Sunday, January 25, 2009
There are so few fashionable intelligent shows on television now. Women's programming is being pushed aside for reality madness or sci-fi-horror combos. Nerd programs are delightful and fun like Chuck and Big Bang Theory. But when I want stilettos and tear inducing drama, I turn to Lipstick Jungle. There are very few shows on major networks today that deal with women's issues. Most are geared towards teenagers or men. It would seem that sexy mature women are not watching television because they are too busy or they are settling for programming that is substandard and just fills the void. I am extremely busy but Lipstick Jungle is at the top of my TIVO list (along with Brothers and Sisters). I've had this show on my TIVO since the beginning but it has ingrained itself in my heart especially this second season. Recently, I discovered the neat extras that NBC put on the website including Bonfire magazines from one of the main characters, Nico Riley who is the editor. This was a rich, well-acted show. NBC's representatives claim that they are giving up some shows to bring on better ones but if you ask me, they've dumped the creme de la creme and I won't even go into how I feel about My Own Worst Enemy. Please email NBC. There have been some insinuations that it may return in the fall but I am not holding my breath. Bring back Lipstick Jungle.
This is the strangest looking mascara wand that I have ever used. But about the time that the oscillating mascara wands came out, I was actually buying Givenchy's Phenomen'Eyes mascara. Mostly because I'd run completely out of mascara and had no choice. Also, because (truth be told) those oscillating wands scare the holy heck out of me! Even if I did want one, all of you fashionistas know that you couldn't get a hold of one for months because of the mad rush! I had serious doubts when I ordered it. But Sephora offered one of their absolutely crazy specials where if I ordered it plus the sizzling red rollerball of Absolutely Irresistible for my purse, I would get a great little pouch with deluxe Givenchy samples...I mean, seriously, it was the serpent's apple all over again. My husband and any of my close friends know that I have been in love with Givenchy's Irresistible fragrance line for the past year and half. It's easy enough to wear to my job without causing my husband to hav allergy attacks. I smell good. He stays healthy. A win win situation. But having purchased Givenchy powder, I was more skeptical about the cosmestics line. The powder lacked depth and shimmer. Normally, I use Guerlain meteorites so it's hard to compete with that kind of perfection! I thought that the mascara would get me by until I bought something else. But this mascara is absolutely incredible. It does not apply in the same manner as a normal wand with just a few even parallel strokes. Instead, it is total precision control for you to draw out the corner of your lashes so that they point out, full of cat's eye drama. It has amazingly smooth, thick coverage that stays through the day. I don't curl my lashes because mine have enough curl. Phenomen'Eyes address each lash, curling or spiking depending on which way you use the brush. There is no need for fake lashes because it adds thickening power, giving you heart fluttering eyes. I have fun putting this mascara on. It adds total drama, sexy 'guy grabbing' lashes!
Picture me on Christmas day. Long flowing hair down to the middle of my back. Barrel curls ala Blair Waldorf of Gossip Girl fame casually held back by a tweed and emerald green velvet headband. But my long layers were growing a bit unruly. My barrel curls were becoming a bit harder to maintain so it was time for a trim. In July, I found the perfect stylist. We had a mind meld in the salon. "Did I like my long hair?" she asked. Yes, most certainly but it was thick and slightly unruly when not styled properly. As we chatted about the Sex in the City movie, she gave me long layers, used thinning scissors to take off some of the weight, and curled it into the most beautiful haircut that I've ever had. I walked away into the summer heat with a light step and a vow to come back to this great salon that I'd discovered.
But when life takes over, it's difficult to spend an hour away from the family on such a narcissistic pursuit. By Christmas, I was slightly fed up so I stopped in the the salon on New Year's eve to try to get an appointment. Of course, I knew better and settled for an appointment a few days after New Year's Day. Here's where things go horribly wrong. The hair stylist making the appointment assigned me to an unfamiliar name. I had lost the card of the previous stylist and could not remember the name. I assumed that all the stylists at the salon had met stringient standards tests. The new stylist, I will refer to her as *she* from here on out - no one deserves to be insulted by any name I might assign her, was brisk and efficient. She began to instantly lecture me on washing my hair. After she found out that I wash my hair every night, she gave me the third degree, claiming that my hair would be better if I only washed it once a week. She went on to talk about my scalp and how the health of my scalp would be protected with a layer of (dare I say it) grunge and oil. Alarm bells are going off in my head because I happen to have minimal damage to the ends of my hair despite the fact that I style with high heat and use hair spray. My hair is extremely healthy, snappy with elasticity, and hydrated. But she's talking to me as though I am an idiot. Finally, she gets to the nuts and bolts of things. "How much do you want me to take off?" I tell her my standard, four inches. She looks skeptically at me. "Are you sure that you don't want six inches?" My hair grows exceptionally fast and the last style (as much as I enjoyed it) did grow out quite fast. So I agreed. "Do you want it to be lighter?" Yes, I did. I mentioned that the last time, the stylist had used the thinning scissors. However, she had mentally left the building. You know how you can tell when a person's eyes glaze over and they are so focused that you are no longer there? This was the point where I should have clarified exactly what I meant with her. A growing discomfort was settling in the pit of my stomach as I watched the hair fly. It resembled a scene right out of Bugs Bunny with the chattering Bugs and the leery red Monster.
As the initial fray subdued, she seemed to lose momentum and be eager for me to go. Pulling out the straightening iron, she hastily ran some straightening anti-frizz cream through my hair, a product that I never use because I don't have frizzy hair. Throwing the iron into the mix, she pulled it through, a look of semi-confusion settling on her face. The awareness that something was drastically wrong had not completely hit me yet. In fact, it is only in retrospect that I can see now what had happened. She'd gone too far, and she knew it. But instantly, when I put my glasses on (this is the problem with the process, I am blind while it is going on too), I knew that it didn't look good. I chalked it up to her poor curling job. Needless to say, it is hard for me to describe how I looked, flat on top and dinky curls at the ends. My first instinct was to flee. I paid her and ran. If I had known the extent of the damage, I wouldn't have run quite so soon. Most hair style experts will tell you that you have the right to protest your hair cut. But it is extremely confrontational, stressful, and results in you diving for cover as you scream for a manager or security. As in this situation, where my stylist had been very stubborn and not open to my ideas (any time I tried to get a word in edgewise, it was indicated through her manner that perhaps I didn't know what I was talking about), a confrontation where one party possessed sharp scissors was the least of my desires. Her closing line to me besides attempting to get my referrals for other people (as if) was, "You can still put it up!"
The extent of the damage didn't make itself fully known until later anyways. When I got home and stared at myself in the mirror, feeling on my right side, I realized that there was a hunk of hair missing entirely. I always part my hair on the right side so SHE had cut it where it could ONLY be parted on the right. A huge chunk of hair rested on the top. She'd attempted to straighten it so it wasn't noticeable but when washed and dried, it puffed up hideously. On the left side, there were sprigs of hair sticking out at odd angles, an failed mission to add layers. But each feather was rudely cut instead of neatly trimmed. The result of this "style" is my hair was now more along the lines of a bad eighties cut, shadows of Nancy McKeon, not that there is anything wrong with the Facts of Life star but I wasn't going for practical and boyish.
And even if I had been, this was a botch job of the first order, a shabby, poorly accomplished cut. Now, every morning, instead of curling easily which a good cut would facilitate, I fight with the iron, losing pieces that are all different lengths. And remember that six inches that she would take off - try ten and even twelve inches as parts of my hair. About twenty percent of my hair is the correct length that she promised. The rest is much, much shorter, uneven, ragged, and not in orderly layers.
When I emerge from my bathroom, I've put together a better look than perhaps it was meant to be but it takes me twice the styling time as my long hair used to and it looks vaguely like Christina Applegate in the perky, trendy television show, Samantha Who. I've always admired Christina's hair with her bouncy curls. I couldn't go out into public with a mullet and or a wig so I disguise my hideous cut with the curling iron and lots of carefully sprayed hair lacquer. I receive tons of compliments but little do these people know how I curse the cut and long for someone to swoop in and trim the ends so that they at least match. I would even go shorter just for a semblance of order! As it grows out, it becomes even more of a nightmare, making it clear that this was a hair massacre!
Now let me go back to the parting line that was her feeble attempt to placate me because it is really the grit in my lovely masterpiece. I can put my hair up. Instead of winding it into a beautiful twisted bun at the nape of my neck (the popular ballerina look that was out last spring) or rolling it into a stately french roll as I had the weekend before, the butterfly clip can barely contain the poking short strands. What was once a long sleek pony tail, now is a horrible puffball of sharp ends.
Let me just end this rant with this. If this stylist had wanted to give me Nancy McKeon, SHE should have paid more attention to how gorgeous Nancy is now and given me THIS!