The Most Fun You’ll Have With Something Double-Ended That Is Not Sold at an Adult Novelty Store
OK, so this is NOT a product review blog. While I do find them fascinating, and I enjoy writing the occasional review (see the MakeupAlley and Yelp review links on the sidebar), I do not want to make it a regular thing. That is, unless you are someone who wants to send me free stuff to review and then I will happily try it and report back with my honest opinion, because I enjoy free stuff and giving honest opinions.
But TODAY–we depart from our usual blog blatherings and go to a review. I could put this on MakeupAlley too, but I am doing it here, because this is something that YOU, the infinitesimally small portion of the population who actually reads this blog, should know about THIS.
First, a little usual blog blathering.
If you had asked me to describe anything about my style or usual grooming oh, say, a year and a half ago, I would have said I was a straight up jeans-and-tshirt kind of girl. That started to change a bit when I recognized the joy of summer dresses, which are wonderful such that they are light and cool and not sweaty in the heat. Dresses are sort of like Clothing Yourself for Dummies, because you don’t really have to think too much in order to look at least somewhat put together. You don’t have to worry about matching the style and colors of a top and bottoms. Put a dress on, add some shoes that are Not Horrible, and BOOM–the dressing is DONE, dude. If you are feeling particularly adventuresome and stylish you can add some accessories and look Even More Put Together, and perhaps even approach Kind of Fashionista status, if you do it right.
Anyway, I discovered the Joy of Dresses and so the majority of my new clothes purchases focused on them. And then I got a job where I did have to actually make a bit of an effort to look Somewhat Like an Adult, which was especially important for me because it was teaching college and I am often mistaken for being a college student (although with the gray hairs that I earned from teaching, the chances of being mistaken for significantly less than my actual age are rapidly declining. Someone actually did guess that I was over 30, in recent memory [last weekend], and that made me realize, OH SHIT, my looks are catching up with my actual age and perhaps I should get out of denial about my adulthood already. So yeah, those days are numbered, and maybe being mistaken for a college student anymore is a bit of a stretch but I do not want to look as if I am approaching middle age when that is, in fact, Reality with a capital R fully intended, and to be perfectly honest, I have never once considered actually BEING old, and this is like a big fucking slap in the face to my self-concept. OK, done with overly long parenthetical digression). So, in order to set myself apart from my students and hopefully project an image of authority, I bought somewhat professional clothing (a term that the boundaries of which are tested quite thoroughly in academia) and started to think a lot more about what I actually look like, instead of basing my fashion sense on what tshirt suits my mood on a particular day and which jeans smell the least bad.
Dressing nicely is an insidious little habit, because soon you find yourself paying attention to Fashion and Trends and other Very Important First World Issues like that, and you start spending a lot more money then you did before and buying clothes more often than Threadless.com’s $10 tshirt sales. And then you start thinking about all the other little details, like Accessorizing and Styling, which is pretty much a fancy word for “changing the look of an outfit by putting on a belt or wearing different shoes”. And along with THAT, if you are of the female persuasion, comes a healthy examination of what your face and hair look like, because your outfit is not just what you are wearing, it’s EVERYTHING all put together and soon you start thinking about manicures and makeup and hairstyling too.
So that, Dear Reader, is how, in a mere 18 months, I went from a jeans-and-tshirt kinda girl to someone who notes the labels of what she is wearing when she gets dressed in the morning in case her dream comes true and she gets stopped by one of those seemingly ubiquitous street style blogs who seem to only stop people in SoHo to talk about their outfits. And who does her nails religiously at least once a week (for the record, I have always been religious about giving myself pedicures, but that was more because my toenails are exceedingly ugly when they are not polished and I didn’t want to horrify anyone in case I decided to step out in flip-flops), and who has read up on all kinds of ways to apply makeup but is still too nervous to wear much of it out lest she looks like a 9-year-old who played around in her mother’s vanity. I spend far too much at Sephora on a regular basis, buy nail polish in bulk, and check numerous fashion and beauty related blogs and stores EVERY SINGLE DAY. What. The. Fuck. Happened. To. Me.
That was probably way too much background perspective on what I am about to share with you. Actually, there’s a little bit more. Being someone who is somewhat In The Know about stuff like this, I recently bought a shit-ton of stuff at Sephora for the Friends & Family 20% off sale. I got my package at work on Monday and I raced home to gleefully try on (or “swatch”, in the makeup blog lingo) the FIVE lipsticks, FIVE eyeliner pencils, TWO lip pencils, ONE pressed powder compact and THREE nail polishes that I bought.
Jesus Christ. I think I have a problem.
I am, however, returning some of that stuff, because apparently I still suck at knowing what is a good color for me and what is not.
One of the non-makeup things I bought was a Double-Ended Blemish Extractor.
This is simultaneously the awesomest and the most horrible thing I have ever bought.
Basically, this is a fancy little tool to pop your zits. And it does that really, really fucking well. It also exists to clean all the gunk out of your face, the shit that you had no idea was really there in the first place. I mean, I knew it was there, because it was a blackhead, but when I roll this puppy over it and stuff starts coming out, it’s like the Coney Island Freakshow in my bathroom: SEE THE WOMAN WITH THE BOTTOMLESS PORES!!! Seriously, I had no idea about the kind of evil lurking in there. I mean, I knew there was some gross stuff in there, but holy shitballs, not to this degree. After a quick session with this and seeing all the disgusting crap come out, I just want to set fire to my face and start over again from the beginning. I’ve had extractions during facials before, but I never saw what was ACTUALLY being extracted. I’m a little afraid that now I’m going to become one of those girls who really gets off on popping her boyfriend’s zits or finds satisfaction in YouTube videos of people squeezing shit out of their pores. However, the thought of using this on someone else disgusts me, and that’s comforting because it means I’M STILL NORMAL.
But seriously, this thing is pretty crazy (in the good way). My skin sucks, and the way it usually goes is that any clogged pore eventually gestates into a full-blown zit (which may be one of the things that makes me look younger, the fact that I am dealing with MORE acne in my 30s than I did as a teenager), and if I can nip that whole process in the bud, maybe for once I’ll finally have clearer skin. Or a new hobby, at least.