fruitybeauty

Spray it. Spray it good.

So there may have been a 'military coup' when this trip was about to launch. And maybe there were 'tanks' littered all throughout bangkok. And so the location was moved to Singapore. But does that stop me frolicking down to the pretty land of pad thai once the work side of things are finished? NO. Because that would be WEAK. And we are STRONG. And we will FIGHT for our freedom. And they will NEVER take our right to sit by the pool and drink inappropriately named cocktails away. And SO ON. Anyway. It struck me, while i was doing things mentioned in sentences prior, and looking around at Other People by the pool, that not many people at this resort know about that wonderful thing called spray on sunscreen. Which is just sunscreen but not in a thick, recalcitrant texture that takes several minutes to rub into a given patch of skin till the point where it becomes invisible and your hands cramp up and you get flustered because Chuck and Pip and Susan are already swimming and laughing and throwing yellow beach balls around. No, this gear is clear, and you simply spray it on to your skin and then rub it in in about 3 seconds. I use the Clinique one because they're rad at sun protection, it's broad spectrum* and it's just too stupidly easy to apply and reapply to not use. And plus, Chuck likes it.

*Covers off UVA (ageing) and UVB (burning) rays. The only sunscreen you should be buying.

Drunk on spa.

This is the Botanic Spa in Singapore. No, no, my mistake. This is a blog. What i meant to write was: These are some photos of the Botanic Spa in Singapore. The rest is video and too mammoth to email right now. As my new best friend, Renee From Reception very animatedly and proudly told me, maybe three times, this puppy came number 6 in conde naste's UK edition of Asia's top spas. Which is a big call, because as we all know Asia heaves with superb spas. They have the perfect weather for delicious open treatment areas and saucy marble outdoor showers, as well as an astonishing propensity with dark timber and shiny black pebbles and perhaps most importantly, staff sporting perennial smiles and VERY quiet slippers to make magical things happen when you slide on some hilarious disposable knickers and scramble under a towel. (Oh, and no idea who Enya is. Crucial.) But after a wander around, i understood why Renee was so dingin' proud. It. Was. Glorious. Massive. Billions of themed treatment 'rooms' set in gardens Don Burke would dribble over. Black granite pools and deep cobalt tiled spas and roman style couple quarters with double outdoor showers, baths and spas. Women's only pool area. Mud baths with the good stuff imported from our kiwi friends. A grass maze for contemplation that socrates would've loved if he hadn't drunk poison. Showers the Hilton would copy in a flash. Walking around in 856 percent humidity, i was drunk with amazement.(Different to being drunk on beer. Less slurring.) And then i got bored of looking and mentally storing adjectives about tiles and so i covered myself with mud. And it dried and felt tight but then it washed off and i felt soft. The end.

Singapore: Muggy. And not in a steal-your-bag-way.

So i'm in Singapore for a Work Thing that i can't discuss here because it's a lovely big secret and isn't being launched for many months yet. Let's say years to really put you off the scent. Anyway, so there's editors and beauty girls and peacocks and monkeys and super-sized snails everywhere, right, because it's all tropical here and that means there'll be obscure animals that wander around as though they're on contract from the zoo and are being paid to 'act normal', but mainly what I'm noticing is that even at a resort, and even in 116 percent humidity, magazine girls will look excellent. Now this does not include me. Even though by all accounts i am a magazine girl. My hair flops and frizzes. Theirs shines and swings. My make up slides, or simply doesn't get put on. Theirs is velvety and flawless. My dresses and thongs look like they've seen Singapore 789 times already. Theirs are Prada. I could go on.

Anyway, so the toes. They've all got wild toes. One has a green big toe, then the rest are ref. One has all blue one foot, the silver the other. Then there's this girl, whom i surreptitiously snapped while she was looking at, ooh, probably a giant snail. She's gone with a spacey, disco version of the french manicure. If you look closely, she's sporting a hot pink base, then a strip of silver glitter where the white would delicately top off the nail.

Should be wrong, but it's so right on her, it's almost left.

Green peels. [A picture-less post.]

And here's why there's no pictures: Because I went and had a green peel from my Beautiful Beauty Messiah, Natasha. And while i could have posted a photo of her lovely smiling face (should have; left my phone in the car) one needs to see visuals of my unsmiling face post-peel when it's a bit red and a bit angry at me for putting it through pain.

A green peel, for those, who like me hadn't heard of one until very recently, is the same colour as the font given to it just now, and for many, is a form of torture rivaled only by being force-fed boy's toe nails. And i only had it on a very small region of my chin, so i can only imagine the pain for those that elect to put that stuff all over their mug. (No i can't. My brain just kind of seizes. Sorry about that. No more lies. I want this to be an honest relationship.)

Why I went for the (herbal) green one over the more invasive acid-based peels (alpha-hydroxy, glycolic and co) is because it's less invasive and doesn't have any acids in it. All the clues were in the start of that sentence, really.

But still, Green peels are not frivolous. They are used to clear up acne, diminish scarring or pigmentation, de-congest the skin, get ride of fine lines and wrinkles, or just give people's faces a sweet, cherubic little glow.

It involves: A very unsavory herbal potion being rubbed onto your face, some excruciating pins and needles-type pain, then no water or makeup or anything on that region for, ooh, at least a day but usually more. The after, maybe three days, your skin starts peeling very gently. As though there were an adorable little snake under your skin and he decided to shed his skin. You don't look like a freak, your skin doesn't fall off like Samantha's did in Sex and The City (as can happen with the strong acidic peels)... you just look like you've maybe had too much sun and you're peeling. And then it falls off, and you go hardcore hydrating your skin, and then you're all glowy and snake-less and happy.

But if it's hurts and your skin peels off, well then why would you have one, you silly vain little twit, I hear you say, (rather inappropriately). Well, because my skin scars very easily, and the green peel sheds the layer of skin that houses the scars i have on my chin (caused by blemishes over the years) and as I'm only having it in a very small, targeted region, I'm not going to end up like one of those 40 year old women with paper-skin thin from too many peels. SO THERE.

Serious Stuff You Should Know: Green peels, even though herbal, are not quite as innocuous as our other herbal friend: chamomile tea. Like microdermabrasion or any of those medi/cosmoceutical type treatments, you should be going to an excellent beautician, or well-trusted salon and getting a professional opinion to whether it's right for your skin.

Do your research, ay. You may be too young, or there may be something less invasive that would be better-suited, or the problem may be hormonal, so please don't:

A) Run in demanding a green peel this afternoon because you have one pimple,
B) Go to that salon on the corner where you get your $20 pedicure and ask them to do it,
C) Eat Spanish onion before a date.

I forgot to send the photo. That's embarrassing.

But entirely to be expected.

Sunglasses. Cool as.

This is a shot of me and The Guy That Stole The Glasses That I'm About To Steal. I'm only posting this because he is watching over my shoulder.

Uh, I guess the beauty element is that... sunglasses look best when you've been at a birthday party all day, and when you've stolen them. (A real beauty thingy about sunglasses: Brunettes look better with black ones; blondes with gold. It's a matchy-matchy thing. I read it somewhere so it must be true.)

Also, something else that's interesting: when I worked at FCUK vision back at Uni, the lovely Jonathan Sceats (who at that time worked with us after having sold his eponymous sunglass label) told me that models who get sunglass campaigns have to have big noses for the glasses to look good. Fascinating.

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.

It's moblog, yo.

I've finally, finally got this moblog thing sorted. And because i get no itals and bold and other fonty playthings on my phone, i will use screamers to explain my situation/elation/frustration. BECAUSE IT WAS VERY VERY VERY DIFFICULT TO SET UP. Anyway. More ranting like a wild man later. The important thing is that i can now take pictures or video on my telemophone, and post them up here immediately, if not sooner. Like this picture of some deliriously bright polishes, who heard i was leaning towards oranges and yellows and popped up to remind me of their crimson splendour. Thanks polishes. Tholishes.

You're DUST, Perez Hilton.

<a href="http://www.technorati.com/claim/ksqvmqekjs" rel="me">Technorati Profile</a>

Not sure how.
Not sure why.

But technorati [site that tracks most popular/hot blogs] said this post, with that strange link above these words, will probably, definitely pretty much get me a billion, trillion users before dinnertime.

Which will knock Perez off his cushy little blogperch for sure.
Right? Right?

Kelis' nails: Thieve them. (Not literally. That would really hurt.)

This is Kelis' new album cover.

Notice anything? Aside of the fact she has violently altered her image to the point where NAS probably sees her seductively sloping towards him and thinks he's about to enjoy an extra-marital dalliance. She's wearing fruity yellow polish. Which kind of, but not exactly, supports my earlier post about bright polish being huge and awesome and totally exactly what you need to be wearing on your toes.

Turns out what I should have said is: Wild fluorescent shades in general. Or maybe, whatever I said originally, plus whatever Kelis is wearing on her most recent album cover.


Excellent choices:
The delicious new polishes from Kit and OPI's new Brights collection.

Excellent ways to not screw it up and look like a five year-old:
0. Are your nails short and square and neat? No? Don't come back until they are.

1. Apply some cuticles oil/balm/lotion and then push your cuticles down with an orange stick (little wooden stick that looks like a kebab skewer but has a slanted end.) This is CRUCIAL because if your cuticles are all gnarly and messy and creeping up your nail, the polish looks cheap and not all posh and sexy like Kelis's.

2. Apply base coat. Cause this gear will stain them nail beds.

3. Now, the colour. Place the brush a few mms up from the cuticle, smack bang in the centre of the nail. Press the brush flat so the hairs splay out like a starfish on a rock, or a drunk passed out on a grassy knoll. Take the brush up to the tip of your nail, then go again - STAYING A FEW MMS AWAY FROM THE CUTICLE - and paint up to the tip.

4. Do two coats, then finish with top coat.

5. Use an instant dry-er-er. What are these, you say? They are magical liquids that instantly dry your polish so you can start living like a human again, instead of a weirdo with freaky fingers who refuses to pick anything up, or turn handles, or go to the loo. OPI does one called Drip Dry, and Debbie K does one called Dry Ice.

6. Start looking really cool and hip and on trend.

7. Trip over invisible step as you walk up the street to get a coffee and go back to looking like a nong again.