fruitybeauty

The day after the wedding day.

My best friend ('Ssup Donk) and I have this ongoing joke when we're having a really, really , REALLY fun time you, where we say "Hope you're having more fun than a drunken Auntie at a wedding with her shoes off."

Additions we may add to the description of this wild woman include:

• Screaming WAHOO! everytime a new song comes on.
• Hollering and whooping inappropriately all throughout the speeches, or switching 'Yay' for 'Bravo' in a nod to the Italian element of the wedding.
• Bobbing side-to-side on the dancefloor in a hip-shaky way with a two-year old plastered gaily to her hip, when she doesn't even possess enough balance for herself.

Wedding day!

It's my brother's wedding today!

("A wedding on a Monday?" Yes, because they are moving to Milan in mere weeks and they only got engaged in December and the place they wanted to have the wedding was booked out on Fridays and Saturdays and Sundays until 2045.)

Anyway, so I've been asked by his lovely Almost Wife, Babs to do her and her bridesmaids makeup. Which I was very flattered about, and even did a trial last weekend on her. She liked it very much. Even though I realised later I'd forgotten to use concealer. And primer. (Hey, ease up - it was a TRIAL.)

So I've packed a kit of pretty much everything I own for three women with different skin types and shades, as well as a serious range of shadows, (it's a lo-fi affair, to be sure, but I'll make sure there's a place for aqua glitter liner), blushes, lip liners, lipsticks, lip glosses and a host of other things I would never normally own, use or know what to do with. But that's wedding makeup innit.

Oh, and of course, THE MOST IMPORTANT THING FOR WEDDING MAKEUP: No foundation with SPF. Because the sunscreen particles reflect the light of the flash from the camera back and you get a pale, white, washed-out face. Which, unless you are a ghoul, is no fun in 786 photos.

WouldyoulookattheTIME?!
I gotta roll.
There's an unmarried woman out there who needs my blending skills.

I'll post the pics tomorrow.

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My hits are growing like some form of demonic bacteria, which is TERRIFIC, and I THANK YOU because it is DEFINITELY EXCELLENT... except that you lot get very cranky if the fruit bowl is not re-stocked daily, which simultaneously makes me giddy (I am literally dripping with gid) but it also makes me panic mildly at around 3.23am if I haven't posted a fresh rant for the next morning. But that's not your problem. Your problem is that you are potentially missing crucial beauty information.

Which brings me to the point of this post, which, like my new sunglasses, I seem to have misplaced:

No, no, here it is. Found it.

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*Applause*

Slack is the new black.

Fruity, like most of you, is on HOLIDAYS for two whole weeks!

*applause*

What this means:

And this:

And definitely this:

None of this:

And sadly for all the daily fruits, not as much of this as usual:

I'll do my best.
I just can't make any promises.
Last time I did that I signed away my first born child to a witch.
She still throws pebbles at my window.
It frightens me.

Live in Melbourne, huh?

Well, I won't hold it against you that your Bourke St David Jones now has a better cosmetics and accessories hall than our Elizabeth St David Jones here in Sydney, even though it stings a little to hear people like Mark McInnes say that the newly refurbished Bourke St store is the best cosmetics hall in the world.

Sure, I was down there Saturday night (care of one very generous DJs marketing department) with hundreds of people, like the very-good-at-public-speaking Megan Gale (looking hotter than a wasabi pikelet) for the opening party. Sure, I sipped on Cape Mentelle and gazed lovingly at the Burberry store. Sure, I saw how stunning the new fit out was. And large. And white. And glamourous. And yes, I noticed the glorious high ceilings. And the entire area dedicated to millinery. And the delicious sunglasses installations. And the flawless, easy-to-skip-around layout.

But WHATEVER, BOURKEY BOY.

Ours was new and fresh and exciting and beautiful, like, two years back. I remember the opening party like it were yesterday. I still have the frock I wore, even though a TV personality who shall remain nameless burnt not one but two ciggarette holes in it, and it is utterly unwearable. Or maybe it was me? No, no, I'm not on TV, it can't have been me.

But I won't turn this into one of those tired New South Fails Vs Melboring issues.

Truth is, Bourke St is delicious. And if you live in Melbourne, you owe it to yourself to prowl around in there on your lunchbreak today and spend too much money on a some Stila lip gloss, some Re-Nutriv day cream and a diamante Mimco headband you don't even need, but should absolutely purchase because it will make you feel all warm and gooey inside for at least 53 minutes, and sometimes even more.

That light, ay.

So I wanted to show those lights on that mirror.
Turns out I only took photos of its settings.
And that I'm not reely as smrt as I thort I was.












(See? Sun, clouds, sunset...Clever)

Go try it out for yourself at Myer in Perth, Brisneyland, Bondi, Chatswood, Chadstone, Melbourne and at Pacific Fair, GC, y'all. Honestly. Go. Now.

* Try to ignore the presence of the Nokia N73 reflected in said mirror (Best phone ever? Yes. Unless you include that one off Roseanne that had that really, really long phone cord. I always wished i had a phone cord like that.. I'm still young. It may happen.) ... and the hands of the Super Professional Photographer Who Has Probably Shot For Italian Vogue Several Times**, too.

**Definitely, probably not the same person who took the photo of the wrong thing.

***I love lamp.

**** For the first time in my life, that "I love lamp" was actually appropriate because I am, in fact, writing about my adoration for a lamp.

Jet ragged skin tips.

Red, red, my eyes are so red.

Not like this...

More like a bleary, no sleep red.
Or the kind you get when you drink too much whisky at the annual Masons gathering. Or something.

And no amount of eye drops are helping.

BUT, rank eyes aside, my skin looks okay. (Okay = Plump and hydrated and fresh looking despite multiple airplanes and minial sleep doing their best to thieve all moisture.)

I attribute it to this routine before boarding:

Estee Lauder's Advanced Night Repair massaged in thoroughly.
Ella Bache's Hydra plumping serum applied.
Lancome Aquasource applied.
Jo Malone Vitamin E gel under the eyes.
Eygptian magic on the lips.
Too much water for a girl with a window seat on a late night flight.

And this on arrival:

An SK-II mask left for ten minutes (old mate from Air Asia flight SD3505 inspired that)
Biotherm aquasource
Kosmea Rosehip oil under the eyes
Clinique moisture sheer tint

If you're going to do just THREE things of all of that:

Massage in something thick and hydrating and regenerative all over your mug before you board. (Rosehip oil: tick.)
Drink stupid amounts of water
Do a mask when you get home


And yes, I know that:

I'm a high-maintenance brat
The girl with the red eyes above is creepy

Hairius Gratias

Caption: I've got the lovely kids at Atlantis hair in Paddington (namely Jade and Janelle, SHOUTOUT TO THA J-CREW, YO, 'SSUUUUP?!) doing magical things like making my long hair, short, then long again. They use a special powder called Hairius Gratias, that comes from a remote island off the coast of Costa Rica, and it has a street value of more than $800 a gram. What they do is rub in into the ends of my hair, add some liquid nitrate, then gently blow on it with a hair dryer. And then, literally, my hair starts growing. It's pretty amazing.

Of course, I'm lying. I have Amore hair extensions (clips that sit on my real hair at the roots - no glue, no bonds, no damage, no ouch) and once every, ooh, three months they take them all out (160, count 'em) and move them around and put new clips in because the original ones start to lose their colour and become moderately visible... but only because my mop was so dingin' short. On Real People with Proper Long Hair, you would see no clips. Ever. Unless you had a special clip finding torch. And they cost a pretty penny, let me tell you.

Anyway, so this is a brief visual story of what happens. (Yes the first and third pics are the same. I already know that. I sent them from my mobile, remember? Yes, that was a reminder that I am capable of such technical wonder. I've overused these brackets. Bye for now.) I have long hair. They take them out. I remember how much I love my short hair. They put them back in. I remember how much I love my long hair.

And i do. Because i can put it up. And it swishes. And it covers my face when I'm embarrassed because someone caught me taking photos of myself on my delightful, clever Nokia N73, a phone which allows you to not only send pictures of Nice & Interesting Things to your blog, but gives you a lens on the back of the camera (hint: not unusual) and also one on the front, above the screen (hint: very special). Which is so super rad for shooting video of yourself, or taking photos of yourself.

I just re-read that sentence and think i should change the name of this blog to: I love myself.

Signed,

Self-lover and self-portrait person.
Current status: Long hair.