As I mentioned in my very first post, my obsession with skincare is genetic. My grandmother, to this day, loves a skin cream, yet even way back when was skeptical of companies' claims.
My grandfather was a very prudish man, and fathered prudish children, so my mother was shocked when in her twenties, Bábi told her, "All those fragrances and advertising they do, it's just to make the cream sexy."
I fell over when Ma told me that one. I didn't even know Bábihad heard the word before. But she was right to be suspicious; in the end only a few ingredients have been proven to reverse damage (more on that later).
In any case, I emulated Ma when it came to a skin routine. Her counter was always littered with jars and bottles. She washes off her Face at night (although she usually lets mascara and eyeshadow accumulate). She applies RoC every evening. My sister who was never as interested in skincare has now observed, "Ma, you don't have wrinkles!" (Pooh pooh)
But surprisingly enough, it would seem that once I was the learner, now I am the master. Ma is always happy to hear something new, and thanks to my internet research and keeping my ears open I am able to explain to her in what sequence products should be applied, which anti-aging ingredient is better than another, what she should use for her dry skin compared to my combination.
My nighttime routine takes longer than hers. She is certainly happy about that, although she can't believe I'm so diligent.
Elizabeth Dosoretz observed how her young boy was excited to go to Grandma's house because her skin is soft and she smells good. Apparently her mother has begged her for years to take up a skin routine, but she has never bothered.
While I am still in my 20s, I can say starting a skin routine now will certainly pay off later on. Damage can accumulate, and suddenly one day you will look in the mirror and see it, whereas now it is below the surface. Protection and maintenance will do wonders down the road; plastic surgery rarely looks natural, so please don't rely on it.
The biggest rule? SPF. Every. Single. Day. You don't have to wear makeup, but many cosmetics has SPF built in. Sun is the primary cause of skin damage, and shielding skin will prevent that. (Just make sure that oxybenzone isn't an ingredient; there's been some chatter that it can be carcinogenic.)
Regarding anti-aging, only two ingredients matter: AHA and retinol. It doesn't have to be insanely expensive, or come in great packaging, or be recommended by a celebrity. Only those two ingredients have been proven to actually work. Apply them at night, since they can make skin sensitive, and retinol, unless formulated otherwise, will degrade in sunlight.
Along with washing your face daily, you should be good to go.
Take the long view, and check out your mother's skin. Either you want yours to look the same, or not.
When we last saw our heroine, she had finally discovered a liquid foundation that seemingly matched her neck, and sped off into the galaxy, thereby ending her quest.
But, instead of finding closure, our heroine's choice was too dark and not sufficiently long-lasting. She would find herself in the Millennium Falcon's—I mean, office—bathroom, her face tinged with orange and the redness of her cheeks visible. Oh, woe!
She fished out the box and receipt for her purchase from her garbage, and went to do battle with the exgorth saleswoman to accept her return.
Sigh.
She consulted the Force—um, internet—seeking reviews and recommendations for her impossible-to-match skin. After prior experiences with semi-matte and dewy foundations left her with a shiny face by midday, along with grooves around her mouth, she concluded that her new journey would consist of strictly matte finishes.
I'm going to quit now with the third-person narrative, but after dealing with mineral makeup I just cannot find any pros to liquid foundation. With a few effortless strokes of mineral makeup, my face is pristine and glowing, whereas liquid foundation requires brushes and stippling and water-soaked sponges and buffing . . .
Yet I hear so much about it I feel like I am not giving liquid foundation a fair chance. I drew up a list of possibilities, and I am off to make some "beauty consultants" very miserable.
I went to the counter and was greeted with an amazing array of color selections, and compared it on my hand to the one tinted moisturizer that ever matched me perfectly. I dubiously selected Ivory 110, and this time, to spare myself frustration, I asked for a sample. She grumbled a bit how she'll check to see if she had any small bottles available, and grudgingly coughed up a little jar of the stuff.
Pro 1: It is incredibly easy to apply. Using my fingers, I got a practically immediate streak-free finish, unlike other foundations that demanded buffing, stippling, and whatnot.
Pro 2: It feels lovely on the face. I brushed my fingers against my cheek by accident, and my skin felt so soft.
Pro 3: It is awesome with oil control. My t-zone is usually glaringly obvious at mid-day, despite the fact I put on a mattifier first; while my nose was shiny (nothing can keep that matte), my chin and forehead were perfectly matte.
Pro 4: It lasts. How it lasts. After 12 hours, my face looked as though I had just applied it.
Pro 5: My skin felt great after taking it off.
It's too good to be true. Maybe it is?
Possible cons:
Con 1: Orange. I'm starting to wonder; how can it be that nearly every foundation I try ends up orange? Does it oxidize? Is my skin color too particular? Am I choosing colors badly? On the website it says that 110 Ivoire also has "C" in its name. With Lancome (unlike other brands), "C" = pink undertones. Not yellow or neutral, which is what I need.
I went back to the counter and got a sample in 140 Ivoire N, where "N"=Neutral, but the orange was even worse.
Con 2: The dreaded parabens. But I may cast such principles aside for this miracle of foundation.
Con 3: While reading online reviews, one woman drew my attention to the fact that a primary ingredient is denatured alcohol, which has a rather checkered past. It can dry out the skin, which is not really my issue, but for those with dry skin types it may be too harsh.
I decided to look around a little bit more before I commit myself, but this has an addictingly not-normal finish.
Next!
I decided to head to Sephora, but instead of buying full size bottles that I may have to return, I asked for samples of a few. Which they happily gave me.
3) Nars Sheer Matte Foundation. I brought home samples in Gobi (which for some reason is not on the Sephora website) and Mont Blanc. The latter is for pink undertones, but for some reason it looked like a good match on my hand.
I tried the Gobi one morning, and while it was a good color match, I was annoyed; due to my current dependance on retinoids, my skin gets distinctly red after cleansing (which dies down pretty soon) but I expect a foundation to cover everything, and this one didn't. My red cheeks were all too obvious, no matter how much I slathered on. If it doesn't offer foundation-like coverage, then why would I bother?
After reading a few reviews, I noted their methods of application. This stuff dries nearly instantaneously to a powder finish, meaning one has to blend quickly, and the easiest way to do that is in segments. The first try I overapplied, leaving hideous streaks all over my face; I attempted again the next day, this time taking only a little and using my fingers to buff it gently into the skin, one area at a time.
It leaves a magnificent matte finish, but too matte for me (I never thought such a thing would happen!). I have combination skin, so some dry flakiness was made more obvious, and it really amplified my pores. I would say that this is better for oily, rather than combination, skin. It matched so prettily. I shall mourn it.
How is it possible that the lightest of every one was brown?
7) Bobbi Brown Long Wear Even Finish Foundation SPF 15. Bobbi's products lean on the yellow side, so I have high-ish hopes. I was debating between Warm Ivory 1 and Sand 2, but after some squinting under their insufficient lighting I asked for a sample of the former (the latter looked quite orange on me).
Bobbi Brown doesn't believe there is such a thing as pink undertones, so all of her foundations are yellow-based. Just what I need.
The foundation somewhat matched (yes!) and did not appear to oxidize as the day progressed (woo!) but I made an unpleasant conclusion (after all that effort).
I just don't like the finish liquid makeup gives me.
For instance, right now I use the now discontinued Sephora Collection Mineral Foundation Compact in two colors, D25 and D10. My skin looks ravishing; it glows, it hums with health, it has life and zest and verve. With liquid foundation my skin looks flat and glum, with all the few milia still not yet extracted hilighted.
Why tamper with success?
Except I went and spent $23 on a liquid foundation brush that will now go dusty. If one digs the liquid makeup, this brush certainly applies it beautifully, and the bristles are really soft.
My household has never been into family dinners. As the youngest, I got home earlier than my siblings, and in turn my father arrived later than anyone else, sometimes around 8 or 9 during the busy times of year.
So Ma fed us in a staggered mode, whenever we shuffled through the door burdened beneath oversized knapsacks. Shabbos, of course, we all ate together, but due to my youth I rarely found the conversation scintillating, and I would go off to read.
Where my siblings and I prone to a life of crime or drug abuse? Ha. We were the most nerdily straight kids ever to cross a yeshiva threshold.
But "they" insist that family dinners is the only way to ensure happy and well-adjusted children!
"They" messed up again.
It's not about the dinner itself, this article claims. It's about quality time in general, which could be while in the car, for instance. I believe that is where all of our deep conversations took place.
There is no criteria for what qualifies as having good interaction with kids.
In other news, here is a response to the brouhaha over politicians "daring" to paddle into the Sea of Galilee in the buff. The fun part: When the author references Resh Lakish.
I was babysitting for Luke. The house was blissfully silent, the three big(ger) kids snoring peacefully. I had just tucked myself in when his youngest began to kvetch in his crib. I would have preferred to ignore it but I pottered over into his dark room, squinting without my glasses.
He was sitting up, and did not know that his folks had gone out for the evening. He then casually glances up, looks away, then does a double take. He peers in the dimness. And then realization dawns.
"MOOOOOOOOOOOOMMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
Oh boy.
"DAAAAAAAAAAAADDEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
When my first niece was born, when I was 12, she promptly turned purple in fury at five hours of age. Frankly, what that kid put me through has placed every child after that in the ho-hum category.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
Amateur.
Meaning this: A two year old violently rattling the sides of his crib and emitting air-raid siren shrieks is nothing much. I start off by listing all the creatures that went shloofie, from the cat to the dog to the bird to the various animals in the zoo. He was somewhat mollified, sniffling into my shoulder.
Now, for the musical numbers. I began with a Hungarian nursery song that is disturbing on the level of "Rockabye Baby." I am not fluent so I got most of the words wrong, but since it is about a squirrel that keeps climbing up a tree and breaking his leg, then the doctor won't give him medical treatment since he's not being very smart, I suppose that's ok.
Then, the Rabbi's Sons "Rabos Machshovos." It's usually a good choice for nighttime since it is slow and soothing. Then Matisyahu's "For You," since it's my favorite and I know most of the lyrics, although not while I am half asleep.
Of course, "Sounds of Silence." Simon & Garfunkel were made for bedtime.
I ended with Dude Fisher's version of "Exodus," but at that point the kid had gone back to sleep out of pure depression.
(He starts singing at the 35 second mark).
I tiptoed out of the room, slowly turning the doorknob back to its place; I took long, exaggerated strides, like Wile E. Coyote, praying the floor wouldn't creak. But when I collapsed into bed, I spectacularly whacked my head against the wall. THUD. I froze, my terror that he would cry outweighing the ringing in my ears.
Silence. Thank God. Next it would have to be showtunes.
I've made them quite a few times since then, messing around with different types of gluten-free flour. One thing I noticed is that while everyone else loved the bean flour, I hate it. There's an aftertaste that makes me terribly nauseous.
Out of insanity, I made the latkes on Tisha B'Av for the visiting kinfauna. But this time I used a mix of corn and buckwheat flours. While I used proportionately less buckwheat to corn, it turned my batter quite brown.
Well, you know kids. "They're brown," they kept telling me. "Yes, I know," I said. "But they're brown," they insisted.
Since I wasn't able to taste these, and my usual audience was less than enthusiastic, the latkes ended up in the fridge, with me bummed out over the wasted ingredients. The next day I popped one into my mouth, yes, cold.
It was delicious. There was some sort of sweet flavor in there like maple syrup, even though I didn't use any. Despite the fact they were chilled through, I inhaled these for dinner.
I offered one to the two year old. He ended up having five, even though he had supper already. I then tackled the scrawny six year old. "They aren't cheesy enough," he grumbled (yes they are!) but I managed to shove three down his throat. I cheerfully fried up the remaining batter (carefully dabbing off oil from the resulting product), and Ta had to be restrained.
Moral of this story: I am now a big fan of buckwheat. And never try making anything new on a taanis.
By frummie weddings, the bride usually hits the dance floor armed with sneakers and proceeds to boogie the night away, which often leads to sweat. Loose, styled waves become limp, clinging to the neck and face in damp, scraggly strands.
Updos don't have to be harsh.
Vs.
The top look on Taylor Swift is not as polished as the bottom, but it offers a romantic, evening vibe with less of an "updo" finish.
Via ProjectWedding.com
If you do opt for down hair, I beg you: No bottle curls. It's too reminiscent of Little Bo Peep.
When it comes to youngsters by weddings, however, I find that loose hair is more flattering. Updos on kids with glasses are particularly painful. Loose hair styled in waves, with a flower clip holding back one side softens the harshness of glasses (I am anti-headband).
fancypantsweddings,com
At a recent chassana, the tween-aged cousins of the kallah had their beautiful thick blonde hair blown wavy, without distracting oversized headbands or clips. They bounced on the dance floor looking perfectly natural and appropriate, not stunty.
Children and teenagers look great in long hair. Adults . . . have to tread more carefully.
Once upon a time, if someone had a weird self-imposed diet, that was their own business. If invited out, they would simply abstain from the offending item, or move it around their plate as though they had at least tasted it.
In my case, I cannot tolerate white bread, although I can handle very small quantities. If by someone's house on Shabbos, I'll just nibble the minimum, but I certainly make no requests for a whole wheat challah to be purchased on my behalf.
And while this not dietetically imposed, I am not crazy about red meat, especially the way some hostesses seem to just shove it in the oven and cook it until all the juices leach out of it. Does that mean I should inform the baalas habayis to prepare a mushroom steak for me instead? Pshaw.
When did it get to be a hostess's headache to plan for others' odd diets? My nephew has celiac disease, but others take on gluten-free despite lack of medical condition, as Jessica Bruder opines.
The offending object? A footlong loaf of bread, stuffed with savory cheese, purchased at a beloved Italian bakery and presented with pride at a recent potluck meal. “This bread is delicious,” I crowed.
The kitchen went quiet. You’d think I had offered up a bouquet of poison ivy. One guest said she was gluten free. Another didn’t consume milk products. The mood lifted only when someone else arrived with a large bowl of quinoa and lentils.
I never thought I'd see the day when quinoa and lentils would be a party saver.
enlightenedcooking.blogspot.com
I always thought it was understood that if by someone else's home, providing they don't serve something that will make your throat close up, politely tasting the course and nodding an emphatic "yummy!" makes one a good guest.
It's not like suffragettes being force-fed or anything.
My nephew doesn't eat when he's home, anyway. So no worries; he'll have some salad.
A guy and a girl were sitting behind me on the train, chatting about their dating lives. Naturally, I pretended to be asleep and eavesdropped. It was incredibly entertaining.
He was talking about how he met this girl, she's great, yadda yadda yadda, but she has a medical problem, specifically debilitating migraines.
She was talking about how she met this guy, he's great, yadda yadda yadda, but he has a medical problem, specifically epilepsy.
I can understand how anyone would have to think carefully over pursuing relationships with others with chronic conditions that can flare at the most inconvenient of times (like while operating heavy machinery or holding an infant), but that did not seem to be their main concern.
The reason why these potential mates may get the ax is because they could really ruin their vacations.
You see, one works really hard to plan a vacation, and what if she has to take to her bed the whole time? Real bummer. And he can't go snorkeling, so that would be real drag.
I have more nervous tendencies than others, so I worked out early on how to keep myself . . . relatively mellow.
For instance, I know that I need time every day for my brain to loosen up. Like blankly looking through a train window, or mindlessly watching some television, or reading a less-than-educational novel since, in order to be able to sleep at night, "the little gray cells" must be given an allotment of non-focus.
Via edwardbgordon.blogspot.com
Perhaps that is why I am bewildered when I hear that people desperately need a vacation to "unwind" or "get away." If I had to rely on a few holiday days here and there to realign my chakras, so to speak, I would be a raging lunatic.
My idea of an ideal Sunday is to potter about, indolently taking care of this or that, with nothing on the schedule. If I do have something planned, it's rarely for hours on end, nor do I want to tackle more than one "activity" in one day.
Despite today's conveniences, which should have made life more relaxing, people claim they are busier than ever, even though they have no cows to milk or land to plow. And idlers like myself are often get the finger-wag for our non-exerting ways.
My cousin FBed me on Sunday, confessing her guilt for spending the day watching Star Trek. I linked her this article, which casts our indolence in a flattering light.
Are we really so "busy," Tim Kreider asks, or do we just fear the absence of activity?
So after reading the article, figure out if you are actually busy, or if you just can't stand the silence.
