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.

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.

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?

I want to know why we came from years and days like this:

to where we are today.