Wednesday, July 2nd, 2008
This little glimpse into my beauty cabinet is for your own sake, not mine; because seeing all of this gluttony pushes me to acknowledge something I don’t want to admit: I am a beauty product junkie. Yes, it’s true. I have a tendency of buying & trying new products just to find a new “must-have.” (It always seems like a good idea at the time.) Now that I’m married & living in an impeccably small (but chic!) space, I’m learning that collecting beauty items isn’t very practical. Not to mention, Lover hates this little bad habit of mine.
Nevertheless… here are my personal beauty essentials. Meaning: no matter what amazing beauty product comes out, I still buy these things because they give me the most satisfaction. & I think that is what truly matters most.
Going from left to right:
- LUSH: Tea Tree Water spray; I use this right after I wash away my makeup. It’s very refreshing & 100% natural. & I love the smell of tea tree.
- Sephora brushes: powder & blush brush; These are the best brushes I’ve ever used, but I loathe the fact that they are made from animal hair. They work beautifully, otherwise.
- Redken: Smooth Down, Heat Glide serum; Keeps the frizz under control & protects from the unhealthy heat of my flatiron.
- Covergirl TruBlend mineral powder bronzer: golden sunrise; After I dust Revlon’s mineral foundation all over (this is not shown) I apply just a dab of this bronzer on the apples of my cheeks, the tip of my chin, the bridge of my nose & a few swipes on my forehead. I use very little.
- Maybelline Great Lash Mascara: very black; I adore this product. Not just because it makes my eyelashes look naturally dramatic, but because it’s a classic.
- Nivea Smooth Sensation body lotion; Makes my dry skin silky smooth.
- OPI nail polish: Russian Navy; This color is appropriate for all seasons. It’s a gorgeous navy blue-purple color.
- glomineral blush: sheer petal; This shade is very pink, so I dilute it & I wear it over the bronzer I applied. It gives a very natural flush on my already bronze skin.
- Wet ‘n’ Wild eye pencil in kohl; I very lightly fill in my eyebrows with this pencil to match the color of my hair.
- Kerastase: bain satin & masquintense, #3; After using these luxurious products, I’ll never go back to drugstore shampoos & conditioners again. This is my only splurge; it is far from cheap.
- Chapstick: spearmint flavor; My most favorite staple of all.
- Neutrogena Oil Free Moisturizer; Very lightweight but strong enough to moisturize my dry skin.
- LUSH: The Honeymooner Massage bar; Just the scent of this little bar alone reminds me of intoxicating nights with Lover. If you never buy anything from Lush, at least buy a massage bar (or a bath bomb).
- Bath & Body Works: Coconut Verbena body spray; Victoria’s Secret’s Vanilla Lace is my signature fragrance, but I feel that coconut is the perfect summer smell. Lover cuddles up closer when I’m wearing this.
So, there it is; my disgusting, shameful display of overindulgence.
Today, I was seen in this. Obviously, this isn’t the most daring thing I’ve come up with, but I like it because it suits me. I think everyone would agree that simplicity overrules glamour in 100 degree (F) temperatures, no?
Tank top, from American Apparel; shorts, from Ross; flip-flops, from Payless; jewelry, miscellaneous; headband, from Target; sunglasses, from forever21.
Tuesday, July 1st, 2008
I’ve been struggling to find words to describe my mood & my inner feelings. (I get like this when I begin to feel insignificant.) It’s as though my heart wants to cry out at the top of its lungs, but my fear of rejection silences all attempts. I have been terribly on edge because of my inability to let go & just say.
This morning, I opened my little red diary, in the hopes that maybe I had written something in the past that could express what I feel today. Surprisingly, I found one. Although it doesn’t precisely describe how I’m feeling, it’s fairly close. A bit too close, I think, for comfort.
July 11, 2006 - Tuesday
What happened to my confidence? Suddenly, it has gone to a place that I can’t exist. I hate that more than anything. I feel so incompetent & silly all the time, in almost every circumstance I am in. I feel as though I no longer have an understanding of who I am. I yearn to be what everyone else. I don’t like knowing that I am [still] so easily intimidated & tongue-tied. At the same time, I want to remain true to myself & continue to be “Ev’Yan” because she can be powerful. But, I am timid & unsure of myself.
Boys intimidate me & I am jealous of the pretty girls. I stay quiet most of the time so that I won’t say something I feel is stupid; I am my own worst critic, obviously. I am overly conscious of the stares I get, & I usually imagine that they don’t like what they see. I hate that I don’t belong to a certain “clique” & that I don’t have a label because if I can’t identify with myself, than surely, no one else can either. I hate rejection; being taken advantage of has caused me to become quite conscious of that familiar letdown feeling. I don’t feel “cool” or like I belong. Inside, I feel more like a square. I stutter when I am put on the spot & I say things I don’t really mean to make up for my insecurity feelings. I am very hard on myself about these things; I haven’t ever tried to deal with it since I was in 6th grade.
It brings me back to the first time I was ever at summer camp. I was the only black girl there, in a swarm of blond-haired beauties. I remember crying one night because I felt lame & out of place; I didn’t have any friends. I was deeply intimidated by everyone who conversed with me, because I felt — & almost knew — that they were better than me; they were desired more than me. I walked with my head down; I felt very small.
I feel small now. —E.
This revealing of my innermost thoughts is me trying to be more courageous in identifying & admitting my emotions, even if they are unattractive & melancholy. I need to become better at admitting these bad feelings, remembering them & embracing them; telling them that it’s okay, that I love them & that this, too, shall pass. Most importantly, I need to start accepting my true self.
Because, for some reason, I am just much better at being introverted, than gregarious.
Sunday, June 29th, 2008
Shirt, from American Apparel; shorts & shoes, from Ross; tights, from H&M; necklace is my mother’s.
[scene]
It’s a Saturday night at Barnes & Noble. I am sitting in the Sexuality isle, reading an explicit book about how to give the perfect blow job, one leg extended out & the other tucked underneath me. I notice a few people loitering around me, but don’t bother to pay them any attention. After the wanderers clear away, it’s just me & this lanky fellow who is between the age of 20-25. He is standing terribly close to me (or maybe the isles are just small) & I’m starting to think he might need something, because he is pacing about. After a long hesitation, he speaks.
Lanky Fellow: [quietly] Excuse me?
Me: [thinking] Is he talking to me? I hope he’s not talking to me…
Lanky Fellow: [a little louder] Um, excuse me, miss?
Me: [looks up] … yes?
Lanky Fellow: I-I’m sorry to bother you but I just, uh, n-need your advice… if you don’t mind.
Me: [closes book] Okay, sure. How can I help?
Lanky Fellow: Well… I… I’m getting married next week & I was wondering what kind of, uh… books you would recommend for me. Sex books, I mean. You see, it’s my… my first time &… I just need to know some pointers… Would you mind helping me out?
Me: [smiling, to hide my humility] Uh… sure. I mean, I can try. What kind of book are you looking for?
Lanky Fellow: Well… uh, what do you think? I mean… from a women’s perspective, of course, what would you like your… man to… to do, uh, to you… you know what I mean? [clears throat]
Me: [really trying not to giggle, because I don't want to embarrass him] Uh, wow. Um… I don’t know! I mean, you could always go for this book [picks up "Sex for Dummies"] I’m sure this might be informative for you.
Lanky Fellow: [looking crestfallen, almost sad] Oh… I see. You think I’m a dummy… don’t you?
Me: [mortified] Oh no no no! Not at all! That’s not what I meant at all! …
Lanky Fellow: Are you sure? I just… I don’t know about this book…
Me: No no no, I completely understand. I’m sorry. Uh… [pause, trying to collect thoughts] Uh… how about this one? (A book called Urban Tantra) My husband & I [putting a MAJOR stress on the word "husband"] got this book, & we really like it.
Lanky Fellow: [face lights up] Oh yeah? This book is good?
Me: Sure! I mean… I haven’t really read it; my husband has. But he enjoys it so you might like it, as well.
[awkward pause, as he's paging through naked illustrations, hand job techniques & contortionist positions]
Me: Is that book okay? Because I’m sure there are others. You know, I’m not very good with this kind of thing… [thinking, SHIT; How bad did that just sound? I'm not very good with this kind of thing? Oh my god; way to sound like a square. I just made a complete idiot out of myself.]
Lanky Fellow: No no, this is perfect! Thank you so much for all of your help. I really appreciate it.
Me: [still trying to get over the hint of my impotence] Oh sure… sure, no problem! I hope I helped you a little.
Lanky Fellow: Oh you did! Thank you so much. Sorry to bother you!
Me: No trouble at all! … Good luck!
Lanky Fellow waves me off, with a gleam of hope in his eye. & there I sit, in the small Sexuality isle of Barnes & Noble, trying to collect my bearings, while asking myself, Are you serious? Did that really just happen?
These things only happen to me.
Friday, June 27th, 2008
Last night, I picked up my darling little French book again. I find that I’m having to put a hold on my reading after a few pages, simply to contemplate & let it all soak in. This book is just far too important to whiz through, filled with so many goodies & tips that need to be reflected on.
The first section I began to read was about the importance of taking time for even the little things & to try not to multi-task; a habit of mine that has gotten almost out of control. I’m the one who will be sweeping in my underwear, while the showering is warming up, while listening to music & talking on the phone, while the oven is cooking potatoes & the air conditioner is blasting (this is more than true). & when I begin to feel very frazzled & stressed, I stupidly think, “Ugh! Why do I feel so frazzled & stressed?!” Some multitasking can be beneficial for me, but most of the time it’s terribly burdening, not to mention confusing. I burn more dinners & waste more water this way.
The French Girl, however, abhors time & the idea of keeping track of it:
Her notion of time is that of a flâneur — a stroller, one who does not go places with a particular objective or precise schedule, but allows the ambling course of general intentions to guide her into unplanned encounters & special unexpected pleasures. In [the French girl's] world, time is not money. Time is life. … Real life is deep & complex & slowly developed, & it has its roots in fundamental things. And you cannot experience those fundamental things, or true pleasure in life, without taking your time.
The French girl understands that time is immutable & that she, on the other hand, is not. By taking time for herself she’s free to give it back to others.
This is not to say that the French girl has the patience of a monk. She does not. She sometimes drives like a bat out of hell, would park in your kitchen if she could find a space, but when it comes to the essential things in life she does not rush. She does not force today what can get done tomorrow. Time is relative: life is short, memories are long. To all things a season, quite literally.
How positively insightful! I’d like to develop the skills of absentmindedly forgetting about time & just let things flow as they may. Lover always complains that when we go out, I have to have a plan, because I hate wandering around aimlessly. Reading this little section made me think of that & want to fix it so that I can not be so wrapped up with plans, organization & doing it all in one sitting.
& with that, it wraps up with this:
Borrow a Page from the French Girl’s Book: Time
Don’t take short-cuts. Don’t multi-task. Do one thing at a time, completely, in the moment. Remember that time is not money, it’s your life. Let go of the desire to fit everything into one day. Take time for yourself. Invest your time in what is personally relevant & meaningful, because time, in the eternal scheme of things, passes swiftly. (Remember how fast your grew up, how fast your children grow up?) Keep each thing in its place. Work at the office, play at home. Toss the digital watch; go analog.
The next chapter speaks in depth about how the French girl values quality & authenticity. The French girl embodies the principle of quality over quantity, almost effortlessly, like she was born with this kind of thinking. She is conscious of every dress in her closet, every trinket in her lovely home (”things with meaning, things that evoke memories”) & in everything that inhabits her French girl world. Everything in her life has a certain particularity about them, making them precious gems, almost as if they have a soul.
Less is truly more [for the French girl], as long as it’s an expression of quality & authenticity. She resists the expendable, the disposable, the trendy, the faux. She prefers the singular wild flower to the pre-made bouquet. The small car to the big machine. She invariably buys one perfect high-quality dress & not several last satisfying, on-sale ones. And she instinctively knows how to mix & match with natural creativity.
The French girl’s preference for quality over quantity ties directly into her ability to say No: No to excess in people, things or ideas; No to what doesn’t grace her world. Quality over quantity is not just about material things. Who inhabits her world, who feeds her mind, who’s allowed into her private garden? The French Girl would rather spend time alone than with people who simply fill a void.
All of this is something I hope to keep cultivating & unforgettable, for it’s all very true: quality in life is so much more important than more & bigger things. Not just speaking about purses or cars, but people & the relationships you have with them. Because of this, I am proud of my husband being my only best friend & my mother being influencer. I’d rather have those two lovely people than 100 mediocre companions, most definitely.
The next segment I read (which ties into the quality over quantity section) was titled “How to Shop Like a French Girl.” I instantly thought, Oh, do tell! Please tell! Though shortly elaborated, it was the most fun to read because I saw similarities in myself while reflecting on its pages. Not to mention, it’s terribly interesting.
If she [the French girl] can’t afford it, she won’t buy it. If it doesn’t fit (or make her feel good, or flaunt what she’s got), she won’t wear it. If she can’t find it, she won’t compromise. If she loves it, she won’t toss it. She reuses it, rethinks it, lets it age.
When the French girl shops, it isn’t a solitary act of buying something new. It’s a part of a lifelong process of editing her environment, making small but meaningful additions or adjustments to her home, her closet, her life.
When you shop like a French girl, you buy only one of anything — & make sure it’s the best quality you can afford. You know what you want & where to find it (& if you don’t, you’ll learn). You update with accents that are both unique & timeless. You invest in authentic things of quality that will endure & you focus on what’s essential. And when you do find those essential things that work for you, you jump. [If something attracts you in a window, you buy it right then, otherwise you may regret not getting it for the rest of your life.]
While you’re sensitive to the winds of change, you’re not prey to the whims & persuasions of every fad & ad. What’s in or out is less important than what’s YOU: your passions, your personal style.
While reading this, I found myself a bit astonished, because we all know that Paris is one of the biggest fashion capitals of the world. I wondered, You mean… a French girl is surrounded by exquisite trends & breathtaking fashions & she does not succumb to them? She remains true to herself, to her style? She doesn’t have 5 closets full of the must-haves of the seasons, from each collection of different designers? She is… simple??
Of course, this isn’t to say that she doesn’t have a $4,000 purse in her closet; she may even have two! But I think I’ve always had this idea of a French girl being the epitome of stylish, simply because she buys & buys only the luxurious things. But that’s not all together true. & I am thankful to know that, because I was under the impression that I am abnormal because I don’t like to buy very expensive shoes & purses. It truly is more important to acquire, afford, splurge, even collect, things that personally fit my style than what the highest of fashion magazines portray.
I am so grateful to this darling little book. Because it’s more than about being French; it’s about reevaluating your morals & improving your standards. How I wish I were a French girl. I wonder how different I would be if I were born French…
Wednesday, June 25th, 2008
Dress, from long ago; bright blue shoes, from Payless long ago, as well; jewelry, miscellaneous.
This little white dress is my personal piece of history. It has, quite literally, seen every exciting adventure in my life. The very first time I wore it was for a black & white formal party several years ago. I got it on sale, I believe, for ten dollars, which is a steal for such an exquisite dress. I ended up pairing it with some very skinny jeans & white heels (yes; I, too, can’t believe that I actually managed to successfully wear heels all night at a rowdy, drunken party. Amazing.).
That night ended far too soon when a few dozen police came to shut the party down. I was the most sober person there, having only had one wine cooler & a few jell-o shots (I forgot to mention that those were my wilder days), but I certainly shouldn’t have gotten behind the wheel. Regretfully, I was forced to be the designated driver for a few of my friends, because of a misunderstanding of who would be drinking & who wouldn’t. So there I was, trying to back out of a culdesac with 20 cops staring me down, waiting for me to crash into them. I was so full of shame & humiliation, although I can laugh at it now. That was the last time I ever drove while slightly under the influence. Never again, I tell you.
The second adventure in this dress was when I went to see Death Cab for Cutie in concert. Again, I paired The Dress with skinny jeans, flats & a long, brown cardigan. This was two Decembers ago, when Lover & I had first started dating. After our first date, he bought these tickets instantly, after noting that I adored the band. The day after our first date, he told me he scored two tickets to see them in Long Beach. I replied, “Oh, awesome! Well… have a good time & tell me how it is!” not realizing that he had bought them for me. I was very surprised at his random act of kindness, but most surprised that he had actually been paying attention to what I was saying on our first date. Those results are not typical, mind you.
Needless to say, the concert was spectacular & my very first, at that. It was one of the most romantic vacations I’ve ever had with my now-husband. Not to mention, the hotel we stayed in was luxurious. It was a magical night, & in the end, I was very impressed with this fellow who was wooing me with all of his might. I suppose that is why I married him.
Which brings me to the next adventure: our wedding day; or, rather… our wedding night.
I’ve mentioned before that Lover & I eloped to Las Vegas on Christmas night, although it wasn’t really so spur of the moment. We had sat around in our underwear for several hours talking & contemplating on whether or not we should get married that night. After much talk, we felt it was the perfect plan & eventually, we mustered up enough courage to do it. At 6 o’clock that evening, we started to drive to Las Vegas.
Before we left, I told him we should at least try to make ourselves look nice & not so “elopey.” (My mother & father eloped, as well as Lover’s parents; if I’m not correct, they were all married in blue jeans & t-shirts, & I certainly didn’t want that.) I wore The Dress with skinny black jeans, & he wore a white button up shirt with skinny black jeans. We were matching & our pictures turned out splendid because of this.
I had originally planned to wear some very cute white heels with my ensemble, but knowing that I would be driving for three hours straight, I chose to wear something a bit more comfortable: these very bright blue, mesh flats. Being so caught up in the moment & excitement, I forgot to put the other more appropriate shoes on when we arrived at the chapel. Thus, my “something blue” ending up being those shockingly blue flats, which I think is just hilarious. I’m so glad we have a picture of me wearing them.
Naturally, our wedding wasn’t very fancy, but we didn’t want it to be. We had been talking about eloping long before we were even engaged. We didn’t want frills or flowers; we wanted complete focus on our love & romance. We would have rather eloped, than spend money we didn’t have on an exclusive, extravagant wedding. It worked beautifully for us, & we wouldn’t have had it any other way. Our little wedding was absolutely blissful. To try to put that night into understandable words would make the night less meaningful. Our pictures say what I cannot.
& all of this is especially sentimental, because today is a mini-anniversary. We’ve been married for 6 months.