Well today I was lucky enough to be one of the testers chosen by Influenster to test drive some really great products from L'Oreal.
First up is their Revitalift Volume Filler Eye Treatment which helps to diminish under eye hollows and reduce sunken shadows. Dang, they must have made this with me in mind, this is EXACTLY what's been bothering me. I've only used it a few times, but I can see a slight change. I bet with continued use it'll get better and better, yay!
Next up is the Revitalift Volume filler for all around sin fullness. Yes, this is the only place on my entire body I want to show full, just like the eye treatment, it gets better with continued use, and girls, I am on it!
Rounding out this glorious set is L'Oreal's Revitalift Volume Filler Daily Re-Volumizing Moisturizer which promises to go beyond lines and wrinkles, to smooth them out. I imagine an invisible iron just smoothing out those puppies, oh yeah!
Last up is the sneak attack night time Revitalift Night Cream, wake UP to smoother, fresher skin like, THE VERY NEXT MORNING! Wow, L'Oreal I am duly impressed, this is a kick face combination that can take your reflection up notches and is still affordable, amazing. The Paris lab is working overtime!
I received these gorgeous complimentary products for real honest testing purposes, and they work~!
Saturday, January 23, 2016
Friday, January 22, 2016
So the burning question is, is it too late for me? Has the beauty ship sailed out of the desire port? Sometimes I feel as if I'm grasping onto something that no longer belongs to me. A untouchable thing that is the property of the young, vibrant youth. At other times, I am defiant and feel I can conquer anything and no matter how old I am, I still got "it" and can flaunt "it". Which is true? I have no idea because my feelings sway all over the place as the pendulam of thought brings me from one extreme to the other.
I want to say that the defiant one in me usually wins, without taking into consideration the percentage of wishful thinking that accompanies such thoughts. In other words, as my mirror image varies from day to day, and from day to night depending on the lighting of course, so do my feelings. There are times when I look at myself and feel so confident and smug that at my age, I have the skin that I have, and can afford to feel sorry for those less fortunate than me. Then there are those deep dark nights, when I realize that I have lived over half a century and no one can tell how much longer since we just don't know when our last tube of mascara will dry up forever.
It's on those scary occasions that I don't recognize the reflection in the mirror. Wait a minute, where did that line come from? Was I pressing down with my hand just now? When did those marionette lines appear? That's not me, impossible. I'm young, I'm hip, I'm reinventing myself daily, I still wear jeans with a swagger- hold on here Father Time, what are you trying to pull?
It angers me that the majority of makeup YouTube video tutorials begin with Kylie or Kendall. When did these fauxlebreties take over the scene? Then they have lessons on how to do the 1960's look...um, I was there. I remember the 60's. I was very young, but I was there. I remember looking at Twiggy in magazines when I was waiting for my Mom at the beauty parlor, and thinking how cool she looked (I instinctively felt it, didn't yet know what cool was) and how badly I wished I was her. Or Jean Shrimpton. Those impossibly big eyes with lashes that reached over the pond. I wanted to be her too. I knew that to be somebody, I had to look like a somebody. Somebody with cool makeup and chiseled cheekbones and skinny legs and platform shoes and a furry boa around my neck. I wanted all of that and more.
The funny thing is, that when I had every opportunity in the world to decorate myself like a Christmas tree, I didn't do it. The natural look was "in". Lip gloss and barely a swipe of mascara and I was out the door. I never connected the dots from where I started and to where I had landed. There was this undeniably large void, a huge makeup black hole that was left undiscovered and under achieved. I had wasted all that time and didn't even know it .
So kill me for being a late bloomer but the time to act and beautify is now. You may not agree. Should women simply roll up their sleeves and bake at abandon forever discharging their beauty ideals into a loaf of bread?
That simply doesn't appeal to me. Or knitting. Or revisiting my past through time worn antedotes and stories the family has memorized and engraved into their skeletons.
So I am caught in this limbo of what- the- heck- am- I- land. Well one thing I know for sure is that this is the year it will be or not be.
Is anyone listening? Anyone out there?
I want to say that the defiant one in me usually wins, without taking into consideration the percentage of wishful thinking that accompanies such thoughts. In other words, as my mirror image varies from day to day, and from day to night depending on the lighting of course, so do my feelings. There are times when I look at myself and feel so confident and smug that at my age, I have the skin that I have, and can afford to feel sorry for those less fortunate than me. Then there are those deep dark nights, when I realize that I have lived over half a century and no one can tell how much longer since we just don't know when our last tube of mascara will dry up forever.
It's on those scary occasions that I don't recognize the reflection in the mirror. Wait a minute, where did that line come from? Was I pressing down with my hand just now? When did those marionette lines appear? That's not me, impossible. I'm young, I'm hip, I'm reinventing myself daily, I still wear jeans with a swagger- hold on here Father Time, what are you trying to pull?
It angers me that the majority of makeup YouTube video tutorials begin with Kylie or Kendall. When did these fauxlebreties take over the scene? Then they have lessons on how to do the 1960's look...um, I was there. I remember the 60's. I was very young, but I was there. I remember looking at Twiggy in magazines when I was waiting for my Mom at the beauty parlor, and thinking how cool she looked (I instinctively felt it, didn't yet know what cool was) and how badly I wished I was her. Or Jean Shrimpton. Those impossibly big eyes with lashes that reached over the pond. I wanted to be her too. I knew that to be somebody, I had to look like a somebody. Somebody with cool makeup and chiseled cheekbones and skinny legs and platform shoes and a furry boa around my neck. I wanted all of that and more.
The funny thing is, that when I had every opportunity in the world to decorate myself like a Christmas tree, I didn't do it. The natural look was "in". Lip gloss and barely a swipe of mascara and I was out the door. I never connected the dots from where I started and to where I had landed. There was this undeniably large void, a huge makeup black hole that was left undiscovered and under achieved. I had wasted all that time and didn't even know it .
So kill me for being a late bloomer but the time to act and beautify is now. You may not agree. Should women simply roll up their sleeves and bake at abandon forever discharging their beauty ideals into a loaf of bread?
That simply doesn't appeal to me. Or knitting. Or revisiting my past through time worn antedotes and stories the family has memorized and engraved into their skeletons.
So I am caught in this limbo of what- the- heck- am- I- land. Well one thing I know for sure is that this is the year it will be or not be.
Is anyone listening? Anyone out there?
Tuesday, January 19, 2016
What a wonderful surprise in my mail today! A fabulous Dove duo antiperspirant DRY sprays, one for little old me, and one for my man. I received these complimentary for testing purposes and so far, so great! The scent is nice too, and these can last up to 48 hours, imagine that! Well, one thing I know for sure, this world will be a little less smelly with these around! Give it a try. I approve this message!
Sunday, January 10, 2016
Happy Sunday makeup gangsters! I'm sitting here with a Korean mask on my face which promises to brighten, nourish and leave my skin healthy. We shall see about that. My husband, bless his uncomplaining heart has seen it all. He doesn't even flinch anymore when I show up in all manner of appearance, which is a very good thing because I'm no longer to blame for spit out coffee or choking. I'm willing to experiment and sacrifice my time, resources and face to "the Cause". I promise you, cross my heart, to deliver unbiased reviews. I am not an expert by any stretch of the imagination, nor a scientist, biologist or jack of all trades. I am an explorer, an adventuress, an investigator, and self proclaimed Makeup Detective.
My mission is perhaps impossible in theory, but dammit I'm relentless. Many feminists have written things like, be proud of those lines, they tell a story. Or something like, getting old gracefully is a gift, and yada, yada, yada. Some say superficial appearance is shallow and void of substance. Well, screw that! A woman can be accomplished in many facets of her life and be gung ho over equal rights (like I am). Independence can be screaming from her every pore and she can still want to look foxy at fifty or sixty plus. Why not? It's our gender exclusive right to do so. It's our birthright and hardwired into our essence. It doesn't diminish our accomplishments or subjugate us to the opposite sex. I find it empowering. For me, conquering a wrinkle is satisfying in a smug kind of way. Wearing makeup is fun! Finding skin creams and the like to try is a woman's boudoir laboratory. We try, we discover, we discard, we try some more. It's a shared experience with women all over the world, from every continent and tradition.
I may not find a Masai warrior's ideal of beauty beautiful per se, because I'm not a Masai warrior. They may be horrified at mine but that's fine because the intent is the same. We can discuss the psychology of attractiveness which has been studied and elaborated on by experts in that field. In general, they talk about the ratio of eyes to nose, to mouth etc. and the ratio of waist to hips and so on. It's the meter we all have when we categorize and analyze a face's beauty. We all instinctively know what's beautiful because we're programmed to identify it.
Therefor without further ado I will begin this journey of discovery and begin reporting my findings on products and all manner of contraptions I have lined up for review.
My next post will be the first in this experiment. Now, have a nice couple of days. I have to peel off this Korean mask before I am permanently attached.
My mission is perhaps impossible in theory, but dammit I'm relentless. Many feminists have written things like, be proud of those lines, they tell a story. Or something like, getting old gracefully is a gift, and yada, yada, yada. Some say superficial appearance is shallow and void of substance. Well, screw that! A woman can be accomplished in many facets of her life and be gung ho over equal rights (like I am). Independence can be screaming from her every pore and she can still want to look foxy at fifty or sixty plus. Why not? It's our gender exclusive right to do so. It's our birthright and hardwired into our essence. It doesn't diminish our accomplishments or subjugate us to the opposite sex. I find it empowering. For me, conquering a wrinkle is satisfying in a smug kind of way. Wearing makeup is fun! Finding skin creams and the like to try is a woman's boudoir laboratory. We try, we discover, we discard, we try some more. It's a shared experience with women all over the world, from every continent and tradition.
I may not find a Masai warrior's ideal of beauty beautiful per se, because I'm not a Masai warrior. They may be horrified at mine but that's fine because the intent is the same. We can discuss the psychology of attractiveness which has been studied and elaborated on by experts in that field. In general, they talk about the ratio of eyes to nose, to mouth etc. and the ratio of waist to hips and so on. It's the meter we all have when we categorize and analyze a face's beauty. We all instinctively know what's beautiful because we're programmed to identify it.
Therefor without further ado I will begin this journey of discovery and begin reporting my findings on products and all manner of contraptions I have lined up for review.
My next post will be the first in this experiment. Now, have a nice couple of days. I have to peel off this Korean mask before I am permanently attached.
Wednesday, January 6, 2016
Hi fellow warriors, today is another day in search of. I wanted to be as organized as possible and methodically chronicle this entire process, but like cleaning the oven and purging my closet, procrastination has placed its tentacled grip around my wrists. Instead, I'll cheat and just start with, well, what I've been doing since I was teeny tiny.
My Mother swore by Ivory soap and scrubbed her face, my face and my bottom from the earliest time I can remember. Me? I just loved that it floated in the water, and I could bombard my pretend ocean liner with huge splashes of sudsy water, and violent waves made by me rolling in the tub.
This my Mother did not like, due to the overflowing water on the bathroom floor. The efficient washing and scrubbing was followed by a full body baby powder rub down and pajamas with that just dried in the sun aroma. This early bathroom series also introduced me to another one of life's great adventures; my Father shaving. The scene: My Father intently staring into the mirror as if he was waiting for the shaving o.k. by some invisible to all others Mr. Gillette. With great care and technique, he swirled up his shaving brush till white peaks formed like heavy cream in a mixer.
The lathering of the face was an art form. It was the Michaelangelo of Shick, Remington and Norelco. I watched as the blade carefully cut roads onto his face and heard the tap tap tap of the razor against the sink. For me, the piece de ressistance was the aftershave. The scent of clean, fresh, sparkly, warm Old Spice filled the bathroom and till this day, although it may be out of favor in 2016, I can lose myself in that smell. My next school of hygiene and preservation was watching my Mother apply makeup.
My Mother was a Maybelline, Max Factor and Revlon girl. I watched with awe as the colors blended and skin was altered and rosy cheeks appeared, and let us not forget the Marilyn Monroe red lipstick. Little did she know I would have that lipstick in my hands and on my lips before she had time to close the front door on her way to the market. That's all it took for this adoration of transformation to grab me by my pre pubescent daydreams and launch me head first into the nearest makeup counter with my earliest saved baby sitting money.
This is how I became hooked. This was my road to the beginning of my makeup and skin care addiction.
My Mother swore by Ivory soap and scrubbed her face, my face and my bottom from the earliest time I can remember. Me? I just loved that it floated in the water, and I could bombard my pretend ocean liner with huge splashes of sudsy water, and violent waves made by me rolling in the tub.
This my Mother did not like, due to the overflowing water on the bathroom floor. The efficient washing and scrubbing was followed by a full body baby powder rub down and pajamas with that just dried in the sun aroma. This early bathroom series also introduced me to another one of life's great adventures; my Father shaving. The scene: My Father intently staring into the mirror as if he was waiting for the shaving o.k. by some invisible to all others Mr. Gillette. With great care and technique, he swirled up his shaving brush till white peaks formed like heavy cream in a mixer.
The lathering of the face was an art form. It was the Michaelangelo of Shick, Remington and Norelco. I watched as the blade carefully cut roads onto his face and heard the tap tap tap of the razor against the sink. For me, the piece de ressistance was the aftershave. The scent of clean, fresh, sparkly, warm Old Spice filled the bathroom and till this day, although it may be out of favor in 2016, I can lose myself in that smell. My next school of hygiene and preservation was watching my Mother apply makeup.
My Mother was a Maybelline, Max Factor and Revlon girl. I watched with awe as the colors blended and skin was altered and rosy cheeks appeared, and let us not forget the Marilyn Monroe red lipstick. Little did she know I would have that lipstick in my hands and on my lips before she had time to close the front door on her way to the market. That's all it took for this adoration of transformation to grab me by my pre pubescent daydreams and launch me head first into the nearest makeup counter with my earliest saved baby sitting money.
This is how I became hooked. This was my road to the beginning of my makeup and skin care addiction.
Monday, January 4, 2016
Makeup Detective
Uncovering clues from around the world in search for the newest, truest, most honest skin care and glorifying makeup.
I read quite a bit. I read from other bloggers, cosmetic industry experts, scientists, doctors, and websites dedicated to the art of transformation. I watch how to video's on YouTube and I must say I am absolutely astounded as to how many "stars" have been born that use, review and get paid for products. You see, companies are ultra savy; they know most women are modern day Ponce de Leon's in search of the elixir, the potion, the serum that will fade and reverse the tell tale markings of a well (or not so well) lived life.
Please don't misunderstand me, Universe. I am not against looking my best, striving for that comfortable place where I thrust the front door open, confident in my appearance and at peace with that current day's reflection. Is it just me, or do we look slightly different every day? When I think of the man hour's (no pun intended!) that we as women collectively take to meet that simple goal is agonizingly set to infinity. Why is that? What are we really looking for? Is it psychological warfare that predates us to the Stone Age? I really don't know. Could it be our need to be wanted, loved, desired, admired? Is that Daddy little girl thing gone awry? Well, whatever the heck it is, I'm just as stuck in the quicksand as anybody else.
Keeping all this in mind, I decided I would be a completely unbiased truth seeker in the mystical land of mascara and eyeliner, anti aging serums and epidermal rejuvenation. I want to test, sniff, smear, rub, soak, slick, scrub and apply as many products as my pocketbook allows and my husband is unaware of.
That is my mission. You may accompany me if you wish on this journey paved with tubes and jars, needles and creams. You are out there, right?
That is my mission. You may accompany me if you wish on this journey paved with tubes and jars, needles and creams. You are out there, right?
I want to know why we came from years and days like this:
to where we are today.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)