Right now, this ranks right up there with a wedding date or a due date.

I will defend my thesis in June 28th, 2007 and 1pm. By 3:30pm, I will be in the grad lounge, either celebrating or mourning. Either way, I'll be weeping and drinking.

Care to join me?

Labels: Academia

Fairytales are full of girls with preternaturally fair complexions. Princesses are the colour of snow or the colour of pearls. Their complexions mirror their purity. When the descriptor 'fair' is applied to a maiden, it means her general prettiness and good character, but also the whiteness of her skin. I am sure many little girls grow up wishing they had the epidermis of Snow White.

As a representative of the near-albino population, let me assure you being the colour of the flesh of a daikon radish is not all it is cracked up to be.

This morning, I finally faced up tot he fact that my tinted moisturizer wasn't just low, it was running out. I use one product line almost exclusively: Stila. I discovered them about a year ago, and immediately became shamefully dependent. My love of Stila stems largely from the fact that they carry a shade of tinted moisturizer and pressed powder whose equal I have never found. They call is 'fair.' It is unbelievably, almost hilariously pale, and it is perfect for me.

So I wandered into Holt Renfrew, backpacked and bespectacled, hoping to purchase my makeup and be gone before too many make-up ladies had a chance to snicker at me. A quick trip was not to be had. While the powder was in, the tinted moisturizer was not. I should have simply bought what they had available and ordered the rest online. Instead, I made the fatal mistake of asking the very bubbly bronze-complexioned girl behind the counter if there might be something else she could recommend.

the next thing I knew, I was in a chair with no less than four makeup artists clustered around me, arms crossed and brows furrowed, speaking in hushed tones.

"I've never seen anything like it."
"Should we try the 'bare' from Kiehl's again?"
"It was too orange."
"That's impossible."
"Well, it was."
"And the Yves Saint Lauren in 'pearl'?"
"Too yellow."
"Huh."
"You know, Bobbi Brown has a product in 'alabaster.'"
"That product is ridiculous. Nobody can use that shade."
"It's worth a try."

There was a moment of scurrying to find the 'alabaster,' then several beats of silence as all held their breath while one makeup artist brushed the concealer onto my chin.

"Well?"
"It's too...heavy."
"I can't believe it."
"I'm blending it and you can still see the line. It's just a little to rosy."
"Wow."

Eventually, they all gave up. there was truly nothing else they could do, short of applying white-out to my face. I bought what I could and left.

After all that, it seemed a lot like giving up not to find something. In despair, I turned to Quorra.

"Hi," I said to the girl at the counter, "I need a tinted moisturizer."
She cocked an eyebrow. "With that complexion?"
"...Yeah."
"I'll see what I can do."

After rifling through all of her samples and testers, she found one bottle of face tint by Paula Dorf. The colour was called 'capri.' It was the colour of a white-sand beach. On her hand, it looked impossible. On my face, it was perfect.

"I will totally buy some of that."
"We'll have to order it."
"Huh?"
"We don't actually bother keeping this colour in stock, since so few of our customers ever need it. But I can it in for you in a week or two."

I gave them my name and phone number and scuttled out. I am not sure if I'll buy it. Part of me really wants to just give up and order my original product from the Stila website. Part of me also wants to never leave my house again, lest i accidentally blind someone with the reflection off my forehead.

After my afternoon adventure, I decided to visit Ed at work. I skulked into his office and told him my tale of woe. At one point, I took out my pressed powder to show him.

"Whoa."
"What?"
"You actually wear that?"
"...Yes."

He took it from me and compared it to a sheet of white multi-purpose printer paper. The powder was darker, rosier, by the barest degree. He then CALLED IN ONE OF HIS COWORKERS to show them how ridiculous it was.

I think I should start charging admission.

Labels: Open Letters to Late Capitalist Society, Rants