Who here sells Avon?  I need a rep for two reasons:

1. I just received an update from Tristan on the beauty regime of the woman she met at the party and in this female Dorian Gray’s bag of tricks are a few Avon products.  You can see in the comment section in my last post that Tristan (and now me) is desperate for a rep.
2. The best mascara I have ever, ever, ever used was by Avon in the 90s.  I was working in an office and a local Avon rep routinely dropped off a catalog.  The rest of the girls were buying makeup and I, not wanting to appear snobbish (I was), decided to buy something safe and inexpensive even though at the time I thought nothing great could come from Avon. (I was in my obnoxious if it’s expensive and exclusive it must be better period.)  I bought the mystery mascara and Skin So Soft body oil.  LORD HAVE MERCY it was the best $15 I ever spent.  I used that mascara and body oil exclusively until I left for graduate school and stopped getting the catalogs.  I can’t remember the name of the mascara, but it had a blue tube and gold lid, and I think it was competing with an Estée Lauder mascara.  Everyday Mascara?  More Than Mascara? Never have I loved a mascara as much, nor have I found one that works as well.  The mascara has since been discontinued {sob} but I wouldn’t be surprised if Avon came up with something better, which is reason number two I would like a rep.

So, yes.  A couple of so-Cal girls need an Avon rep.  I know I can get someone locally by going to the Avon site, but if I can give the commission to a fellow blogger or reader, that would make my day.  You know what else would make my day?  Knowing the name of that stupid mascara!  Blargh.

Have you ever tried Avon products?  If so, please divulge your favorites.  And, if you know the name of the discontinued mascara I am talking about, for the love of Pete tell me!

I ran out of my beloved cold creams about a month ago.  Can you believe I went a month without cold cream?  I can, but that’s because I am witnessing the dull, dry skin first hand.  I made the herculean effort to drag my tired body through Target for the 2nd time today and left with what might be a winner.  It’s too soon to tell if this will be a long term commitment, but I am definitely making googley eyes at the Burt’s Bees Soap Bark & Chamomile Deep Cleansing Cream.

Pros:

• Squeeze/tube dispenser, as opposed to less hygienic cold cream jars
• Mild, pleasant odor
• Goes on super thick and stays in place (almost like zinc oxide)
• Wipes off easily (it says to rinse, but I don’t)
• Tingly, tingly, tingly skin

Cons:

• That remains to be seen, although some people say it’s not a good cleanser if you wear a lot of makeup (I don’t).

Coupled with my rose petal witch hazel, I left the bathroom feeling prettier than a sparkly dinosaur.

This commercial from the early 80s is the reason I have used Johnson and Johnson’s Baby Oil after my showers for the last twenty five years.  And, still, twenties years later my eyes goe immediately to the rogue drop of water shooting off her shoulder.

For summer, I like to use my Johnson’s baby oil and then roll on some of Tristan’s Coquette. The combination is very tropical on me, and reminds me of summers by the pool with nothing more than an icy diet coke and a good book.

Some people long for wealth.  Or fame.  Or true, everlasting love.  I just want to face a camera head on without fear of double chins.  Granted, even thin people have double chins.  My best friend was once married to a man with a chin so weak that no amount of diet or exercise could chisel that jaw line into anything more defined than a turkey wattle.  It turns out his weak chin reflected an even weaker character, so the fact his face resembles a plate of flan pleases me to no end.

I, on the other hand, have no desire to look like custard.  So after years of study, I have perfected the art of hiding my double chin.  A talent many of you have witnessed first hand.  The techniques are simple, but work best when you are either taking the picture or comfortable enough to tell the person taking the picture what to do.

Technique #1: Lose weight.  This technique sucks, is rarely any fun, and is impossibly  hard.  But, it’s also the most effective.  Le sigh.

Technique #2: Hide it.  This is where you hide your double chin behind any number of props, including, but not limited to, hands, cameras, turtlenecks, small children, and your husband’s shoulder.

Technique #3: Crop it. Seriously, pull the camera in tight. Conversely, take a regular picture and then crop it with photo-editing software. Either way, get in real close and get rid of that wiggly beast.

Technique #4: Lift it. Stand next to tall people. Lift your chin up just so, as if you are trying to help out the composition of the picture by positioning yourself more in line with the rest of the subjects in the photograph. You’re not, of course. The only composition you care about is the adipose tissue dangling from your jaw.

{Me and The Mister, at my brother’s wedding, before I lost 40 pounds.}

Technique #5: Position it. This is a hard one, but one that when done well, can fool a lot of people. If you do it often enough, you can even fool yourself, a disappointing truth that becomes apparent when you see candid pictures of yourself at a baseball game and all you can think is, really? Damn.

So. If you are taking the picture of yourself, with or without a tripod, position the camera at slightly above eye level. Forehead level is best. Then, every so slightly point the camera down so that the aperture of the lens is pointing at the spot right between your eyebrows. It will be a subtle shift, but necessary if you want your entire face in the shot. Next, more positioning. Drop your chin slightly, push your shoulders back just a touch, and elongate your neck as best you can without looking like an invitation to vampire. All of this is easier to do from the side, by the way.

These techniques are guaranteed to swipe ten pounds off your face. When you consider the camera also adds ten pounds, it’s a bit of a wash, but let’s not think about that. Occasionally, the techniques don’t work, or aren’t enough to combat your natural tendency to look ridiculous. Case in point:

Problems: Hair is wonky. Shoulders scrunched from trying to contain wild dingos. Chin tucked very, very low in an effort to position face closer to said dingos. Smile is plastered on, and looks every so slightly defeated. Camera is positioned dead center, aimed at nose.

Solutions: Edit the crap out of it on Picnik. Increase the exposure. Take down the highlights. Add a 1960s effect to the image. Try taking picture again.

Problems: Hair. Still wonky. Teeth appear bucked thanks to talking through smile at person holding the camera. Camera still pointed at nose, which is looking downright bulbous thanks to your habit of scrunching it up when you smile like a bunny sniffing the wind for predators.  Still wrangling dingos. Grip on dingos too tight, pushing up hovercraft boobs high enough to create two additional chins.

Solution: Edit, edit, edit. And laugh. And realize with trepidation that you will one day look at this picture and think you look young, and that in the end a little double chin isn’t that big a deal.

I aced my typing class in high school.  I had perfect positioning, my hands cupped over the typewriter with the confidence of someone able to hold imaginary ping-pong balls with the youthful pads of their palms.  One day, after a particularly artful display of clerical wizardry, my teacher, Mrs. McGuire, approached me.

“You know,” she said, her gravely voice reaching down to me from her imposing 5′11 frame, “you have a real talent for typing.  You should consider a career as a secretary.”

I am hard pressed to cite a group more encouraging, more filled with hope for the future, than high school teachers.

But Mrs. McGuire did have a point.  I’ve always had dexterous hands.  I am good at putting things together and taking them apart.  I am the mom you want when your shoelaces are impossibly knotted and you are running late for school.  I played the piano (and the constant practicing, recitals, and rigmarole that entails) for eleven years, until I took up competitive tennis and developed callouses on my palms so thick I could stick pins in them without feeling a thing.

I say all this not to brag, but to justify how I can palm a basketball with my monstrous paws.  It’s true; I have hands larger than many men.  My fingers, stretched long from years of piano and prodigal typing ability, extend knuckles past the dainty tips of the women I know.  Likewise, my palms are larger than average, a fact I used to my advantage every time a nutritionist told me to use my palm to determine portion size.  My friend, Tiffany, not one to miss a freakish characteristic on the body of another, once noted that my fingers reminded her of E.T. “Every time you point I expect the tip of your finger to light up.”

At least they aren’t man hands.  They are feminine in shape and almost graceful in appearance when manicured, which I admit is never.  But, still, graceful or not, their size comes at a price, and that price is bangles and bracelets.

I have an alumni event tonight.  The type of event where you show up over dressed in hopes people will believe you dress like that normally.  What, this old thing? I used to wear this during finals, don’t you remember? The type of event where you lie about what you do and how much you make, knowing the person you are talking to is doing exactly the same. The type of event where a nice set of bangles would complement my black cowl neck top nicely.

But it is not meant to be, me and bangles.  Knowing my tendency for circus like proportions, I headed over to Lane Bryant and found exactly what I wanted: silver, but not shiny, simple enough to wear with any number of outfits, and under $20.

Unfortunately, the set was too big.  No sooner did I put them on and drop my hand did all seven bangles slide down and off my wrists into a tinkling pile on the floor.  The same thing happened with every other set I tried.

Aha!  I’ve lost so much weight that my palms and wrists have shrunk to a normal size, meaning I can now wear bangles like everyone else!  Not so much.  I went to 5 different “regular” stores and a few national chains, and while I could slide on the bangles, I couldn’t take them off without grimacing and grunting, causing Mikey to ask me more than once if I had a tummy ache.  “No, Mikey,” I gasped as I ripped off a bangle with a sharp edge, “Mama just has hands like an orangutan.”

No loyalty, I tell you.  Brands be damned, the only thing I insist upon is the type of cleanser.  It must be cold cream.  No exceptions.  Cold cream and witch hazel is a classic combo in use since the 1800s, but up until recently, not very popular in the United States.  This type of cleanser seems far more popular in Great Britain and Japan, but I refuse to pay the shipping for a product I know nothing about.  So, I’ve stuck with Ponds.  But, lately I am seeing a change in attitude.  Perhaps America is joining me in adopting Victorian sensibilities when it comes to beauty?  Welcome to the geriatric side, ladies.  Look what I picked up just now at Target:

I’ve already tried it, and so far like it better than Ponds.  So far.  I will go through the entire bottle before I make my final decision.  The fact the glass packaging is positively irresistible and it smells slightly of roses will not factor into my review.  Maybe.  Probably it will count for 50%.

I was also trolling some make up boards, and it looks like the C.O. Bigelow line for Bath and Body has a cold cream, too.  I’ll be trying this one out, too.  Like I said–selective loyalty.  Sorry, Ponds.

Let me just start this post off by saying I feel slightly stupid writing about what I use on my face, despite a few comments and emails asking me exactly that.  And the funny thing is that I love to read beauty regimen posts on other blogs.  In fact, Tristan’s beauty posts are always my favorites, as are Anna’s.  My hesitation could lie in the fact that both of these bloggers are prettier, thinner, and more knowledgeable than I am on the subject.  But, in truth, my hesitation lies in the fact that you are about to get the same advice your 78 year old grandmother could give you the next time she has you over for casserole and jello salad.

I am fickle.  I show absolutely no brand loyalty, and have no qualms trying something new–which I do regularly.  However, there are three products that I have used religiously, in between bouts of experimentation, for the last 20 years.  Time and time again, these are the products I weigh against anything new I bring home.  They are old fashioned, unglamorous, far from hip, and dirt cheap to boot.  In fact, you can buy all three at the supermarket.

Ponds Cold Cream. Yes, the same stuff your grandmother and strippers in Vegas slather on to remove heavy makeup. I love it. I love the grandma smell (many don’t), I love the way it removes all my makeup (except mascara–I don’t use it around my eyes), and I love how smooth my dry skin feels afterward.  To use it, I just rub it all over my face for a minute or so.  Then, I wet one of the boys’ old washcloths in warm water and wipe it all off.  I have been using it religiously the last couple of months (and off an on for 20 years), and I have seen an appreciable difference in my complexion.  My skin is clearer and my pores look slightly smaller.  I attribute this to technique.  When I use soap or rinseable products, I find that some gets left behind in the rinsing process (and the sink and the front of your shirt get annoyingly wet), leaving me prone to hairline bumps.

After I wash my face with grandma cream, I follow it up with prairie toner.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you about my old lady tendencies.  I have used Dickinson’s Original Witch Hazel, which has been around since the 1800s, since I was 15 years old.  To put it in perspective, this product had been around a good twenty-thirty years by the time Laura Ingalls Wilder was born.  James Madison was president and California was, truly, the Wild West.  But, hey, 200 hundred years on the market–you don’t need me to tell you it works. (I can never find the witch hazel formulated for the face and use the one above, which is more for first aid.  Totally gentle, and my sensitive skin has never had a problem.)

I then follow it up with lotion and eye cream.  Again, I use a brand that has been around for 50 years: Oil of Olay.  I’m not joking, and I’m not cheap!  Trust me, I have no problem dropping serious cash on beauty products–and when I was working I did just that.  But, at the end of the day, I found that most expensive products aren’t any better than what you can find for much less elsewhere.  Right now, I am working my way through Oil of Olay’s new Professional line, and I have been very pleased with the reduction of fine lines and crepe paper skin under my eyes.

So that’s it.  My Grandma Chic Beauty Regime for all the world to mock.  Or see.  But most likely mock.  Not that I can blame you for chuckling–two out of three products are so old the companies offer product renderings instead of images.  Drawings!  Colored pencil sketches, no doubt so their loyal customers, not yet accustomed to color photography, don’t get the vapors at the sight of that sexy toner bottle in the flesh.