fruitybeauty

It seems some of you have lost the plot.

So allow me to locate it for you.

1. First things first. Thank you for stopping by. Really. And, I want it known that I appreciate all of the lovely, exuberant, grateful feedback I receive almost daily. I consider myself extremely lucky because it is a glorious thing to know what you are doing is appreciated and enjoyed. So thank you, sweet fruits. You're very kind. Now. As for the Other Ones.

2. I must remind everyone that this is my blog. I am the owner, manager, author, water boy and costume designer. I can write whatever I like, whenever I like. Because it's my blog.

3. I actually pay money to have the luxury of writing fruitybeauty. (As for those ads you see? Big earners. Huge. Why, they must bring me in at least 45 US cents a month.)

4. Blogs are hard, work. I write fruity late at night, on planes, at internet cafes and before my porridge in the mornings, just so you can get your hit. I panic when I leave it more than two days and I haven't been able to fully relax in over a year, because I have a small bloggy child who constantly needs feeding. Many start blogs and many give up for this very reason. One of my favourites, Letter to Marc Jacobs, died this very death.

5. I have a full-time job, I'm writing my second novel and I have a family, social circle, boyfriend, gym membership, cat, Bonsai and Backstreet Boys fan club membership, all of which also require time and energy.

6. I began fruitybeauty because I had a serious surplus of information on makeup, skincare, hair and neon orange nail polish whizzing and whirring around my head, and I thought, gosh, you know, I should really share that information around, because I only get so much space in The Magazine I Write For, and yet there is so much more stuff people should know about the products and services they spend a lot of money on to make themselves look and feel good. I also wanted to make it fun and silly because beauty can be taken far too seriously.

7. I have the right to do as many or as little posts as I like. Taunting me because I used to do it daily is an exercise in both stupidity and futility. If you're feeling ripped off because my posts have slowed up you should probably head to the land of Perez Hilton where your appetite for 6578 posts a day will be satisfied.

8. I can refer metaphorically to the fact groupies are attracted to footballers should I choose to. Because they are. That's why they're called groupies. Amazingly, this same breed of devoted fan also exists in the music, surfing, basketball, pro-knitting and acting arenas.

9. I can choose to delete comments whenever I want to. In fact, I can choose to disable comments altogether, or ban certain people from commenting. (It may interest you to know that most bloggers approve all comments before they let them go live.) I very, very rarely do, however, because I like fruity to be a democratic environment, and while I would have to say I find it hard to believe anything I write here is deserving of a serve, (unless a taupe eyeshadow brutally broke your heart, or a barrel brush once set your car on fire) I see that this freedom of expression is currently being abused. That the virtual rotten fruit storm is being orchestrated by people who as far as I know do not own a blog, (making them unqualified to be languorously judging not only my blog, but me personally) makes it a somewhat uneven playing surface in that I can't tiptoe over to their blog and write ur blog sux n u r a ttl lozer!!!! under one of their posts.

10. I can choose to be offended when people get on here, people who can't even spell, and diss the fruitshop. Or, I can simply choose to write a post reminding them of what - and indeed who - it is exactly they are spitting venom at so that they understand that they have completely missed the point of a blog that was created out of love and not for any kind of gain, and then send them love, because it is sad that I am kicking so much ass, and they are not.

11. I can elect to hold my knife in either hand when I eat, because I am ambidextrous with my cutlery.

Fruity little five-year-olds

So, a friend of mine came around with her daughter and her friend the other day, right, and something was a bit wack with her daughter, and I couldn't figure it out, and then I realised she had STRAIGHT HAIR, which deserves caps because she has the wildest, curliest hair since, you know, ever.

I asked her what had happened.

This is what had happened: The friend's mum had taken the two girls out with her shopping, and just for the fun of it, got the girls manicures, pedicures (including nail art, as depicted in the first image) and blow dries.

The girls are five.

I was a leeeetle bit shocked. Sure, I mean they'd had an awesome time, (they were so so pumped about the nail art) they're gonna paint their own nails and do a rotten job of it, so why not have a good, neat job, and as for the hair, well, that can be washed, but I think it's just this whole thing of, you know, if you're getting blowies and pedis at five, what can you possibly have to look forward to at 16?

Botox?
Micro-dermabrasion?
A new set of boobies??

Beauty Claus

I was rifling through my makeup bag looking for a certain Becca gloss this morning, a beautiful, soft coral one with no shimmer and  THE ONLY gloss that would match my eye make up and outfit today, and it was gone.

And I had no idea where, because it should only ever be in one place, and that is it.

And then I remembered.

I gave it away ages ago one night when the bubbles in the fizzy fermented grape broth I was drinking made me light headed.

I do that a lot, you see: get tipsy and start giving away my makeup. If I'm at home, it'll be anything from face wash to volume-boosting hairspray. ("Nooo, I don't need it! I don't even use it - I'm into flat hair at the moment". ) If I'm out, it'll be when I'm in the bathroom reapplying a full face of slap and a friend says 'Oooh, that's a nice eyeliner'.

'Have it!' I'll say gaily, handing it over.

'Noooo, I couldn't.' They'll say coyly.

'No, no, really - have it! I have plenty. Take it, it'll look great on you!'

'Really? Thanks so much!'

'Here, have this cheek gloss too, it'll look so good on your complexion. Oh, and this perfume is nice too. Take that, too.'

'No, I can't... stop it...'

'Pfft, do you really think I'm gonna miss one silly little gloss??'

The truth is, maybe I will miss it, but I'll get over it in around a day, when I find a new trend (fun pink lips and lilac shadow perhaps) that I feel I have to wear everyday because it is so magnificent.

They other truth is I honestly love doing this. I feel like Beauty Claus every day of the year. I feel like I am giving back something, and that even if it is a half-used perfume roller ball, it's still something. I know how much this stuff costs, and am happy to spread the liner and lacquer love.

Point of all this: If you see that I've been drinking, you should probably come to the bathrooms with me while I re-do my makeup.

Other point: If it was you I gave that Becca gloss too, can you please tell me which shade it was. Many thanks.

Activities we don't enjoy in order to look ravishing: There are many.

In the July issue of Allure, a Brigham Young University Study tells that 61% of women aged 18-30 say they do activities they don't enjoy to improve their looks.

And a Fictional Fruitybeauty Study reveals that the remaining 39% are either cave-dwellers, monks or liars.

Oh, come ON.

Hot wax poured on your ladygarden?

Massaging in cellulite-fight creams when you could already be in bed reading Eat, Pray, Love?*

Fake tanning and then waiting for it dry in a freezing cold bathroom?

Accidentally pulling on your lashes with your curler?

Sitting inside a stinky Beautiful Happy Sydney Nail salon on a sunny Sunday to get your talons clipped and painted?

Blow drying your hair for 45 minutes before work only to have it flip up at the ends and frizz anyway?

Point: I am definitely in that 61%. I do many, MANY things I don't enjoy for the sake of look improving. Oh, sure, there are many that I do enjoy, but there are certainly, absolutely those that I don't. And so I call to all the monks, cave-dwellers and liars to please justify your claims that nothing you do for the sake of beauty is enjoyment-free. Come on. Prove it. MAKE ME BELIEVE.

* As I had two people tell me to read this in one day I am off to buy it immediately if not sooner.

Sunday, 8.23 am: Not a time requiring full makeup.

Can we please talk about women who wear full makeup (often teamed with a Dress Tracksuit) to the corner shop on Sundays to grab the papers and milk? Even when it's a soggy, compulsory DVD-viewing day?

Perhaps it's the fact that I choose to wear no makeup, sleep in my eyes, nasty morning breath, no bra, my pajamas (which could easily pass for yoga gear) a hoodie and a beanie and uggboots that it stuns me so, because clearly I treat that trip to the shops as nothing more than an extension of a trip to the loungeroom, only with less roof and walls, but it IS a little silly, right?

I mean, surely the pre-9am papers mission is one time we women can let our true selves shine? Or rather, not shine? One time we can get out the door without a thousand mirror checks and perfect foundation application?

Does Peter the newsagent man really deserve that kind of effort?

Are we that married to our powder and lippie we can't EVER leave the house without them? (I can't throw too many stones here - anytime after 9am I whack on some tinted moisturiser and gloss, but this is a specific situation, fruits. A pre-9am situation.)

Are we THAT likely to run into our ex? (I imagine Murphy, that nasty man, would love nothing more than for that to happen)

Ok, maybe the woman I saw today was off to church after reading the papers.

Or, maybe she was on her way to work, but her clothes were still in the dryer and she was bored waiting and nipped up the road to grab a latte and some light reading material.

Or maybe, maybe I should be saluting her, because after all, if anyone is pro-makeup, surely  it's me?

But generally speaking: How many women need to look immaculate at 8.23 am on a shitty, rainy, revolting Sunday?

Angry black ankle boots: Not to be worn with sweet pink eye shadow.

You know when sometimes you have a realisation about something very odd that you do, and you wonder if anyone else does it, or is maybe strange yet common but it's just that no one dare speaketh of it?

No?
Don't have those moments?

Kay cool. But someone has to provide the conversation here or it would be a very dull blog indeed, so here's mine: I can not put on makeup unless I am wearing the shoes I will be wearing with said makeup.

I realised this yesterday, when after several attempts at bad, wrong, messy eye make up, I realised that my feet were aching, and that it was probably due to the fact that six cm heels adorned my feet that they felt this way. And yet, the idea of taking them off was not an option. Because I don't feel right making up my face unless I know my state of being for the day, and like most fools of the female gender, that state of being comes in the shape of foot wear.

Make An Effort Monday.

Fruits, don't drop the beauty ball just cause it's Monday.

Yeah, it's cloudy and rainy, and you accidentally stayed up way too late watching a re-run of The Mask of Zorro, and you know you should've gone for a run, but you didn't, and you pressed snooze 24 times, and so you were running late, and you didn't feel like washing your hair, nor making an "outfit" so you're just wearing that top you wore last week but managed to not spill food on and that fail-safe skirt that probably needs it's hem re-sown, but you figure you'll just snap off any loose threads as they scrape creepily against your legs, and of course, in the great scheme of all of this Monday circus, applying pretty makeup is roughly as high up on your priority list as buying new sunglasses is on a leopard seals.

But I beg you, don't neglect your beauty routine today... We need you.

On a day when universally everyone feels like shit - Glen from accounts aside, but everyone knows he's on uppers - slapping on a feisty orange lip gloss... or doing a bit of brown and copper eyeshadow business... or doing a rockabilly quiff and a red lip... or wearing a cute headband with a bit of a wild backcomb behind... or going for a nearly-the-end-of-summer bronzed face with a bit of liner and some nude gloss, is EXACTLY WHAT THE WORLD NEEDS ON A MONDAY.

People will feel happy and impressed when they see your pretty lips on the bus.
They will be invigorated by your clever hair in the coffee line.
Dazzled by your fabulous shadow blending in the tea room.

And of course, you will feel splendid. (It's been proven by 4 out of 5 fictional scientists that when you look good, you feel better.)

So don't put off putting effort in until Wednesday, or Thursday because by then you've gotten used to working again after two measly days off, and you're in routine again, and plus, it's after-works drinks night.

Put in effort today and make everyone - you included, nay, you ESPECIALLY - feel happy and fun.

If you read this and put in even the effort of brushing on some blush, or combing that nest of bed head out (two-year olds are not exempt from this post), or even just taking off your pajamas and putting on Real Life clothes, I want to know about it.

Hit me a with a comment, or better yet, email me a photo for all the fruits to see.

Here, Scarlett demonstrates her Make An Effort Monday look. Notice the use of Fun Clip, and Bright Lip - two of the more well-known Make An Effort devices.