Maybelline Color Tattoo

Heavily advertised in Vogue is Maybelline's Color Tattoo, a supposedly 24-hour Eyeshadow. 

It sounds positively ideal for Shabbos and Yontif, but most of the shades overdosed on the glitter. I don't do glitter. It's hard to find matte cosmetics in the drugstore.

However, with a little online scouring, I discovered that a universally flattering shade, Tough as Taupe, has a matte finish. It's a cream shadow, but some put on primer beneath anyway since on some skin types it creases. 

Reviewers have noted that it sets very quickly, so blend swiftly after applying. If using fingers, use the ring finger and try not to tug the skin too much.  

Many of the tutorials use Tough as Taupe as a base, adding other eyeshadows on top. 

And as an aside, I knew there's a reason why I love Rabbi Boteach.

Battle of the Bulge: Know What You Like

As those who successfully maintain their weight will testify, they focus on eating what they really enjoy, not mindlessly consuming a dish just because it's there. If it is extremely fattening, they will have just a little. 

For instance, when I go out to eat by other people's houses for Shabbos I know that I will happily consume their forshbeis or fish, then soup, but chances are their meat won't appeal to me, and I don't have much during the main course. 

Don't waste calories on "meh" dishes. If before a packed table or tempting shmorg, take only a little of each until what really appeals to you makes an appearance. 

I have two major weaknesses: potatoes (in any form) and sugar (specifically in the milk chocolate/homemade cake form).  

It is probably because of my unhealthy appetite for french fries that I restrict eating out to four times per annum. French fries are "poisonous" due to the high amounts of fat and salt, and I cannot be in the same room with them. 

Hold me.

Luckily, I will happily take potatoes of the sweet/yam variety, sauteed with a little olive oil, salt, pepper, and maple syrup. 

Pinch me!

Pesach: The death knell for any diet. Especially in my house, where a box of Shatzer is ravaged. ("Mine! It was MY piece!" "No way, I got it first!" Give it back if you value your life!" "I'd like to see you try!")  

As everyone knows, matzah is less than friendly to waistlines. One year I couldn't shake the added 5 pounds until I was forced to take my crotchety niece on two-hour walks in August's 93 degree heat. 

Nothing is more divine than buttered matzah. So last year I went with a new tactic. For every meal, I sat down with ONE solitary matzah, buttered it lovingly, and that was it: no more crackery goodness. I succeeded in keeping my weight steady, only to be dragged down by Shavuous.

But you get my point. Focus on the favorites, not the filler.

Nisayon?

"Everyone has their nisyanos," she said spontaneously, deciding I need comfort. 

"I'm not complaining," I respond. 

She chose not to hear me, repeating her line over and over while I continued to protest, "I'm not complaining."

This woman, I know, happens to have her own tests. But she seems all to eager to imagine me soaking my pillow in unrequited tears.

True, cheerful optimism wasn't always my tactic. A few years ago, I would find myself stomping home from work, angry at the world, accusing every acquaintance for my single state.

It's their fault, I thought. They aren't redting me. (Never mind that even if I was redt and the guy said no, I wouldn't even know). 

Then, one day, I had an epiphany. 

Being a religious Jew does not mean that just because I want something NOW means I'm supposed to get it. I'm a grandchild of survivors, for pity's sake. This sort of mindset it not only irreligious, it is ungrateful, one of the most heinous crimes of the ancient world, not just of Judaism. 

Rabbi Yisroel Reisman said once that everyone has trials, in any of these categories: parnossah, health, religious children, and shidduchim. 

I'll take this, I thought.  

So now I walk home with a bounce in my step, inhaling the clean, crisp, cool air, admiring the old, majestic trees, the bright blue sky, thankful that I can appreciate beautiful days with health and joy. 

Trend-Setters

We frummies are now officially inventors of a trend! Specifically, skirts—they are in with a vengeance, my coreligionists! 

Via GastroChic.com

After years of being overlooked, skirts have become beloved for their multiple-uses. 

Ms. Berman . . . has noticed her peers [are] rediscovering a wardrobe staple that has languished in recent years, in short supply at retail and all but supplanted on city streets by dresses and skinny jeans.“Fashion-y people had a craving for skirts,” she said, “even if they didn’t know it.” 

It was chic but no one realized. Not only that, no one skirt style reigns; all species are selling fabulously. Although, many still do consider below-the-knee lengths to be, and I quote, "matronly, a relic straight out of granny’s closet." However, I have read in more than one magazine how right below the knee is the most universally flattering length. 

Skirts’ very multiplicity, emblematic of a fashion landscape in which no single style or trend prevails, is acting as catnip to consumers, who are combining skirts, long and short, slim and wide, plain and patterned, with pieces varying from tank tops to mannish shirts, from turtlenecks to blazers.

“The skirt has become the new hot toy for women to play with in fashion,” said Marshal Cohen . . . For the first time in six years, he said, “consumers are thinking, If I’m going to update my wardrobe, I’ll put my money on a skirt.”

But don't let oneself get carried away, since the fist commandment, and I will say it again, no matter how much you roll your eyes, is know thy body type. Therefore, though I hunger for a '50s-esque petticoat-layered flarey skirt, no way can I wear it. 

I am doomed to spend my life with pencil skirts.  

But that doesn't mean they have to be boring . . .

Cleansing . . . With a Vengeance

I was intrigued by all that I heard regarding face brushes, so I purchased the DDF Revolve 400x Micro-Polishing System. Every night, I use the brush with the bristle attachment and a cleanser of my choice. The bristles are not harsh, but they are thorough, cleansing deeply and exfoliating lightly to remove the accumulated dirt of the day.

My skin is definitely happy with this regimen, glowing merrily. The summertime leaves my face ravaged by blemishes; this past summer they were rare. I barely get breakouts anymore, poo poo.

There are also many of these brushes available, such as:

Olay Professional Pro-X Advanced Cleansing System (this comes with only the bristle attachment; available in drugstores);

The Conair Facial Sauna System comes with an electric facial brush;

DermaNew System; 

The priciest are the Clarisonic Systems;

For non-electric use, there is skin brushes like Earth Therapeutics Softouch Complexion Brush.

A New Low

It was bad enough that Halberstam's article got published; now people who should know better are giving it validity. On the news you can hear the absolute disgust in the reporter's voice. 

And I had thought the Groggers' music video was mocking the concept of nose jobs, not advertising them! Even plastic surgeons are having a cow. 

Great. We are now the shallow people, rather than the chosen. 

Great-Aunt Advice

"You meet someone, marry him. As long as he wants you." 

I nod solemnly.  

"But," my great-aunt amends, "don't marry just anyone. You are a great girl, so not just any guy is going to be for you." 

I am now thoroughly confused. 

Jaundiced of Eye

Luke had this epiphany. 

We all say that one cannot be judgmental. We try to perceive people beyond their exteriors. We try to be open to other ways of life. To be a progressive thinker, one takes an anthropological view of other cultures and backgrounds, accepting it all without criticism or recrimination.  

But being non-judgmental and tolerant also means accepting those who are judgmental and intolerant. 

I have seen those who claim to be more open-minded than me smirk at other Jews, whether it be for their havara or choice of dress or beliefs. This sort of mentality creeps into all avenues of observant Judaism, no matter what the choice of headgear: beeber hit, velvet kappul, black hat, or kippah serugah. For women: shpitzel, wig, kerchief, hat, or no hair covering.

That is why, I suppose, I cannot be considered non-judgmental, because I will not be thinking pleasant thoughts about those who judge, no matter where they would like to fall on the religious spectrum.

I recently stumbled upon this website of Doni Joszef, a cognitive therapist. His article, "Against My Bitter Judgement," has the same point. But his source is beyond beautiful. 

It says that we should become drunk on Purim until one is unable to "curse Haman or bless Mordechai." It's not about telling the good guys from bad, but that we do not judge. We should become that drunk guy who weaves about crooning, "I love you, man!"

There is a fine line between using our judgment and abusing it.Using our judgment means making smart choices. Abusing our judgment means making smart choices – for other people. We redirect our sense of right and wrong away from the self and onto another. It’s a defense mechanism by which we assign our own standards onto everyone else. Makes me feel nice and superior. 

Until it doesn’t.

This last line really put it over the top for me: 

Judging others solidifies ego. But it obliterates joy.

So I must learn to embrace the unembraceable. To welcome those who do not return the favor. To those who turn our religion into that of divisiveness, to still consider them my brethren. 

Beautiful Inside & Out

An article was printed in the Jewish Press, written by Yitta Halberstam, on the modern horror of girls not pitzing themselves up. 

She prefaces her account with a disclaimer that she knows she will be attacked for this. That, however, doesn't make it any less offensive. 

Her underlying message is that girls who are dating should dress/makeup/hair style themselves accordingly. For those who read my blog, it must be obvious that is something that I don't disagree with. Except my belief is that makeup is forever, not just for the dating years. 

What really irritated me was the condescending tone, which came through despite her protestations that she does not want to be patronizing. In her view, all single girls are curled up by the phone, begging it to ring while her tatteleh sheinz is sitting pretty. After all, he is wonderful. 'Cause she said so. 

While it is true that profiles are demeaning, the alternative is positively mortifying. 

Hey guys, getting too many suggestions? Fax machine backed up? Can't get a straight word out of references? Then send your mother down to our Single Girl Emporium, where the significant lady in your life can pick out your wife! 

Disturbing? I thought so. 

Then she launches on a diatribe of how if so many girls are single they have only themselves to blame since they don't make themselves look appealing. 

I was going to cut her some slack since her interest in looks is the same as my background (my people are notorious for their obsession with aesthetics) but she really went too far. 

Besides for the fact that makeup does not equal married (I'm still single, aren't I?) she forgets the main point: your son will be marrying her. Not you. 

What you consider attractive and personable doesn't matter. Do I wish I could see more girls putting on mascara? You bet. Do I resist the urge to beg strangers "Why, why, are you wearing that"? Oh yes indeedy. Do I think, "If only she slapped on some face paint she would be married"? Uh, no. 

Mrs. Halberstam: welcome to America. Here, most find my makeup to be threatening. Here, they shop recreationally, not zealously. Here, they find a way to connect with someone's insides, not just the outsides. 

My proof? Because I'm the one still single while my classmates who never exfoliated in their life are married!

The story she uses as a viable reference is frightening. A woman had herself completely remade in a plastic surgeon's office, and she was getting married. Health and psychological issues aside (a man who wants a plastic doll for a spouse is normal?), how is this remotely religious? 

She brings up her own experiences as an ugly duckling. 

. . . nothing could ameliorate my self-consciousness, the terrible ache of knowing that I was not pleasing to the public eye.

Here she misses the point again. It wasn't about how men viewed her. She didn't feel good about herself. And when someone doesn't feel good about themselves, that is a factor in interpersonal relationships.

It was her lack of self-confidence that was throwing a wrench in her dating life, not her looks. When a vivacious person enters the room, the first thing I notice is her self-assurance, not her features. It was Halberstam's own insides holding her back, not her outsides.

She gives credit to her marriage to "trying." It wasn't that. It was because after she dressed up, she felt good, ergo her inner was allowed to shine instead of being muffled beneath self-doubt. 

While she references the Satmar Rebbe's tale that one should take pains, she also ignores yet another story. A bachelor came to the Steipler Rebbe (thanks to Shades of Gray for which rebbe it was), crying why Hashem never sent him his bashert. The rebbe snapped back, "Because you said her nose was too long, and she married someone else!" 

We are not the people who advocate extremes. We are not the people who can write off others saying, "No one will want you," ignoring the plans the Eibishter may have. Our men sing "Eishes Chayil" every Friday night as a reminder that beauty is nothing, it is a woman's character that is the allure. 

Mrs. Halberstam, bless her heart, believes she is in a special position. Honey, every European mother-in-law has been there. And I can safely say, that if you do not step aside, it will blow up in your face.  

Don't be surprised of one day your son fires you. I've gone out with more than one boy of European ancestry who has.

Bluestockings are In

And I don't mean cobalt-hued hosiery. 

Can men handle educated women? It has been the view for quite some time that most can't, but that turns out to be yet another myth. (This article was mentioned on other blogs, but I still want to analyze it further). 

I don't think I am imagining it when men get nervous from what I know. I don't put that blame squarely on the lap of higher education; I only have my BA. I have always been interested in history and different cultures, with a penchant for polysyllabic vocabulary, and I can spit back useless information which I may find interesting but no one else does ("Trivial Pursuit" is my game). 

I often find myself on a date with equally college-educated men, who are well-read and are learn-ed, and they look at me in horror. I don't understand what the big deal is, because I am always happy to learn something new and obviously there is something he may know of that I don't. Why can't we just exchange ideas? 

During a talk I recently gave to a women’s group in San Francisco, an audience member said, “I want him to respect what I know, but I also want him to know just a little more than me.” One of my students once told me, “it’s exciting to be a bit in awe of a guy.” For a century, women have binged on romance novels that encouraged them to associate intimidation with infatuation; it’s no wonder that this emotional hangover still lingers.  

Seriously? The only romance novels that appealed to me were the ones when the two had a battle of the wits, like Lizzy and Darcy. After telling him off soundly on more than one occasion, she couldn't exactly have been in awe of him. How can these women clutch P&P as their love bible then cast the message aside? 

The most important predictor of marital happiness for a woman is not how much she looks up to her husband but how sensitive he is to her emotional cues and how willing he is to share the housework and child-care. And those traits are often easier to find in a low-key guy than a powerhouse.

Sure, men are flailing as they try to find a role which is now "acceptable" to women. They have to be manly yet not overbearing; educated, but slightly more than a specific female; handy with a mop in a macho sort of way; in tune to feelings while still a rock. Women have actually decided that Fabio exists in real life. I'm starting to feel sorry for the dudes. 

Do I want a man to help me with housework? No, not really, if I manage to make my dream of being a stay-at-home mommie a reality. If he works full time, taking out the garbage occasionally is enough, and I don't need him reinventing my system of letting dust bunnies lie. 

Do I need him to be "sensitive to my emotional cues"? Well, there lies the assumption that I am an unreasonably emotional individual just because I am female. I hope I should be able to verbalize what is bothering me, instead of marrying a psychic. 

In our world, obviously, where girls currently go to college or get a job faster than the guys, we gals often know more due to exposure.

We assume our man will know stuff, just not the same stuff as we do. Girls spend high school hunched over Tanach, while men have barely any idea what is going on in there. Girls can rattle off bios of shoftim in catchy tunes (I actually only remember Ehud ben Gera), but our men have to be okay with that, since they don't have much choice in the matter.

So why is it such an issue for them if I say things like "Little Ice Age"?