a different gloss, one creamy pink, the other my ripe red. I still miss that gloss! But it's the pencil, whose exact color and tone I've never seen replicated anywhere-- and if they were they wouldn't have the same texture. It was an Avon product (my sister Linda was a rep) called Candied Clove.
Despite the several decades between now and then, I still own two pencils of the stuff, worn to nubs which I am prepared to dig out of the wood and use with a lip brush when the time comes. I stocked up the last time I ever saw it in a catalog, and kept the pencils neatly in their boxes, locked away from air and light, for years.
I don't use it the same way as I did back then, but it's still a perfect neutral for me, and I fear the day I won't be able to rely on its subtle tone to shape my pucker.
When Mary Kay stopped making the foundation color I used-- the lightest of three ivory shades-- I wasn't able to stock up, having been told too late. Just the same deal when I went to the department store to get my Clinique face powder. Which goes to show that you should always stockpile your basics a bit. Most cosmetics keep fine for years if unopened and stored carefully, (except mascara) and that last extra tube of your everyday concealer will help you get through the transition period of looking for a new brand. I have learned my lesson, folks, and always keep a backup for the must-haves now.
So many other items, though, I wish I had stockpiled while I had time-- the Freeman brand creamy cleansers I used to use; in particular, now that cold cream is about the only facial cleanser that doesn't have to be rinsed off forever, like soap. And the dry-to-wet liners I once loved. There are whole lines that no longer exist, and some companies redo their lineup constantly.
At least I still have that last box of Maybelline cake mascara!
What beautiful thing do you wish had never been discontinued? Tell! And please, tell us how you used it-- backstory is fun to read.
Have lovely Sunday--
Mari
