11 posts tagged “beauty”

One of the problems with keeping anything in the bathroom too long is that the mildew gets to it eventually. I've gone to the bathrooms in some people's houses and didn't dare consume any of the food on their table after that. Yes, I judge you by your hygiene. I especially freak out when I see reading material in the toilet. Like, what the fuck, man? How long do you take in the bathroom that you need reading material? Do you, like, not eat enough veggies or something?

So yes. The mold got to my razor. And I felt incredibly repulsed by it and had to get a new one.

Like most women, I fell for their marketing shtick and bought Gillette's Venus when it first came out, this particularly curvy razor that's really just a feminized version of their old Mach 3. If you compare it to the Mach 3, it's kinda like the kiddy version. Have you seen scissors for children? Yeah, same design concept. "If we put enough rounded edges on it, then the little girls won't cut themselves. Too much."

It was cool, because it had this little holder that stuck to the wall that also held the spare blades you might need in case shaving one leg alone blunted the current one. Of course, after I bought the original, I noticed two things. A) the blades for the Mach 3 cost about $6 less, and B) they released a pink version. Assholes.

But I thought, it's ok, it's not like I'm going to carry my razor as an accessory. I can own one thing that is not pink.

(Yes, the massive majority of my stuff are pink. Deal with it.)

My mom never quite understood my need for a razor. I inherited the family trait of hairlessness on BOTH sides. I've seen women with more hirsute legs than my dad. It sounds great, until you realize that you can shave, wax, thread, zap, pluck, blast (ok, maybe not blast) hair off, but there isn't much to put hair on.

And when I say hairless, I mean without makeup, my eyebrows are faint suggestions. They're there, but you can't see them unless you're standing about five feet away. It severely limits my activity choices, because the last thing you want is to emerge from the pool a la Ursula Andress and scare the crap out of little children. On the bright side, I don't really have to do much prep before I head for the pool.

I guess I'm lamenting my lack of hair because I've never had to resort to anything more drastic than a few swipes of my trusty Venus. Things might change if I should ever have to endure someone ripping off hot wax from my hoochie.

And so, with that disturbing thought, let's move on.

Thinking that now I can buy the Venus in pink, I headed for my neighbourhood drugstore to grab one. Except they didn't have it. Apparently it's limited edition or something. So I stroll on by to the men's section, and I spot the Fusion Power Phantom. Mind you, not only does it have five blades to shave you into baby smoothness and a sixth blade to cheer you on, it also sends micro pulses to make your hair stand up, AND it has a fucking stealth mode. At least, I assume that's what the Phantom part of the name is for. How kick ass is that?

Comparing it to the three wimpy blades on the Venus, and the fact that they didn't have the pink one, I decided to go with the Phantom. If nothing else, it has twice as many blades. And the so-called micro pulses makes the thing vibrate. If I still traveled, that multi-functionality comes in quite handy.

SIX BLADES leh. Why the fuck do you need SIX blades to shave your face? And why don't women have a version of that? We have just that much more real estate to use it on. Think about it. How big can your face be? My pits alone pretty much sum up your entire face. AND I still have legs. Not that I need it that much, but there be some girls out there whose calves should never see the light of day without some sort of depilatory treatment beforehand.

My hairlessness means I only need to shave my legs once in a blue moon and when I feel like it. I used to think of it as a bit of a shame, having watched one of my hairy female cousins casually use those wax strips to rip off her leg hair. At that point in time, I wanted to do that, because it seemed so fun. As you can see, the operative word is "used".

But recently, it became a little depressing. I know that with age, your metabolism slows, but your appetite sometimes didn't get the memo. I knew I'd gained weight, but most of my clothes still fit and I'm a master at layering so no one (except for my aunties, perceptive evil women) actually came up to me and pointed it out in that quaint Singaporean way, "Ay, you got fat huh?"

Small digression, Singaporeans tend to be just plain clueless about this. Like the Spawn says, they'll point out to you that you have a zit on your face. Yes, because I got up this morning, brushed my teeth, showered, got dressed and came out and at absolutely no point in time did I look in the mirror and notice that my face has a zit on it. We need YOU to bring it to our attention. Woo. Give the guy a medal. Morons.

So it used to be that about five strokes would cover the front of my thighs (what? For all the bigness of the Venus' head, most of it is just plastic and not blade). Now, it takes an extra one. I used to be so damned skinny, my thighs wouldn't meet at all when I put my legs together.

It's not that the weight gain is a bad thing. I like the fuller ass that comes with it. And so do many appreciative men I walk by, apparently. I like to catch them out occasionally, like suddenly just turn around and watch them get whiplash from snapping their heads in a different direction. It's cool, it's cool. I firmly believe that if I bother dressing up, you should bother checking me out. Have you seen girls who clearly put on their sluttiest outfit and got completely ignored? That's just sad man.

It's just, I really wish the weight gain was not so targeted. It's like I did spot training but with food. Krispy Kremes straight to the muffin top. Lasagne adding mass to my love handles. I can't sit down without my thighs fanning out in these pale fleshy slabs. The outside of my thigh still has that nice line down the middle, some definition. The inside of my thigh is a whole different story.

Which is why I finally got off my new found ass and went for Yogalates at the overpriced yoga centre I signed up with aeons ago. I had been pretty regular once, and managed to get to a point whereby I could touch my toes without too much problems. Now, I'm back to flailing at mid-calf level while the instructor is coaching the rest of the class to rest their foreheads on their knees and grasp their foot with their hands. What's wrong with you, woman? The skull is NOT connected to the knee bone for a good reason.

Yogalates is exactly what you imagine it to be. The bastard child of yoga and pilates. And there's this one instructor at the centre who runs it like the bastard child of yoga and aerobics. It's good, in that one session with her and you walk out feeling like you got into a bar brawl and someone sucker punched you in the gut. It fucking hurts to sneeze after that. It's bad, in that it fucking hurts to sneeze after that.

If you've ever felt the need to get rid of your gut, pilates really is the way to go. A lot of guys sneer at it, because it has no manly stuff like chunks of metal to haul around. But I've seen the few brave guys who come in for class, and their faces will turn blue, then purple as they tough out the exercise, before they flop on the mat looking like someone just released their balls from a vise. It's really tough, and it's really targeted, and it's just damn efficient.

Speaking of men working out, two of my best guy friends used to hit these gyms run by the National Sports Council. They didn't require membership, entrance fee was just a few bucks, but they were very pared down gyms, and some of them were quite old and not too well maintained. Elton asked why they didn't go for the more modern gyms with better equipment instead and they said other than price, those swanky fitness joints just seemed kinda gay. Working out should be more edgy and manly, not all slick and nifty. Like if you don't need to get tetanus shots after using the weights it's not manly enough.

So, Yogalates. The centre I go to has pilates classes, but the problem with them is they're usually filled with these scary women with iron abs. And I always feel like the slacker who collapses after 40 of those pseudo-crunches and the rest of the class is going on to 100.

It also has yoga classes, but they're filled with women who have rubber bands for bones. And the yoga instructors are a perverse bunch as well. They'll get you to (try to) touch your toes, resting your forehead on your knee and, this is the best part, relax. How the FUCK am I supposed to relax? I'm like turning a really unhealthy shade of crimson and sweat is pouring off my forehead like I'm this new fixture from Grohë and I'm no where even NEAR my toes and you want me to RELAX?

Or, as one instructor says, trelax (he's from India. He also wants me to touch my "toech". I would, if I knew what the heck it was).

So Yogalates is a nice mix. There are still insane people who do crazy shit like Ihavenobonessana just to warm themselves up. Show offs. But in general, the extreme cases prefer to go to the "pure" classes. That's perfectly fine with me. If I have to go get exercise to lose weight, I don't need you to come in and fuck up my self-esteem any more by smirking while I struggle to pretzel myself.

The centre also has dance classes, which I avoid at all costs. There's a Bollywood dance class. Coconut trees optional. Or maybe that's for the adwanced students. Chinese people, in general, aren't too good at dancing. Sure, there are some freaks of nature who can get down and move it all around. I mean, we're one of the largest populations in the world. Sooner or later genetics will give you a Yao Ming. But most of us don't got no rhythm and we don't know where our hips are.

I'm not too good at dancing. Fact. I drink enough, and I think I'm damn good at it. What I lack in skill, I make up for in enthusiasm. I discover that's usually a good tactic for most activities. Yeah, you know what I'm talking about.

But my point is, you don't exactly get sloshed before attending a dance class, even if it's a Bollywood dance class. There are steps to follow. And without alcohol, the cover of darkness, strobe lighting and the ability to just shimmy any old how and call that freestyling, I look like a right fool attempting to do the energetic shoulder shrug thingy. Laugh all you want about their crazy overacting and their unbelievable story lines, but those people can dance.

Even worse, there's also a belly dancing class. I attended that twice, and swore never to go back. For one thing, one of the instructors has a waist the size of my wrist. And she has shit taste in music. Like really really bad music. Take elevator music, put a techno beat to it, and that's what she wants us to dance to. Seriously, woman. With so very many kick ass tracks out there, I fall to my knees in the pouring rain and shout "WHY?!?!" to the heavens regarding your dubious taste in music.

The first time I went, I couldn't help but notice that the attendees were clearly really into it. All except me and this other lady, first timer as well, had on these shimmy belts, sashes with a lot of metal plates and bells on so every ass shake resulted in a loud jangling sound. Some even had on full regalia, with baggy chiffon pants and dance shoes straight off the set of I Dream Of Jeannie. One lady looked old enough that she might have stole it off the actual set.

So while everyone else looked really pro (and I mean professional in the traditional sense of the word) shaking their bon bons and jangling away like some perverse orchestra, I felt like I was doing it all wrong.

I went back again a few months later after a shopping trip in Hong Kong yielded a shimmy belt. Do not ask me why I had to go Hong Kong to buy a shimmy belt. I was there, it happened to be there, and so I bought it.

Armed with my new tool, I went for class again, with much confidence and great excitement. My ass made noise when I shook it, and it was gratifying. Except it being a dance class, we had to check ourselves out in the mirror a lot to make sure we were doing it right. And everytime she asked us to do a body roll, I did more of a body bend. She came over to help me attempt to isolate the different muscles of my abs. "Contract this part first, then release that while you contract the middle part," she coached.

I tried my best, I swear. She gave up after realizing that my fat just glued everything together in a not too malleable chunk. And I was too ashamed to ever go back again after that.

It's ironic, really. The activities that supposedly help you lose weight are difficult to attend unless you're actually fit and skinny. Maybe it's a good thing I got those six blades to go over the new found lands.

I'm sorry, my people, I've been remiss.

It might have come to your notice that apparently more than 100 people have visited my site, thanks to the nifty little counter at the left hand side of the page. Actually, no lah, I'm not that zhai. It's just that since the counter went up, this page was loaded 100 over times. Per day, I'd say about less than 10 people actually come on here. I know who most of those 10 are, it's the remaining few that I find intriguing

Like, how did they find me? Why do they read me? Why don't they say anything? Aren't they bored shitless by pages and pages of nothing but text? Does this mean that I'm having a textual relationship with these people?

I don't know who you guys are, but uh, hi. Welcome. Live long and prosper and all that.

The only effect that has is that I'm starting to feel a little awkward about what to blog about. And a little worried that some of my jokes get lost in translation. I know, I know, if I'm not going to be writing in English, then I should have the courtesy of providing some sort of translation. It's just that it spoils it for those who do get it, and, to be honest, until the counter went up, I didn't know there were people I didn't know in real life coming on this blog. A picture speaks louder than a thousand words, so this : O_o is about the best way I can express how I felt when I realized it wasn't just my friends getting on this site.

But I figure, hey, since my verbal diarrhea brought you guys here in the first place, why bother changing things? So let's get on with the show.

Two days ago I went for this Cleo cover girl roadshow thing. Not Cleo and Cover Girl (since for some reason we don't get that brand of makeup in Singapore), but the search for the next Cleo cover girl. It was basically a gimmick to promote their sponsors Laneige, Chapter 2 and River Island. You pay $30, get a makeover from Laneige, get your hair styled by the Chapter 2 people, put on some River Island clothes, then get a picture taken of yourself which is then photoshopped onto this Cleo cover mockup. You get to take the picture home, plus a goodie bag with some Laneige skincare samples, a Voxy nail polish (in Shitgapore or whatever colour you call that shade of sparkly brown), and (this is probably the best part) you get to redeem the $30 on Laneige products.

I actually wrote a blog about this on the day after this whole debacle was over, but it wasn't really fit to print. Mainly because I was more caught up in feeling depressed. I only went for the damned thing to distract myself from a pretty fucked up conversation I had with an old friend. Then the damned thing managed to depress me more, so I ended up weeping in front of my computer and scaring the crap out of another friend who thought he'd have a nice innocent conversation with me over MSN.

So now that I've gotten over the shitty feeling, I've come to a conclusion on makeovers. They suck.

In general, if you're in the habit of dolling up and going out, you have a rough idea of what makes you look good and what doesn't. The photos you take in your own dolled up state look nicer, because you're comfortable with how you look and you know what you look like.

But when you go for a makeover, they start doing all sorts of weird shit to you, like glopping on enough lipgloss to seal your lips permanently shut and curling your already short hair (why? So that your round face would have round hair to go with it?) and putting you in some baby puke green camisole so not only do your arm scallops get on the cover as well, you look like a cancer patient to boot. Woo.

And why do they do all this to you under the pretenses of making you look good? Because they don't really give a shit about how you look. Especially in an environment where the stylists are churning people out, they don't have time to care about what suits you and what makes you look better. They just anyhow stick you with a particular look and are done with it, next!

It helps if you're more than just another person. If helps if they like you, you have a chat, compliment them, and they pay a little more attention. And it really helps if you stand your ground and say, "No, this is just not working for me." I made the mistake of not telling the hair stylist that the curls looked stupid, and now I'm stuck with a stupid picture.

I'm not saying that makeovers are stupid, don't go for them, because a lot of people could benefit from one, even some generic one where they just anyhow slap on makeup, do your hair and put you in different clothes. But I'm saying that just because it's a makeover, it doesn't mean the results are always better. And I'm definitely saying that you shouldn't pay a ridiculous sum of money to go for one. There are so many women's magazines out there; just send a photo of you looking particularly pathetic with a large HELP ME! sign written in blood or something. They need something to fill the pages. That, or more syndicated material (like a particular magazine we know of).

I'm not saying this because I had a bad picture taken, but there's a reason I stopped buying Cleo every month. That reason is, it's just not good enough. I find Project Smitten to be a better read. Simply Her has more useful things. And my new big loves are Vivi, Ray and With from the Chinese section (henceforth Jmag because they're basically Chinese translations of Japanese magazines). Why? Because I'm sick of the lame ass articles that have been syndicated from the international cess pool of articles that all Cleo magazines use when they need stuff to beef up the pages.

Like the 30 Things To Do Before You're 30 one; I saw it before in Australian Cleo many many months ago. Really? None of your local writers could come up with 30 things to do? There's nothing wrong with some syndicated material, because there are some articles so good they need to be shown to the world. But when the majority of the whole magazine is a reproduction of stuff you can find in other magazines or your sister magazines from other countries, it just makes one wonder whether your staff just sits around taking cute pictures of each other for the last page while playing Scramble on Facebook.

I had quite enough of the short half-assed articles on how to improve your life. Yes, like four pages dominated by giant pictures and not that many words will teach me how to improve my love life. And it soooo helps to have two opinion pieces at the end of it talking about how there's no such thing as happily ever after or true love (I skipped those articles because I didn't want The Voice to start up again).

If we talk about the fashion and beauty side of the magazine, it just doesn't compare to the Jmags. The Jmags tend to run along a certain formula, which is to identify the key trends of the season, explain what sort of pieces are needed for it, and what sort of accessories make it work, then show you many many pictures of the trend, and the different interpretations for it. They also highlight key points, like the details you must look out for that make or break the piece. For example, This month's With starts of on a spread of black and white vs. cream and white, and goes on for a few pages on the key points of each look. The styling is detailed, down to the style of makeup you should go for and the hairstyle so if you've absolutely no imagination, you can still look good. They always feature the clothes on a model, and rarely in a studio setting, which makes it ridiculous if you notice how many photos there are in the magazine.

The beauty side is absolutely astounding. the Jmags take step-by-step instructions to a whole new level. In full colour pictures, they show you what needs to be done for each step, complete with elliptical markings in case you can't see on where to place the colours and so on. They show you what makeup items they used and why (and not just because of sponsorship, because they always use a mix of different brands for one look, not just one brand). And they even go into more advanced stuff like how to put on false eyelashes, how to shade your face and so on. They have advertorials too, but when it comes to the hard core how-tos, they don't seem affected by ad money.

Then to the end of the mag, they have a very detailed report on one particular topic. This month's Vivi talks about "Detox Beauty", explaining that 75 percent of the toxins in your body is expelled via poo and teaches you massages and foods and yoga positions (complete with pictures for each massage, food and yoga position) to help expel more waste, or rather, to make sure you expel it all. They even go on to talk about the places you can go to wash your colon and what sorts of mineral water you should drink and there's even a fricking timetable on when to drink water so you'll get the targeted 1.5 litres.

If that disturbs you, With has a special on blood type personalities, which not only explains the whole theory that people of different blood types behave differently, it also goes on to explain over a number of pages how that affects their leadership abilities, how they deal with conflict, stress, other people, their superiors, their men, etc. And because With rocks, it also has a special on sex, going into the nitty gritty details like whether you should remove your makeup when doing it for the first time with a guy.

Waaaaay better. And because the content is important, the pictures become very small and are only there to supplement what is being said. Instead of some gigantic pic of two ang mohs in bed looking sulky, and mind you, those aren't syndicated pics either.

I got ranty on this topic because magazines are important to me. They're how I stopped being an ugly kid and became a pretty twenty-something. My style evolved with these guides to life, and I suddenly realized why I was so angsty, because I was taking advice from some periodical that put about as much thought into those how to better your life articles as they did into makeover #110. I still read magazines, but I've come to the realization that they can only fix certain things about you. And I'd rather read magazines that do a good job of improving you in those aspect than one that claims to be able to fix all of you.

According to Sparkey on Facebook, I'm more desirable than 99.18 percent of people. Which is quite an ego boost, considering that I added the application because Elton sent it to me and have done nothing to it since then. I rank number two amongst my friends (the first being Tay Kewei who's a bit of a celeb), and my desirability rating is 1636.

Elton, by contrast, ranks number three, with a desirability rating of 133. I used him as comparison since he was the one who sent the damned app to me, and I believe he's done a lot more than just let it sit there.

So BOO-YAH, I'M HOT!!!!

Ok, childish, I know. Still, when you've been in a relationship for five years, it's still nice to know that if something drastic should happen, there are still people out there who would date you. Really gives you a spring in your step, a sparkle in your eye, a tingle in your naughty bits.

Seriously. It does. You don't have to do anything wrong with the tingle, but still knowing that you're attractive to random people on the street is a turn on. Don't lie, come on, the last time you just had a casual conversation that was on the playful side with someone of the opposite sex who wasn't your partner, don't tell me you didn't feel just a bit of a rush?

Is it wrong? No, not really. It's perfectly normal, especially when your partner doesn't give you the attention he/she used to. When you start feeling like you have some strange Scandinavian name and was picked up at a low low price from IKEA. Especially when you still make an effort to look good. It sucks. And whatever little attention other people give you you just lap it up.

That's probably why I see so many attached people on Facebook with such AA (attract attention; slang from my teenage years) photos loaded. I put mine up because they're cute. I think that chick with the navel plunging white dress that barely covers her butt with her leg on a chair who was in Elton's friends list did it because she just wanted to find more people to play Scrabulous with. Really.

I'd go out on a limb and say that her boyfriend was probably bored with her prancing about naked and was starting to look for girls on Facebook to wank to, and she decided to one up him. Or maybe that she's a tranny and looking for men in real life is a little tricky.

It's scary, really. Apparently Facebook isn't just a different kind of Friendster anymore. Not just some social website where teenage girls show off how many friends they have. It's become an online pickup joint, where cheating partners and whorish sluts (and I'm including men as well) can meet up and cyber over MSN or something. Confirm plus chop add guarantee. Damn you, Sparkey. But since my rating is so high, I shan't condemn it entirely yet.

Perhaps that's why that random chick in the excuse of the white dress was on Elton's list to begin with, eh?

Yeah, I know, I know. Paranoid much? Should at least wait until I accidentally stumble upon a chatlog with any combination of the words "fuck", "pussy" and "cock" and maybe "suck" in the right syntax before I go crazy. Actually, I've not gone crazy yet. Why? BECAUSE MY DESIRABILITY RATING IS 1503 POINTS HIGHER THAN HIS!!! Muahahahaha.

Ok, childish.

I remember a while back, while I was still gainfully employed, a couple of guys sharing their grievances over how their girlfriends would check their Facebooks and point out strange girls they didn't know and demand to know who they were. Which prompted them to set up secret Facebook accounts just so they can, I dunno, continue their evil online flirty ways behind their girlfriends' backs. To these girlfriends, I have this to say, relak lah. They want to fuck around, they will lor; they're cabin crew, the opportunities are many and even got company-sponsored five-star hotel room to do so. You constantly bansheeing at them to keep their cocks to you or themselves only will just push them to put it somewhere else. Until you have proof, I say just keep your mouths shut and your eyes open.

And besides, if you do manage to find out that he's cheating on you through your screaming, what then? How does it help anything? Would you have so little self-respect as to stick around? I'd flip my hair, say buh bye and use my 99.18 percent desirability rating to go find myself a much much hotter, much much richer and much much more loyal guy. Of course, these poor things probably don't have that high a score, but that's ok, ugly people procreate too. They must, or there wouldn't be so many clogging our streets.

Remember that couple I told you about, the one where the husband's a complete cheehong and the wife's fat and ugly? She does make me wonder. There's no way she can't know what a slut he is (face it, there's just no equal word for men that has the same derogatory connotations) considering how blatant he is (ha-low, SMS other women with his fucking handphone can? Just asking to get blackmailed). So why would she still stick with him? Simple, because she thinks no one would want her otherwise. Seriously screwed up Stockholm Syndrome. Woah, that's a lot of Ss. He treats her like shit, even if he wasn't screwing other women, but she still sticks to him like glue because she has no self-esteem. She may have, once upon a time, but growing fat and becoming so dependent on him (who constantly puts her down) made her an appendage. A really oversized useless appendage, like a diseased appendix but still.

I don't know about you, but I'd much rather be single and ugly than attached to some fucker and ugly. Of course, that's coming from a person with a 99.18 percent desirability rating, so perhaps I can't really see things from their point of view. But when you don't have looks, personality is all you have, and being with a toxic person like that is just destroying your one point of hotness. DON'T LET HIM!!! Otherwise not only will your friends leave you because you're a lanhong moron who has no ears, you won't be able to find anyone else if he decides that there's another woman who'll put up with his shit. Then what will you do? Cry yourself to sleep and eat somemore, because food is love? Gooooood idea.

Thing is, my hotness is cultivated. I was quite unattractive in secondary school. Really awkward, really gawky, and in JC I bloomed. Then I wasted my hotness by clinging on to long-term boyfriends rather than playing the field, because I still didn't believe that I was hot. Perception really is everything. Sure, objectively you could look at a photo of me and criticize it; face too fat, teeth not straight enough, eyes too small, tummy too big, legs not straight. But the fact remains that I've zhnged myself enough to trick the eye into thinking I'm hot, then my winning personality can take over and seal the deal before they look past the glamour. Don't take my word for it, ask Elton. The guys in his office apparently paid a lot more attention to me after I did the fake eyelash, dyed hair thing. Via Facebook, of course.

Do you think Xiaxue is hot? Not without her makeup you won't. But with the works, you do pick her out in a group photo first (poor Shuyin). Beyoncé is hot, but she also has thunderthighs. That plus-sized woman from Grey's Anatomy who dated George is, well, big, but that didn't stop her from bagging McSteamy.

Rather than waste your energies lamenting how un-hot you are and how everyone else has a boyfriend or that the asshole you're currently dating is the only one who "loves" you, take them and put them into transforming yourself. There's really no excuse. You're never going to wake up one day without doing anything and dramatically become beautiful. So start small, start now, start making yourself feel good by making yourself look good. Even if no one other than dirty old men and foreign workers perv at you, you'll still feel better about yourself.

There's nothing worse than being ignored.

Although I've been favouring false eyelashes and darker eyeshadow lately, I protest against the accusation that I put on a lot of makeup. Seriously. Because to me, a lot of makeup means foundation so heavy it literally cracks when you smile. Or eyeshadow so thick, one cake lasts you for all of two applications. I've seen women with makeup like that and it's fucking scary. Like you wonder if they go home and chisel it off because normal makeup remover just doesn't do the trick.

So while I may wear more makeup than say, your average shu nu type from Science Fac who doesn't know where her vagina is, my application is no more heavy handed than any normal person who does make an effort to look good. The key to this lies in two things; 1) the quality of your makeup and 2) blending.

Naturally, more expensive makeup brands have better quality makeup. It's smoother, more pigmented, which means all you need is a small dab for a lot of colour, and it blends easily so the illusion that your eyelids came in that colour is easier to believe. But I absolutely disagree that you have to max out your credit card just to look good. Which is why there's this post.

Now, I use everything below, and it's the product of a lot of trial and error. You don't want to know how many cosmetics I've junked after a couple of uses just because it just wasn't good enough. To save my friends (and random strangers) the pain and agony, here's what goes into making Nanashee's face.

Skin

1) ZA Concealor Perfection (in 1)
It is what it claims to be. The perfect concealor. And it costs about $20 (all prices in Singapore dollars), which makes it ridiculously cheap. I love it because the texture is very light, but it still covers very well. I use it for under-eye circles, where it doesn't sink into the wrinkles and make you look old, and around the nose, the corners of the lips (very important, because those dark areas around your lips can make you look sulky) and on humongous zits.

Some magazines will tell you to use more cakey concealors for zits. They LIE, the muthafuckers! Use this one, put on a thin layer, let it dry a bit, blend the sides out, then put on another layer if the redness is still there. With big zits, the best you can hope for is to make the redness go away, because it's still going to be there in three dimensional glory.

2) The Body Shop Tea Tree Oil Cover Stick (also in 1)
This is the more cakey concealor. Use this for flat zits because they tend to be this dark colour that the more liquidy concealors can't quite cover. To be honest, I don't really like this one, but it's got tea tree oil and helps to get rid of the little buggers, so I stick with it just cause. At least, until I find something better. Also about $20

3) Maybelline Angelfit Two Way Cake (in Light Ochre OC1)
Actually, I should have gotten OC0 instead, the lighter shade, but they were having a promotion where you get this limited edition case with an additional refill for only $24 or something, and I figured one shade darker was acceptable.

I wrote about this one a while back. I realized my mistake was getting the pink toned shade. Very salah. Because despite the hair and the eyes, I'm Chinese, with yellow based skin.

What I like about it is it's very light, it doesn't sink into the wrinkles. Even after you've been smiling like a moron for a day, you don't get a line of concentrated makeup in the naso-labial fold (that's the line between your cheeks and nose formed when you smile. Or snarl, for that matter). The coverage is light, so you need to put concealor on before this, but the good thing is, it looks like real skin and not makeup. And it's easy to apply, no muss, no fuss, no new fangled mineral powders dirtying your countertop.

4) ZA Blush Vibrante (in B2)
Whatever you do, don't use the brush that comes with it. It's too small to give you a natural blush with no lines. In fact, never use the brush that comes with your blushes, unless they're the flat wide type, like the L'Oreal or the Bourjois ones. Even then, I'd prefer to use a proper brush.

Application is key. You can get $2 blushes from Daiso and make it look as good, but I like this one because it comes with a section of shimmer on the side you can use to highlight the tops of your cheekbones with. To apply, pick up colour with your brush, all over the tip. Blow off the excess. Smile and dab it on the chubby part of your cheeks and diagonally upwards to your temples (area between your eye and your hairline). Go over with the brush again, swirling it in a circular motion over your skin to blend it in.

As for the brush, you don't have to get a $60 one. Not even a $6 one. You just need to test the bristles to make sure they are soft to the touch and don't shed all over the place. I got mine from a face and eye brush set from Sephora (love the eyeshadow brushes too) that was about $30 for five brushes.

Eyes

1) Brow Lash EX Waterproof Eyebrow Coating
I used to use ZA Everbrows exclusively because they were ridiculously easy to use. Then, I used Benefit Brow Zings because the salesgirl convinced me that the wax part of it would help it stay on for longer (bad idea; it's bloody tricky to get on, and sometimes it gets clumpy). Now, I'm using some unknown eyebrow pencil from Daiso that cost me $2. The reason why I'm walking on the cheap side is because of this product. It is your best friend if you, like me, have very fine brows that can't be seen from two feet away. Just draw your brows on, then slick it over, and it will last until you accidentally fall face first into a pool of makeup remover. Supposedly you can even go swimming with it. It lasted through oil massages and yoga sessions and being rubbed into a pillow for me. Not in the same day lah, but pretty heavy duty stuff.

2) Kate by Kanebo Eyeshadow (in BK-1)
I bought one of these eyeshadows in blue a couple of months after I started flying. The colour is so intense that that tiny box lasted me the remaining one year and seven months and I still hadn't hit bottom yet by the time I quit. (Not that I kept it; bad memories.)

I love this brand of eyeshadows because they're shimmery without being too getai, the colour on your lids is just like what it is in the box, and it's so fine you don't have to work too hard to blend it. Best part of all is they come in these palettes with instructions so it's literally paint by numbers. It's about $24, you can get it from BHG or Metro (Metro got rebate for UOB cardholders).

Mind you, I've tried the rest. Maybelline's eyeshadows are a joke; you torture your eyelids trying to get them on and blended. Fasio's aren't pigmented enough, so you have to cake on quite a lot to get the right intensity. Trust me, once you try Kate, you'll never use anything else.

3) Kate Gel Eye Liner (in BR-1)
It comes with it's own brush! That's a good enough reason for me. I fucking hate cosmetic companies that sell you a product then expect you to fork out extra to get the tools to put it on with. To be honest, gel eye liners are not the easiest thing to put on; you need to pay attention to what you're doing. Beginners, please get yourself a regular pencil and be done with it. But once you can line your eyes in seconds on the first try, you're ready to graduate to this.

I use this because it gives you a lot of control. I like to extend the liner at the corners for a cat's eye effect, and this one lets you draw as fine a line as you want. It also stays on quite vehemently, so if you don't have a steady hand, keep a makeup remover and cotton swabs handy (I like Fasio's Point Makeup Remover; not oily, no residue, very powerful).

4) Missha's Dolly Eyelash (in XL)
What's the point of fake eyelashes if they aren't dramatic? This one is so long I have problems wearing my sunnies. And the curve is really nice and high. The texture seems to be more like real hair, and the base of the lashes is flexible, which makes it very comfortable to wear despite the thickness. They go for $5.90.

5) Darkness Premium Eyelash Glue
To be honest, I felt cheated when I got this. I was thinking of getting falsies and wandered into a shop on the second floor of Bugis Village where a tiny Malaysian sales girl with ridiculous lashes spieled me into getting it.

To give her credit, it's a good glue; it stays on for the whole day, comes off relatively easily, and you only need a dab of it. But $23 for a tube of eyelash glue? I guess it works out in the long run.

Since I started using falsies, I don't put mascara anymore. So much easier to create the big lash effect with these. It takes practice though.

Lips

1) Maybelline Shine Seduction Glossy Lipcolour (in 404 Magic Pink)
It's not too sticky, the shine's quite good, the colour is there enough and it's less than $20. I don't believe in paying ridiculous amounts for lipgloss, but I do believe in getting one that doesn't make your hair stick to your face in weird fashion.

2) ZA Lip Vibrante  (in L13)
This is a very violent pink. But I love it. It's moisturizing and light, so your lips don't feel like they're going to suffocate. Only one thing though, you have to get rid of the dead skin on your lips first because lipstick and chapped skin just don't go.

So there you have it. Go out there and make yourself pretty! Or nag at your girlfriend until she puts some effort into it. 

Elton stared at me for a full ten seconds with a bemused look on his face today. Granted, he's prone to staring at me because of my utter chioness, but today it was for a different reason.

"The hair colour...the eyes...I think I'll need some time to get used to it," he said, still staring, as we walked.

I had, with the aid of a $9.90 home dye kit, gone blonde. Or rather, Sweet Chai Beige, according to the package. It's supposed to be a pinkish beige, but they probably got a bad translator, so my hair colour now is like milk tea, with more tea than milk. Then, because black eyes don't go too well with blonde hair, I bought hazel coloured contacts to go along. The effect is very J-Poppish, which I'm happy with, because it's about as far from the black hair, black eyes, red nails and blue eye shadow I had to wear for two fucking years. Oh, about the nails, they're a sparkly pink gradient, and I stuck a clear crystal on each because I wanted to experiment with the nail glue I bought from Daiso.

And I love it. People stare like I'm some kind of freak, but I just dismiss it as them gawking at my utter chioness. They're probably thinking how vain I am and how long it must take to make myself look like that (not long, really, about half an hour in make up; the hair dye and the manicure are pretty permanent). To these people, I say, fuck you, at least I give a damn about how I look, and this is the only time I can do this before I have to become one of you clones of the Ugly (no, literally) Singaporean.

Go on out and take a look for yourself. There is literally a template for the bland baby boomer look. The guys wear specs, have this nondescript yet strangely xia lan face, a bit of a belly, #4 haircut from your neighbourhood Sri Nada, and some polo tee, bermudas and flip flop get up courtesy of your neighbourhood pasar malam. The women have short blah hair that haven't seen conditioning in a long time, also wear specs, have these depressed pissed off faces completely without makeup or with very badly applied blusher (for work and formal events), and pretty much the same outfit, except the top is usually some round necked, badly fitting tee from the discount bins of Giordano or Hang Ten.

If we move the age scale down much lower, to the younger than me category, there's the secondary school girls who all have that super layered not-long-not-short hair do that they insist on tying in this stupid little pony tail with wispy bits flying all around that they attempt to clamp to their head with enough bobby pins to set off a metal detector. And the boys who are quite remarkably boring with no apparent trend in sight. At least during my generation they had the fringe to rival McDonald's Golden Arches and the tiny Outdoor backpack. Not attractive, but it was different. One running theme; they all stink. Badly. Like they haven't changed their school uniforms since the school year started and their parents didn't buy deodorant for them because they refuse to believe their child has hit puberty.

My new look may not be entirely original, but at least I picked a prettier template. Which is more than I can say for the Clones.

One thing I realized on my very first day as a light brunette (it's not blonde lah; bleaching is painful and best left to the professionals) with hazel eyes is that people tend to think you're dumb. Which is ok, because any sort of sentience on your part leaves them shocked and stunned, during which time you can quickly get what you want out of them and get out of there. Like the financial consultant guy at the bank. He didn't think much of me when I walked in through the door. Then he got my driver's licence, checked my account, and immediately had an attitude change, which amused me to no end.

It's good, because it dissuades credit card sales people; they assume you have no money because you're a student (not realizing that regular mani-pedis, hair dye, coloured contacts, fake lashes and cute oufits cost quite a lot). It's bad, because unless you're applying for the job of a race queen, people don't assume you're capable of greater responsibilities than making sure your dark roots don't show. Girls tend to give you the derisive up-down, where they start thinking bitter thoughts in their head because they're really just jealous that they didn't put in the time and effort to doll up and all the guys are staring at you. Guys tend to stare because there is a lot to stare at, but they're thinking that you're waaaay too high maintenance for that and secretly fear what they find once they dip you in a vat of makeup remover.

(I dunno, Elton, I don't look too bad without my makeup, right?)

But in general, zhnging yourself into a mini Ayumi tends to bring on bad vibes. Unless, of course, you're Ayumi, in which case going blonde and getting the most ridiculous nails sets off an entire nation worshipping you and following in your stylish footsteps.

So why the heck did I do it? Am I not afraid that I'll be accused of copying the legally embattled blondes of the blogosphere? Am I not worried that I'll not be able to find a job?

Well, I realized that it takes not having a job to have the time to do stuff like stick crystals all over my keyboard and my nails, dye my hair, and put on fake lashes, hence the comparison to those two sticks, in a way. Besides, I'm starting to like Wendy a lot after reading more of her blog (and scarily agreeing with quite a lot of her more controversial opinions, like using handicap-friendly toilets when there are no handicapped people around), so I don't even mind it that much. And I really really want this break, so the hair should dissuade my mom from evangelizing about finding a job through the Classifieds (such faith in our national newspaper she has), because even she realizes no one's going to employ me for a boring ass office job looking like this.

And while I may look like a doll now, I'm still the same girl deep down. In fact, not that deep down. Stick me in the driver's seat of a car and I'll still be cussing a blue streak. Stick me in line behind a bunch of morons and I'll still be bitching about them.

Like today. We were queueing up for bubble tea at Junction 8 (it's tasty, with chewy tapioca balls; what's not to like) behind a bunch of RJC students, three guys and a girl, to be exact. And for some reason, these four kids who managed to score a single digit on six subjects on their O Levels couldn't figure out what flavour bubble tea they wanted. And they say RJ students go on to rule Singapore. I fear for our future.

So since they were standing a little ways away from the counter and doing their Indecision Huddle, I squeezed in front of them and said hi to the girl behind the counter, with whom we are passing friendly because we order from her all the time, but she's quite a grouchy character. She smiled at me, then shot a gaze to the Science Fac Four behind me. I turned and asked, innocently, complete with eyelash bat, "Oh, are you ordering?"

The girl stared at me with the are-you-a-moron-look and said, "Uh, yeah." If she was at least average looking, this is where this paragraph would end and I would continue with the story. But as it was, that girl's plainness was startling. Like really. If you looked up Science Fac Geek on Wikipedia, you'd probably see her picture right there, complete with her Ugly Betty-esque braces and her shiny forehead.

So I said, "Would you mind hurrying (the fuck) up?" and squeezed back again. Words in parentheses not included since we need to keep to a PG rating for the sake of the retarded children.

They hurried the fuck up in making up their minds, then slowed the fuck down digging in their piggy banks for the money to pay for the $1.50 a pop drinks. At which I rolled my hazel eyes, fringed with a heavy fan of lashes. Then Ti Geh (it would be Ti Kee, but that has a different meaning in Hokkien) decided to bitch about me to her boy toys. She did a pretty good job of it; I didn't hear what she said. But there's no mistaking the looks she shot me and her idiot boy friend's too loud reply, "YA, SHE'S A BIT THE..." A bit the what? More dazzlingly attractive than the chick you and your guy friends all decided to hang with? A bit the assertive because I don't have the patience for morons like you? It's BUBBLE TEA lah, not rocket science. You don't even have a strong opinion about what to drink and you don't have the courtesy to let other people go first?

I ignored them. Though I did tell Elton about it, more of an observation than a call for help. He wanted to defend my honour, which was very sweet.

I managed to rise above the pettiness mainly because once upon a time, I was boring schoolgirl #18950. I never had braces, though I kinda regret that (because your teens is the only time when braces is acceptable), but that was before the age of eye makeup, and I looked pretty dull. Not ugly, thank god, but not fantastic either. I put myself in her track shoes and realized that I too, would have been bitchy if a dressed up dolled out (DUDO) chick cut my queue and told me off for being slow. Jealousy, such an ugly emotion.

The thing is, if I can undergo Ayumification, so can most girls. It takes some effort, a little research, some money and time, but most people can look chio too. Really. I say most, because there's just no helping some people, not with just hair colour and makeup anyway. Heck, you don't even have to dye your hair blonde or wear coloured contacts to look good, though the lighter colours tend to make things stand out more, like the layers in your hair.

So don't hate, people. Create. Use all that negative energy and go make yourself chio chio.

So I spent most of my day (supposed to be another family bonding day) tweaking my pictures with Photoshop after last night's amazing discovery. And now, I feel an extreme need to lose weight around my face.

If you've been following this blog or know me in real life, you know I have chubby cheeks. Depending on how well you know me, you'll also know that my entire clan has chubby cheeked women (well, Mom's side anyway; Dad's side actually has prettier women, although a bit short. Then again, both clans are short, so I would think I'm a swapped baby, but the cheeks and teeth make it clear that wah si wah bu eh kia.)

So the cheeks got targeted with the magical Liquify filter with a vengeance. And the hairline. One steward told me I had no reason to fear ghosts, what with my giant shiny forehead.

Speaking of ghosts, Seventh Month coming again. Dammit all to hell!

Of course, things didn't go so well with the first photo I tweaked, which was one of Elton and I on our fifth anniversary (yay!). I somehow didn't realize I made us look like aliens and sent the pictures off to Elton with joy, expecting him to deluge me with requests to edit all his photos. In typical me fashion, I shan't paste the photos here (also because unlike me, he's a very private person. There's a reason why I don't blog much about him, or us.), but leave you to imagine two faces with really sucked in cheeks and bulbous eyes (Bloat tool OD).

Over the course of the afternoon, I edited a few more photos and got better at it. Even did one of my mom.

By the end of the session, I realized I wanted to be a vampire. More specifically, a Tzimisce vampire with many many dots in Vicissitude and the corresponding Abilities and Attributes (because you don't want an amateur sculpting your body parts). For the non-geeks, Vicissitude is this ability that vampires from the Tzimisce clan have that allows them to literally sculpt bodies, theirs or other people's. Like Liquify in real life. How fucking cool is that? Ate a little too much? Just literally take it off. Or push it up into your boobs. No pain, no cutting, no swelling and recovery period. I want.

But although I now sported the tiny gua zi lian that Kym keeps going on about in a few of my photos, I realized I looked very very different from my actual self and not in a good way either. Just because I can have Mary Kate Olsen's face shape didn't mean it suited me. I needed the chubby cheeks to look like myself. Just maybe a shade less.

And I also need to do something about this hair cut of mine...not exactly flattering at the moment.

Since this is a ridiculously short post (for me, anyway), I'd like to guide other buyers of the HTC Touch Diamond to Google Maps. Download it for your mobile phone and never get lost again, so long you have a Sunsurf subscription or whatever the other two telcos call their mobile internet thing.

Yes, download. You can technically just go to the Google Maps website on your browser, but I find it takes too long to load and sometimes trying to click on the damned buttons on the webpage is very trying. It's free too, and compatible with most, if not all phones. If you're using a Nokia there's Nokia Maps. But if you're like me, bought a GPS enabled phone that came with no map software installed/included, there's Google Maps.

First day of the interim period and I've felt the need to fill the void. Sort of. Went for a mani-pedi mother-daughter bonding session and now my nails look as though they can spin pink cotton candy if I wave them too fast. It's cool, they're sparkly, pink, and have a gradient effect so the tips look almost fuchsia but the nail bed is almost transparent. Mom got a safe lavender colour. No judgments; the woman does a lot of housework and I proudly do none. (Although I am capable to doing hard labour while keeping my manicure intact, as the past two years have shown. Took practice, but now I'm a pro at it.)

This is where I would post a series of pictures showcasing my kickass fairy nails, but I'm a lazy git. Use your imagination.

Then I went to Kinokuniya and bought books to occupy the time. Two magazines (Simply Her and the Mandarin version of Vivi, because Japanese fashion/beauty mags are teh bomb), two books (The World According To Clarkson and Pop Babylon, because life is tough enough that my hobbies shouldn't be too taxing), and one street directory for Elton, because his is so out of date, my house doesn't even exist on it.

And with the street directory, I got this CD that allows you to install maps on your smart phone. Since Elton's phone is barely sentient (he's waiting for the N96 to hit the market before he replaces it), I grabbed it and tried to techify my phone a bit more. The good news is, I now have the street directory on my phone. Yay. The not so great news, it still can't tell me where to go. Good thing my topo very good, according to my uni friend. Iz teh queen of teh maps.

I also went to Watson's to get a new eye cream and a two-way cake, but that's another story.

(Well, if you're interested, the area around my eye was starting to get crepey. And I discovered my current two-way cake (the ZA whitening one) covers a little too well, so the effect can get a little mask-like, so I'm trying out the Maybelline Angelfit one.)

And then, that is not all, I borrowed the D&D 4th Ed Dungeon Master's Guide and Monster Manual from Elton in preparation of running my own D&D game. Since the system is all new, everyone starts from ground zero, I'm unemployed, it's as good a time as any to try my hand at DMing. Let it not be said that I am a slacker. Oh nononononono, I am a whirlwind of activity, I am.

I DMed, or rather, STed, once upon a time, a very sad and pathetic game that lasted for all of two sessions until my world creating ambitions were crushed by my evil ex. Of course, at that time he was my boyfriend, so the words he said meant a lot. My game sucked, and so I stopped it. Then again, I was trying to run Vampire, the one game I have the least real-life knowledge for. Fuck do I know about immortality and the politics and the shady back lanes of shady cities? I think women sleeping with their bosses to get up the career ladder is the extreme of politics already. (Yesh, despite the rampant cursing, I am still a naive little girl. I just read too much for my own good.)

So when 4th Ed came out at such an opportune time, what with the revisions making the game more streamlined, accessible and idiot-proof (no, really, it pretty much is), it seemed like a good idea to announce my intentions to the gaming table (softly) that I may run a game.

Oddly enough, Air Force Terence (we call him that to differentiate him from the other Terence, because surnames aren't fun enough) apparently asked Elton to push me a little. The odd part comes from the dream I had where he appeared and pushed me a little just before Elton's message woke me in the morning. I think it's a sign. The stars have aligned, there's no rest for the wicked.

I think I may have to extend the two month in-between-work break.

I guess the reluctance comes from the pressure that comes with being a DM. There's a hell of a lot more effort you have to put in when you're DMing as opposed to when you're playing. You're "on" for the whole session, whereas some players can have extended break periods (such as when their character gets riddled by arrows and goes down within the first round of a super long combat). Then there's the fact that the whole world comes from you. The plot, the characters, the random herd of branthas that the PCs encounter. It's all from you. You're the person people turn to for arbitration of the rules. When you don't know your stuff, we get the "game loading" screen and people go off for yoghurt runs. (We play in a food court. We now have shares in the Yami Yoghurt stand.) It's tough, and that's why not many people DM.

Elton is one of the few who constantly does, and I'm not saying this because I'm dating him, but he's a helluva good one. I've played in other people's games, and some of them are either too antagonistic (me-against-the-players), too slack (I'm-reading-the-module-just-now), or too egotistical (wah-si-lim-DM!). There's only one other guy's game I've been in and I would be willing to play in again, if not for the fact that he's a good friend of my ex, who has pretty much done the they-are-my-people-not-yours thing. That's fine, I got the bulk of "the people" after we split anyway.

But what I've noticed about games that are enjoyable is that the good DMs prepare. They segue seamlessly from scene to scene with minimal lag time. They come with all the books, so it's easy to quickly refer to things, they come with maps and dungeon layouts and minis and stats for their characters. There is a plan, and usually there is this silent affectionate hand of the invisible DM to nudge (or shove) your characters in the right direction. Role playing games are free flow; technically you can do whatever you want in them, but more fun is had when there is some direction, and a good DM can provide that without planting big neon signs in the landscape or magically transporting all your characters there (although in certain universes, that's usually how they do it).

That is the standard I want to live up to, which is why I find it so difficult to start. Because if you play one character badly in a game, that's no big deal. If the game is bad, you just wasted the time of everyone who bothered to turn up. And although we are gamers, that doesn't mean we don't have other things we'd rather do with our time. In fact, it usually means we have other games we'd rather play in that time. And it would suck if people started making excuses not to come for my game because it wasn't fun (since they most likely wouldn't tell it to my face).

But there's no way to find that out other than to try. And that, I can do. After all, I have all the time in the world now.
 

One of the biggest downsides of constantly flying is that it wreaks havoc on your health. The changes in temperature, humidity and the long hours in the germ chamber that is the aircraft can get you sick in a lot of ways. Your skin is usually the first to go.

I came back from Los Angeles with the worst break out I've ever had, as well as rashes and dry flaking skin on my face. It was shocking how red and blotchy it was. I turned to Proactive, the skin treatment they have that infomercial on TV for. It helped with the zits; they reduced in size drastically within three days. It didn't help with the other things though.

So I went to see a dermatologist. It was quite expensive, but at least now, the redness has gone away, though it still itches when I sweat. I discovered that Avene skincare is apparently good for sensitive skin, so much so that derms prescribe it. I was given this extremely gentle cleanser that you can just wipe off with tissue, because sometimes people can have skin that's sensitive even towards water. Best part is, it even removes mascara. I have a sneaking suspicion I'll be using it even after my skin reverts to normal.

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who had a father with two strong arms and rather bell-bottomed pants, and a mom with Farrah Fawcett hair. She thought she was the prettiest princess in the world, even after her father lost the strength in one of her arms and her mother stopped smiling as much. She loved books, and her dream was to write not just one, but many many books of her own, for other pretty princesses to read. She practiced, by writing stories of a particularly clever and dexterous little cat who had brownish-black fur, just like her hair. (It was an Abyssinian, not a calico, unlike what a silly cousin of hers thought. But more on that cousin later.)

But, this not being fairy tale land, that pretty princess soon began to realize that she was just a little girl. Not a particularly attractive one at that. Her forehead was too high. Her hair was too limp. And her ears, oh my, her ears. If she ran too fast on a windy day, she might just take off on them. No prince, she soon realized, was about to ride in and rescue her on his white horse. In fact, even the regular boys ran away from her, since she was quite prone to throwing tantrums and hitting them.

Then she realized that the stories she was so fond of writing were, in fact, painfully childish and full of infantile, made-up words like "mousing". (Which is not true, she read that first in an Enid Blyton book.) Oh cousin, how deep that wound was. She never showed her work to another person again. Though she did write, in secret, they were never seen by another's eyes. She took to writing diaries, for perhaps fiction wasn't her strongest suite, then telling her life's story can't possibly go wrong. After all, no one was supposed to read them.

By this time, she was old enough that all the girls around her were starting to pair off with boys and go out on dates, but she remained alone, shy, awkward, a pumpkin still waiting for a fairy godmother to transform her into something special and beautiful. She'd been tricked by the wicked school rules into cutting off her long beautiful hair, and now had a head that resembled a mushroom. Oh, cried the princess, can no one see that I am truly beautiful underneath?

Alas, teenagers were superficial, and the princess was cast to the outskirts of society, included as a fool for the other princesses to entertain themselves with. The princes scorned her, made fun of her, and spread ugly rumours about her, which she thankfully never knew until the time had passed and they were to leave school.

But it was a painful time for the princess. Instead of the joy and positivity of her childhood, she was now filled with doubts about herself and felt horrid, for she could no longer remember what it felt like to be loved. She even experimented with lesbianism, for she looked so much like a boy, but it didn't seem very princessy, so she stopped.

Time passed, then the exams came, and for months, the princess forgot all about her problems and worked hard to pass. She no longer subjected herself to the cruel scissors of Bob the evil 80s hairdresser, and her hair grew back.

The spell had been broken! The other princes and princesses finally saw her for the beauty that she was, and welcomed her back, but she did not know that the Curse of the Mushroom Head had been lifted. Still shy, awkward and socially challenged, the princess slowly returned to them, but she still could not believe that she was no longer the dreadful boy-like creature she had once been.

And then the princess discovered makeup. By now, she was old enough to put it on, and so she did. And she rejoiced, for finally, in the mirror, was the girl she always knew she was. Now, everyone could see her too, and love her for who she truly was.

Still, it took years for the princess to slowly become at ease with herself again, and she was forever conscious of how she looked, for fear of the curse returning again.

The end.

Well, ok, not quite. Elton and I went to watch Enchanted, and I was reminded of my childhood days, when The Little Mermaid was my favourite cartoon bar none, and all the Disney princesses were constantly making their rounds on my TV screen. We went to my place after that and I went through some of my old photos. There are those of me as a baby, then a little girl, then as a dark and ugly teenager who didn't know what to do with her limbs. It was prom night at the end of my JC days where I finally had pretty pictures of myself.

It has remained a struggle. Uni days had been tough too; I vacillated between babedom and tomboy-ness. Living in a hostel with $9 a day didn't make for great sartorial leaps. I comforted myself with the knowledge that at least my face looked ok, now that I could put on makeup and go to school.

But now that I can afford clothes, my hair is short again, and my front teeth are more crooked than ever, and I'm heavier than I've ever been in my entire life, so my cheeks are threatening to swallow the rest of my face. The irony, I swear.

I know it sounds superficial, but we judge people based on how they look. What did the fairy tale princesses have going for them but looks? In those books, the ugly were either spiteful, stupid or evil. Quasimodo was probably the only one who broke the mould, and that alone was the basis for the story, not whatever else he did aside from that. Outside of the fairy tales, I still rib Elton mercilessly on the dismissive once-over he gave me the first time we met. My hair was tied up, exposing my big fat face, I wasn't dressed very well, though those were the best clothes I had at the time. I looked terrible, and I saw it in that look.

I won't say that I look great now, because I don't think I'm at my best yet, but there's definitely a marked improvement. Of the sort that would make the people from my past gawk in stunned astonishment that yes, even I can look good. I'm still aware of some of the insecurities from the past that have resurfaced because of work and the constant newness of meeting strange people on each flight. I'm still physically awkward, and I have a feeling that may not change much.

On the bright side, it does prove Helena Rubenstein's famous quote, "There are no ugly women, only lazy ones."

Although the bouncers at St. James think otherwise. Then again, one can't really fault them, in a way. Tactless though it was, Ladies' Night is a time-honoured tradition where women are plied with freebies to act as bait so that the clubs don't have to employ models. Face it, sex sells, and clubs are for sex. You can say all you want about going there to dance or to drink or whatever, but hello, unless you're some particularly delusional Puritan with giant blinkers on, a large majority of people go there for the charged up sexual energy. Whether they end up in bed with someone else or not is another issue, but while they are there, they will look and be looked at, and possibly grind against somebody.

So when people abuse the win-win situation that clubs have adopted as a rule, by turning up in their unsexy work clothes or with a face plain enough to scare little children, I'm not entirely shocked that clubs finally put their foot down. Although I'm surprised they couldn't have done it more subtly.

There are probably a lot of women out there who consider me vain. I can't leave the house without at least drawing my eyebrows. Usually, it's concealer, foundation, eyebrows, eyeliner, mascara, blusher and lipgloss. At least. If I feel like it, eyeshadow. My nails are usually done, but that's because of work. And I'm anal about them; I can't stand it if they're chipped or scratched or anything less than ten perfect mirrored red squovals of just the right length (anything too long and they look quite slutty. And dangerous in a put-your-eye-out sort of way).

And it shocks me when I go out and see the sheer number of women in Singapore who wear absolutely no makeup despite the fact that they are quite in need of some. Look, if you're 15 and above, please, hide your flaws and project your strengths. Don't walk out with your grey eyebags and your sallow skin and your unplucked brows. You do not look great au naturel unless you are naturally blessed with skin that looks like it has makeup on already. And I've only seen one girl in my entire lifetime so far who fits that description. We are already on the losing end with our racially less three dimensional bone structure (not a racist slur, just a anthropological observation), so please, stop giving the impression that we don't give a damn about how we look, because fuck it, we are heck of a sensitive nation.

So, in case this disgusting phenomenon of appearing in public ungroomed and unkempt is due to ignorance rather than some bizarre delusion that we are really an island of supermodels (heck, even Tyra Banks needs makeup), here's my humble attempt at educating the masses.

My favourite makeup products
I don't really care about the brand of stuff, so long as it's good. And by good, I mean texture, consistence and resistance. Let me guide you through that. Texture is first and foremost. Ever tried using cheap eyeshadow? It's like rubbing sand on your eyelids, and the colour turnout usually sucks. It's hard to blend, and looks caked on, and just takes a lot of energy to look right. So save yourself the pain, and go for something a little more upmarket. No need to pay $100, but please don't pay $1, something around $10 to $30 usually is good enough, and that covers the major drugstore brands, like L'Oreal, Maybelline and so on.

Consistence means it should look like what you bought it for. If it's supposed to be green, it shouldn't turn grey after you put it on or in another light. Always, always test, because rarely do things look like what they are in the tube or pot. Especially with sheer lipsticks.

Finally, resistance. How long it stays on. Ok, makeup that stays on until you take it off only works if your skin is not too oily. And it never works for lipstick, because you'll get this disgusting line where your lips meet of, uh, biological buildup. Probably saliva, skin cells and lipstick. Trust me, I know; I have had makeup on for almost 20 hours before on a regular basis. But in general, for colours and coverage (i.e. eyeshadows, blushers and the spot concealing your zit), you don't want your makeup to Houdini on you. Again, cheap stuff tend to fade. But no need to splurge either.

Now that the basics are covered, here's some of the stuff I use.

Concealer: Maybelline's Perfect Concealer. It's cheap and good. Covers eyebags easily, and zits too, with a bit of work. I used to use the L'Oreal concealer that comes in a pen form, sort of like the mother of all concealers, the Yves Saint Laurent Touche Eclat, but I stopped because it was too expensive and didn't have enough juice to warrant that price. Just remember, with concealers, don't slap on too much. Scrape the applicator against the top of the tube to get rid of the excess, and use the rest to fix your eyebags, the sides of your nose, your mouth and any zits or dark spots you have. Daub on with the wand, then use your fingers to pat it in. Don't rub, because it'll all get on your finger and your spot will still be obvious as hell.

Next step, foundation. I use a two-way cake because it's fast, it's easy and it feels less heavy than liquid foundation. That, and I've not found a liquid foundation I like yet. I'm currently using the ZA Two-Way Foundation, the True White version, because hey, with all the sun and UV exposure, I could do with the help. Again, cheap and good, and comes with refills, so you can help save the environment a little. The sponge is antibacterial, and I've never had it stink on me, and I usually use one till the powder it came with finishes, without washing. I hate washing sponges. The toughest part is finding the right colour, which you do by testing it on your jawline, not your hand, because they are not the same colour, and you're wearing it on your face, not your hand. I prefer this to liquid foundation because instead of foundation, concealer then loose powder, I skip a step, because this helps to set the concealer too.

Then, eyebrows. As much as I tried, my favourite is still ZA Everbrows in GY70. I have very faint eyebrows, and I draw them everyday, and this helps me get them on in the fastest way possible. It's a nice slim automatic (no sharpening) pencil with a brush at the end to blend the colour out so you don't look like you drew your eyebrows on. The effect is very natural, so long you don't go all out in filling them in. But before you do this, and if you have no defined eyebrows, please go to a professional at MAC or Browhaus or Shu Uemura and get them plucked. Trust me, the difference is enormous, and everyone will be complimenting you on your good looks and wondering what the heck you did (unless you got a botched job, in which case they'll be wondering what the heck happened to you).

I also use the wax eyebrow colour from Browhaus, but that's not my favourite, because it takes some time to get it right, and you need to apply it using a slightly stiff slanted brush, which is impossible to find in Singapore, for a low price. I managed to get mine from Korea, The Face Shop for about $5. Thank god for my job. But it's good stuff once you get it on, because it stays on, even after snuggling with your honey.

Eyeliners. They are so key. Unless you're blessed with nice thick and dark eyelashes that frame your eyes, you probably look like a large patch of face from a distance. These help to emphasize your eyes, so you don't look like you're going to get swallowed by your cheeks. Right now I'm using Bourjois' Liner Stylo, which has just the right slip, so the lines you draw are smooth and even, with no funny skip marks like you're using a crayon. It comes with a sharpener at the end, although it is an auto pencil as well, in case you like your lines razor thin. I like it, and it's sort of tied with my other favourite, the Black Bean Eyeliner Pencil from Skin Food. This one I like for the smudger at the end, which lets you blend out the lines without having to dirty your finger or waste tissue, and for the texture as well.

For mascara, I like the Lash Exact Volume by Covergirl, but that is not available pretty much anywhere except the US, at the moment. They have the lengthening version in Australia, but I need thickness, not length. I like it because it doesn't clump at all, and it's pretty affordable. Now I'm using Yes To Volume No To Clumps by Bourjois. It really is quite good for volume, but the clump part, well, you need to use the brush to comb them out; it's not just one swipe and go. Please, curl your goddamned lashes before you put mascara. If your curler works, it will stay curled. If your lashes flop, get another curler, don't subject your lashes to torture by curling after mascara. I use this little compact curler from Sasa, that's a small plastic thing that looks like a small plastic toy from a Kinder Surprise. It has a flap that folds down to move the curler, and it works.

Now, your face looks like what it will be if there was no such thing as skin discolouration or hair scarcity. And you can add colour.

The best part about colour is that you can really go cheapskate here. Price is no issue, so long it doesn't look like shit. Just remember, if the texture sucks and it's just not consistent, you're going to get frustrated trying to put it on without looking like a clown. The reason why I don't say that for things like eyeliner and mascara, even though they are just black, or dark brown, is because they're so damn close to your eyeball. Please don't fuck around. No makeup can hide an inflamed eye (Visine can, but that's another issue, and it can't hide pus flowing from your eye).

For blusher, I'm using Maybelline's Duo Cheek Blush. It's got a brush in it of a good size, the packaging is nice and slim, the colour stays on quite well and looks natural. I used to use the L'Oreal one, but again, it's more expensive and not that much better, though the brush on that one is a better size. Some people are purists and think good brushes are essential. I say, it's your face, not the Mona Lisa. Nobody's going to scrutinize you that close, and even if they do, they're not going to be able to notice that the colour pigments are not exactly in the same spot. Remember, your fingers are your friends; any harsh lines, just use them to sweep things around.

For lipsticks, well, I have no favourites. I'm currently using Maybelline's Shine Seduction Lipgloss, at least, that's what they call it on the internet. It's this slim metal tube that oozes out the colour from these holes at the top when you twist the bottom. It's sheer, not too sticky, and quite shiny. Good stuff. For sheer stuff, any brand is ok, so long it's shiny, not too goopy and has enough colour for you. Good place for beginners to start too, although glosses generally feel heavier than lipsticks, ironically. L'Oreal's Glam Shine is excellent too, not sticky at all.

But for real colour, please, don't dig in the bargain bin. They'll stain your lips, and it's damn hard to get the stain out. And again, don't need to go all high end, Maybelline and L'Oreal is fine. Personally, I'm using MAC's Russian Red for work. It's a solid blue red, matte finish, and it stays on like crazy. Very few drugstore brands locally, in fact, none of them, I think, have good reds. It's all these coral or brown shades trying to masquerade as red, because the locals think red is cheena. Well, red is not cheena, you ignorant bumpkins, vermillion is, and only on Asian skin. Even vermillion isn't a dead colour; black people can wear it and look fantastic. Whatever colour it is, just stay in the lines and don't stray too far. Colour the corners of your mouth too, because you look silly when you open your mouth and there's no colour there. No need for lip pencils; I've never had the need for one, at least.

Finally eyeshadow. Well, same rules of the triumvirate apply. So long it doesn't feel like sandpaper and doesn't require too much elbow grease to blend and looks like what it should look like, it's fine. If it stays on, even better. You never know, some people like reapplying stuff. Only thing though; just because it's in a palette doesn't mean they'll all look good on you. I bought a silver and dark grey palette before, only to find that the silver was too dark, and made me look like I was defending my featherweight championship and lost quite badly.

This is the trickiest product to apply, frankly, and some explanations are in order. First, there are two ways of going about this; one colour or multiples. For one colour, you usually take a neutral or shimmery colour that is quite light but close to your skin tone (i.e. if you're tanned, don't take like some pastel pink thing with giant sparkles) and swipe it on your entire eyelid. Stop at the imaginary lines between the inner and outer corners of your eye and eyebrow and blend it so it doesn't look like a solid block of colour from point A to point B. If you hit your nose or your ears, you've gone way too far.

Now, the multiple colours. Usually two to three shades, though some adventurous types put more on. Leave that to the pros, please. Two shades; lighter one is close to your skin tone, no matter what colour. Shouldn't be toooooo much contrast. This is the one that helps you blend the colour to your skin, so it looks like you were naturally born with brown eyelids, or grey, or whatever colour you like. This takes up the most skin area. The darker shade can be anything. No issue. For three shades, the middle shade is the bridge between the two.

Application wise, there are a couple of variations. One, spread light colour all over eyelid, or from lashes up to the socket (i.e. where your eyeball ends and your skull begins), then apply darker colour at the outer ends of your eyes, just a dab, and blend inwards with fingers. This gives you a somewhat cat-eyed appearance. If there's a third colour, place it between the darker and lighter colours and blend it so there's a gradual light to dark over your eyelid. Two, light colour all over eyelid or up to socket, dark colour from lashes up to crease. Good for girls with larger eyes and with double eyelids.

I'm using Maybelline's Colour Wear Trio Eyeshadow for work, mostly because there are very few blues around. For play, I'm using Bourjois' Petit Guide de Style in Call Me Rose. The pink and brown combo is very natural, I find, and
the colours blend nicely. Best of all, the packaging is just adorable, with the little mirror inside to help you put it on. It even has instructions.

For nails. This is really optional, but at the very least, have clean nails that are shaped (not ragged) and of a manageable length. Long nails are scary. Two to three milimetres out is my maximum. A nice shape is the squoval, a squared oval, so the sides don't scratch you.

But if you want to polish, welcome to the club of waiting for-bloody-ever. I personally like to push back my cuticles before I polish, but a lot of people don't, so you can save a lot of time if you like. Then again, I'm anal.

Forget about applying straight from the bottle. You want it to look good, last long and not destroy your nails, you do the three step system of base coat, polish, top coat. Unless, of course, you just want it to be around for a day or so and it's not a dark colour and so won't stain your nails. For base coat, I'm using Orly's Nail Armor, which makes the polish last forever. I rarely chip nails now, after I started using that, and when the colour does chip, it's only in small bits.

For colour, OPI. Spare me the fast dry nonsense. They just dry up before you use half the bottle and turn into useless gloop, and they take just as long to dry completely anyway. In fact, regular nail polishes dry just as fast, if you apply thin coats, rather than thick ones. You want something with the consistency of milk that stays that way, and you need something with a brush that's wide enough that you can sweep your whole nail in three strokes, max. OPI is your friend, though it's quite pricey. But if you do this on a regular basis, it's a worthwhile investment. Bourjois has a new nail polish called the 1 Seconde, which features a wide brush that'll cover your entire nail at one go. It's pretty good, and easy to use. Only problem arises when the brush is bigger than your nail. So two coats of colour, and then with the protection.

Top coats help the polish last longer. And they gloss it all up very nicely. And, if you're like me, they also help to cut down the time you're incapacitated. I use Sally Hansen's Insta-Dri topcoat, which does seem to instantly dry up things. By the time I'm down with my last toe nail, the first finger nail that was swabbed with this is dry to the touch. But, I repeat, only to the touch. It's not completely set all the way down yet. So while you can flip through a magazine gingerly or touch things, don't subject them to any hard knocks or direct hits. They'll still get a nice big dent and you'll have to start over. Best to do this before a TV show, preferably an hour long one. After that, you're good to go. Best way to test is to lightly touch the surface of two nails together. If they have any hint of sticking together, they're not dry.

Ok, that's all for now. More another time. Skin care, maybe. Or hair.