Shameless Crosspromotion

Just a quick little note to let you all know that the lovely people at Kiki and Tea have graciously published a rather serious, sad, and personal piece of mine about loss, regret, and painting.

If you want to trundle over and take a look, it's right here: All That You Can't Get Back

Community College

I know I said I was going to continue this the day after my last post, but..well...I say a lot of things.

As I said in my last post, for a long time I was without a community, as such. I had friends, of varying numbers and degrees, but after exiting the Goth community in my great Interstate Flounce and returning to Sydney a couple of years later, I never really found anything to replace it. 
At one stage, I dabbled in the local Sydney poly scene, but never really got properly involved. I met a few nice people, and one or two great people, but an awful lot of dickheads as well. I had some really interesting conversations, but also had WAY too many arguments with people about why polyamory isn't actually the One True Way of the world - to be honest, I just had way too many conversations about polyamory full stop. The poly people were (on the whole) lovely, and fun, but I was going to tear my eyes out if I got into another round table discussion of how best to negotiate sleepovers.After a while it started feeling really....well, small. And not just because there are only about 50 people in the Sydney poly scene. The types of people in it are also very likeminded, and not just about relationship configurations. I think this is what made the scene start to feel stale and small so quickly - we were all of a similar age, similar financial circumstances, mostly cis, almost entirely white. A lot of the guys had beards, and a lot of the girls had long hair and a fondness for corsets. There's nothing wrong with any of these things on their own - but the sameness of the community left me feeling uninspired.

One of the symbols used to indicate polyamory: while I
have infinite love, it turns out I do not have infinite patience

 .

Suicidal Tendencies

This is a brutally honest post, with a great deal of raw emotion exposed, so please proceed with caution. I will be discussing points in time when I was suicidal, and talking to other people about their suicide plans, so if this is triggering you might want to stop now.

Here's a corgi puppy taking a nap to make you smile before you go

Still here? Cool, let's get into this then.

Confessions of A Fat Girl

There is a book sitting somewhere in my lounge room right now - a friend kindly gave it to me because they remembered I'd been looking for it, and I took it home and promptly tried to forget I had it.

You see, it's a diet book.

The imprint from a wonderful badge made by the very talented Fancy Lady Industries

Yes, you read that right. I own a diet book. I was actively looking for a diet book. I have actually been expending time and effort researching different diets, and had decided the CSIRO Total Wellbeing Diet looked like it was worth a go. It's not really a DIET per se, I told myself. It's a healthy eating plan. It's not about losing weight, it's about feeling better and being healthier and maybe building my immune system up so I don't get every fucking cold going around. It's not about conforming to societal standards, I told myself. It's about helping my body work better. I mean, this diet is all scientific and shit! It's serious business, not like those trendy fad diets. It's a "smart person's" diet.

But still, the book remains in my loungeroom somewhere, untouched. You see, diet is a very complicated word for me. 

More Than Meets The Eye

I spent most of my twenties wondering what the big deal about feminism was – the people I associated with all agreed with it's basic principles so firmly that even discussing it felt like a waste of time. I felt like I had plenty of power – but looking back there were so many things that I took for granted as just part of being a woman. If I was out in the city by myself late at night, I would wear spiked collars and big boots, just in case. When a taxi driver refused to let me out of his cab until I gave him my phone number, I laughed it off as just a weird thing that happened. When my partners pushed the boundaries of my consent, I assumed it was my fault for leading them on, and just something that happened to women. But it was working reception in the sex industry that showed me what it's like to have tangible, real power, and now I've left the industry, I don't know how to deal without it.

Because of the social circles I was hanging out in at the time, when I was once again out of a job and someone suggested I try reception at a massage parlor, it didn't seem like a big deal – just another job. I could answer a phone, and take money. Why not? There was no stigma attached to the industry in my little bubble. A bunch of people I knew were either current or former sex workers in various capacities, and others had done the reception thing. I was intrigued by the idea of getting a glimpse into such a “secret” side of my city. I'm the kind of person that can't help peering into open windows when I'm out walking at night, so the idea of being PAID to peer into people's private lives was too good to pass up. While I thought I knew what I was getting in to, I would be lying if I said there weren't challenging moments. I remember the first time I sent a girl upstairs with a client, and the horrible confusion that gripped me about whether I was doing the right thing or not. I remember having to tell a client to put his flaccid cock away THREE times while I was trying to talk to him, because apparently he couldn't listen without one hand on it. I remember going into the introduction room to fill up the tissues, and discovering someone had vomited into a glass bowl of mints and then put the lid back on. I remember the first time I put my hand in a puddle of a strangers cold semen while doing the laundry, and how hard I scrubbed down my entire arm afterwards. But most of all, I remember the feeling of power.

Don't Be That Guy

A friend linked me over this most fascinating blog, Radio Liberty Earth. In between the usual ramblings of every Men's Rights Activist Blog I've come across so far was this little gem, entitled; Is This Rape. The post is in response to a snippet from a newspaper where a 16 year old girl writes in and explains that despite telling her 19 year old boyfriend she didn't want to "go all the way", after they had been making out for a while they "ended up" having sex. The girl then asks the advice columnist if this is rape.Unsurprisingly, in the opinion of the self proclaimed Men's Rights Activist behind Radio Liberty Earth this is not rape. Of course, reading his defense of the rapist in this case makes it  pretty clear his definition of rape is a great deal narrower than mine, or indeed the laws.

The advice column in question

What took you so long?

I’ve talked briefly here before about how I wasn’t always femme, and how my interest in skirts and makeup and glitter has taken me a long time to accept – truth be told, I still haven’t really accepted it. But I’m at least exploring it now. The real joke is that I’m 32 dang years old. I’m firmly over thirty now, and I have no idea what to do with my hair on a daily basis. I have no idea what the appropriate thing to wear to a formal dinner would be, let alone have a suitable outfit. I’m still taking baby, tentative steps into this whole fabulous world.

So what on earth took me so long? A fascinating conversation today with two lovely Tweeps of mine, @heathergracious and @helisalmiakki has brought a couple of realisations to the surface that I’d like to share, because I don’t think I’m the only one with these experiences.

Scar Tissue

I read a fascinating post the other day on All Things Kate, talking about a facial scar she has, and how it affects her perception of herself. It turns out I have far too many thoughts about scars and self perception to fit it into a comment, so let me indulge myself for a moment and tell you all about my scars.

I've always used fashion and makeup as a way of covering up or distracting from the things I would rather people didn't look at. When I was younger, I thought the best way to do this was to literally cover up - I was a big fan of full length, flowy skirts some days, and big baggy cargo pants other days. I thought that covering my chubby legs with fabric would somehow trick people into imagining they were slim and svelte, and that if I revealed them everyone would be horribly surprised. I later realised that long skirts on a girl as short as me just made me look even stumpier than I actually was, but at the time it was a comforting illusion I believed in. Later I got into Goth culture, which I found was a really fantastic way of covering up - not only could I wear my long flowy skirts, but I could put a corset over it, and stockings on my arms, and heavy makeup on my face. I could obscure just about every part of my natural body, and recreate it how I wanted people to see it. It made me feel safe, and sheltered. It kept people at a distance, and that was just where I wanted them.

It also meant I could cover the scars left on my arms and legs from self harming with minimal fuss. I could cover them up, obscure them, pretend they and the emotional problems that caused them weren't there. The only time anyone ever saw them was when I was having sex, and I seriously doubt anyone from that period really remembers my scars from the brief glimpses they got in between fucking. I could put on a bust boosting corset, drag stocking sleeves over my scars, and I would feel like nothing was wrong, that the chaotic vortex of emotions in my head wasn't there. Like I was normal.

Lady of The Lake - A England Review

One of the things I love the most about mythology and folklore is the way they illustrate just how pervasive and incredibly old a lot of archetypes and tropes are, particularly in relation to women. I know rather more than I really should about all sorts of different folklore, and one of my favourite things to do with this knowledge is to find patterns that can be seen across different cultures. I have a confession to make though - I've always shied away from the Arthurian legends. They're just so....messy. The lore is made up of poems, and stories, and songs, and all of them have so many different versions that it's really more like a genre than a narrative as such. I can rattle off Swedish lore about women who turn into birch trees, but until recently I couldn't have confidently named more than three characters in the Arthurian stories, and one of them was King Arthur. Which is a bit sad, considering my entire family on my mothers side are so utterly English it's hard to believe they're real.

However, once I came across marvelous indie nail polish maker A England, I decided I was obviously going to have to do some research in order to do these gorgeous polishes justice. I know you all like the pretty pictures, but I know you like the wordy parts as well, and I would feel bad showing something so lovely and not knowing anything about the characters they are named for.

So today, we're going to learn about The Lady of The Lake, in between pictures of this stunningly soft lavender holographic polish. If you're just here to find out whether it's any good or not, the TL:DR version is that is very, very good. It's beautiful, easy to use, and wears for ages, and you should totally go and buy it.

Fix It, Feminism!

I’ve been listening to an interesting discussion of late. Several people have brought up the idea that they feel like the fact they have self esteem issues and that they are also a feminist is somehow inherently contradictory. That feminism should have somehow “fixed” these feelings. That if they are feminist and still hate the size of their ass, that somehow either feminism has failed them, or that they are doing feminism wrong. When I hear the phrase, “being a feminist isn’t helping me to love my body”, I can’t help but wonder who exactly promised them it would? I mean, it might. There is a good chance that it will. But it’s certainly not guaranteed, and I don’t think feminism can be blamed if it doesn’t. If you still feel fat after learning a bunch about feminist theory, you’re not doing “doing it wrong”- you’re a human being. Believe it or not, I don’t think there is anyone, male or female, who has NEVER had a day where they look in the mirror and sigh. Self consciousness, anxiety, these are feelings. Feminist theory is rational thought, a school of philosophy. Rational thought can HELP you change the way you feel, but there is no thought so rational that it can banish deep seated feelings and emotional responses by mere application. Feminism will not fix all your problems. 

We Need To Talk

I've gotten to a point with this blog where I'd like to hear more from you, my humble readers. We're 40 posts in, and that seems as good a time as any to pause for some reflection.

Firstly, now there are actually more followers on this blog than people I know in person, I'm going to go ahead and assume I haven't bullied ALL of you into reading personally. In this case, how did you find me? Did you find a link somewhere? If so, where? Were you randomly searching, "used pantyhose ebay", and found yourself here? (you laugh, but I know at least one person did. They're probably not still reading though)

Now you're here, and you're totally going to keep coming back (pleasedon'tleaveme),what have you enjoyed most so far? What annoyed you? What did you find boring? What would you like to see more of? What would you be happy to never see here again? Do you guys want to hear more about my crazy? About my nails? Would you be interested if I added more about my clothes, accessories, and how I put things together below my face? How about my queerness, and how that works into my femmeness? Do you have a favourite movie that you would like me to do some nail art of? What do you think I do that other bloggers don't? Why do you reguarly give me three to four minutes of your time, when there are a billion other blogs out there?
Please, feel free to be totally honest in your feedback. I can't promise to do everything you say, but I will take it all under advisement.

And lastly, tell me about you. Where are you from? How old are you? Do you have pets? What three words would you use to describe yourself? What's your favourite colour? Do you have any weird allergies? What gets you up in the morning? I'd love to know who I'm talking to when I send my words out into the howling abyss of cyberspace.

The Listen Lady is officially in.

This is my listening face.

The Makeup of Madness

This post started out as a response of sorts to one written by Autumn Whitefield-Madrano over at The New Inquiry. She wrote some fascinating things about the gamification of beauty work (applying makeup, doing your hair, hair removal, etc), and the implications of that for feminism as a whole. I totally agree with everything she's saying, and think it's a fascinating insight, but I felt a little bit of disconnect from the whole thing. I couldn't quite put my finger on why at first.but it just didn't feel like it applied to me and my relationship with makeup.

So I went and had a fiddle with the app she mentioned, and got bored SO quickly. Like, lightning speed. I thought I would enjoy fooling around with it for at least a little while, but practically before the picture was traced I was bored. This was pretty confusing, considering how much I enjoy putting on makeup.
Then it hit me - it's not about the end result for me. Some women I know love the process of buying makeup - trying things, searching out something they like, considering all the options. I find this part unbearably tedious. This is why I have so many eyeshadow palettes - the idea of putting the time into choosing separate eyeshadow shades just seems totally dull to me. I don't really go makeup shopping as such - if I decide I need a product, I'll look around online for reviews, and then go buy it. The makeup floor in a department store holds no joy for me, just overwhelming confusion which rapidly dissolves into disassociation and boredom. And I got the same feeling from this makeover app. I realised the reason I like makeup is the action of putting on makeup itself. It's the process itself I find comforting, soothing, and confidence building. The feel of the cream on my fingertips, the mascara wand between my lashes. It's these tactile, tangible elements that make makeup worthwhile for me. So fooling with an app is just...meh. It's totally without meaning for me.

Image from thecoolhunter.net

I've suffered depression and anxiety to varying levels most of my adult life. Because of this, leaving the house has varied from difficult to impossible. I've literally lost jobs over my inability to leave the house. When I first wake up, as soon as I open my eyes, on the bad days my anxiety and depression is right there is my ear, telling me everything that's wrong with me and my life. It reminds me my house is small, and not very nice, and that even though I'm being paid relatively well I still end every fortnight with just enough money. It tells me I'm pathetic, that there's no point getting up because I'll just fuck my already fucked up life further. If I stay in bed, at least things can't get worse. But if I get up, lord knows what could happen!
For someone with my brain this train of thought can form a crushing weight, that makes it utterly impossible to move.

The only way I've found to work past my difficulty with getting up and about is to set up a little routine, that I've done so many times I can complete it without thinking. So long as I can muster the will to push myself out of bed and towards the kitchen, I've ground the grooves of my routine so firmly into my psyche that I can continue along the track once started like a clockwork doll, no matter what my brain is telling me. Coffee is naturally part of this. So is taking my meds. I have this routine so down pat I often have to struggle to recall later whether I did actually take my meds or not, and count them out only to find that I did. It's just that my conscious brain was busy beating me up, while my subconscious brain trundled me around the house and got the pills out and took them. Nowadays, putting on makeup for work has become as much a part of this routine as any other.

It's not really about how I look at the end. I know makeup won't make me thinner, or younger, or even really that much more visually appealing - not the amount I have time to do first thing in the morning anyway. It's about keeping my body moving, giving myself tasks to do that require enough concentration that I can drown out (or at least distract from) the discouraging monologue in the back of my head. It's about power, and taking control of my physical form. It's about saying to myself, "Yes, I have to go to this job when I would much rather stay home and play with the cat and paint my nails. But I can choose my makeup. I can choose to wear this necklace given to me by a dear friend. I can choose this dress. I can put myself together into an image of someone who wants to be at work, and by crawling inside that image, I can become it." It's about erasing the physical indicators of my madness - the sweaty hair from nightmare soaked sleep, the puffiness from the pills I take to make sure I get any sleep at all - and creating the image of the sane, capable person I need to be.

The soothing power of the ritual of makeup and beauty work in general was best summed up by Anaïs Nin, in her marvelous book A Spy In The House of Love. If you haven't read it, you really really should. Nin has the ability to capture certain aspects of being a woman so much more clearly than any writer I know. Also, A Spy In The House Of Love is pretty short, so you've got no excuse.

"Slowly what she composed with the new day was her own focus, to bring together body and mind. This was made with an effort, as if all the dissolutions and dispersions of her self the night before were difficult to reassemble.  She was like an actress who must compose a face, an attitude to meet the day.

The eyebrow pencil was no mere charcoal emphasis on blond eyebrows, but a design necessary to balance a chaotic asymmetry.  Make up and powder were not simply applied to heighten a porcelain texture, to efface the uneven swellings caused by sleep, but to smooth out the sharp furrows designed by nightmares, to reform the contours and blurred surfaces of the cheeks, to erase the contradictions and conflicts which strained the clarity of the face’s lines, disturbing the purity of its forms.

She must redesign the face, smooth the anxious brows, separate the crushed eyelashes, wash off the traces of secret interior tears, accentuate the mouth as upon a canvas, so it will hold its luxuriant smile.

Inner chaos, like those secret volcanoes which suddenly lift the neat furrows of a peacefully ploughed field, awaited behind all disorders of face, hair, and costume, for a fissure through which to explode.

What she saw in the mirror now was a flushed, clear-eyed face, smiling, smooth, beautiful.  The multiple acts of composure and artifice had merely dissolved her anxieties; now that she felt prepared to meet the day, her true beauty emerged which had been frayed and marred by anxiety."


God, she's just so good. Just so good it makes me sick. Since any words I try to conjure will seem hollow next to hers, I decided to take some pictures to illustrate just how clearly you can see this process of smoothing, calming and straightening she talks about on my face.

Sure, the second one has kinder lighting and a better pose, but I think that helps make the point. The first is the face only my boy (and you now, I suppose) see. The second is the face I show outside. I don't even use that much makeup - eyeshadow, mascara, a swipe of lip stain and a teeny smudge of BB cream under my eyes. It's mostly the process that puts me together - the brush through my hair, smoothing my fringe, patting my face. I discovered this morning while I was actually paying attention to the process that I even stand up straighter once I feel sufficiently "put together".

I've heard other women talk about learning this association of makeup with comfort, and control from watching their mothers put on makeup. But my mother hardly ever wore makeup, and certainly didn't seem to get any pleasure out of it when she did. I think these associations, for me, largely came about due to my time working as a receptionist in the sex industry.

I'd been told I was supposed to wear makeup whenever I was on shift, but at first I took this rule pretty lightly. I was far too busy to be fucking around with adjusting my lipstick at four in the morning, and the boss could go fuck himself if he thought otherwise.
However, the thing about managing a brothel or massage parlour is that you have to appear in control as much as possible. When you're managing between five and ten workers, and however many dozens of clients come through, there are just too many moving parts for you to come across like you don't have things under control. Workers get scared, clients get pushy, and suddenly your workers safety can be at risk. This was a big responsibility for someone as naturally anxious as me. There were times I was coming in to a ten hour shift on five hours sleep, and not only was I not in control at all, my lack of confidence and control was absolutely clear to everyone who saw me. I was letting my co-workers down.

So I started watching the workers more closely, to see how they coped. They were in an even more complex situation than I was - all I had to do was take the clients money, make sure they knew the rules, and strongly encourage them to follow them. It was the workers who had to enforce the rules once they were in the room - all I could do was kick them out if they broke them. So I watched the workers, hoping to learn their secrets. I watched them trailing in at the start of a shift, in track pants or jeans, hair piled loosely on their heads. I watched them unpack their tools, and with makeup and hair tongs transform themselves. I watched them come in with their outside faces, and put on a new one, a face just for inside our walls - one that was perfect, beautiful, and in charge. I decided if this ritual of mascara and lotions and perfume could help them become so in control, maybe it could help me.

Happily, my co-workers were happy to teach me. They told me what to buy, what not to buy, how to use it all, and eventually I was pulling my tools out with them at the start of a shift. Sometimes I would do my makeup before I got there, but I always preferred to do it with them. It felt like we were a team, a gorgeous, confident team ready to handle anything the shift threw at us.

I don't care that it was dumb as a post, I loved this movie

How I left the sex industry is a long story, but the relevant part is that even now I'm just getting ready to go to an office where no one cares if I wear lip gloss or not, the association remains. I remember what the sex workers I have known taught me, and when putting on a slick of lipstick I remember the pressure I was under at those jobs, the things I handled. I remember what I'm capable of. Even for someone with a brain as determined to get in the way as mine, when I compare dealing with a coked up asshole waving a broken bottle at me to organising a visa on short notice, getting out the door and dealing with the day doesn't seem so hard anymore. 

What are your morning rituals to put yourself together? Do they involve makeup, or coffee, or perhaps your cat? I'd love to hear about your experience.

So, You Have To Wear Makeup - Part 1

There are certain situations in which even the most reluctant of femmes needs to pull out the old mascara and “girl up”. It might be that your sister is getting married, and your mother specifically emails you to tell you not to wear “all the stuff around your eyes, like you always do.” It might be that you’re meeting your partner’s parents and they are super conservative and you want to convince them you’re not leading their spawn astray. But the most common, the most inescapable, is the job interview.

Situation: The Job Interview

Before we get down to nuts and bolts, I just want to say that I think it’s total bullshit that if you identify as female, you’re expected to wear makeup in the workplace. It’s a ridiculous patriarchal double standard, and I think the world would be a much better place if it was stamped out. But it hasn’t been. As much as these guys would like to tell you, it's not actually a feminist utopia out there. Potential employers might not be able to legally deem you unfit for a job because you don't wear makeup, but there is an expectation that you will, and plenty of alternate reasons to shove the blame under when it comes to turning you down if you don't.

Centrelink gives you the option of ramen or rice for dinner.

I also have a couple of caveats for this guide - firstly, I'm aware that when looking for a job I’m coming from a position of enormous privilege. I’m white, educated, literate, and financially stable enough to buy decent clothes for an interview. I am also lucky enough to live in a country that actually has a (mostly) functioning social security system that offers payments for unemployed people. It’s not a lot, and it’s not sustainable in the long term, but it’s enough that I don’t have to take any job at all that comes my way. I put this guide together from my position of privilege, so the advice herein might not to be applicable to those who can't afford to be as choosy as I can. I think that if you’re not in my situation, if you have to take whatever job you can find, then by all means do so without shame. If you have to compromise your feminist principles for money to pay your rent, then do what you have to do and hold your head high.

Crazy too!

Secondly, I also know I have two choices when it comes to the inherently unfair appearance expectations on women in the workplace. I can come at the corporate world head on, and tackle that shit. I can fight every inch of the way for recognition that my makeup does not reflect my work ethic, and by fighting hard enough perhaps make it easier for other people. But I choose to approach the issue in a less confrontational, although possibly less effective, way, and hopefully still be able to make it a little easier for others in my own way. As a person with a mental illness, and quite visible self harm scars, with big gaps in my resume, as well as being fat, queer, poly and a sex worker supporter (none of which I choose to hide,even if I could) I figure employers already have enough reasons to turn me down, and I can meet them halfway on at least one thing. I have decided to go along with this ridiculous makeup expectation to a certain extent for the simple reason that I would prove nothing to anyone by starving. I tried avoiding jobs that required “professional” dress for a long time, and still won't apply for anything that requires "corporate" dress. I can deal with a lot of downsides in a job, but if I can’t feel at least a little like myself I get horribly depressed, and will inevitably end up losing the job anyway.

You might feel like wearing makeup at all is too much of a compromise, that it will change you. I can't promise you that it won't - what will and won't affect your sense of self is something only you can decide. But I can tell you that when I started this whole femme adventure I was deeply concerned it would change who I was. Make me more superficial, more petulant, stupider, less well informed as to the world around me. That it would make me too inwards focused, that I would become someone I didn't recognise. In my ignorance, these are the qualities I associated with women who were "into makeup". I also have to tell you that this hasn't happened. At all. If anything, tinkering with the things I consider "me" has given me a stronger, more coherent sense of self. Getting to know people in the beauty blogging community has made me realise how unfair and totally wrong my assumptions about "girly girls" were. Wearing makeup to work every day has made me feel more professional, and take a more professional, assertive attitude to my job. Thinking about the reasons why I wear makeup, and why it makes me feel good, has given me a much clearer idea of what makes me tick - what things pump me up, and what things bring me down. But that's just my experience. Your experience might be totally different, and that's absolutely valid. If you're dead against wearing makeup at all, ever, then this probably isn't the blog for you, and definitely not the makeup guide for you. I doubt I could, or even really should change your mind.

It's not like there aren't jobs out there that don't require makeup - I did a lot of them for a long time. There are a bunch of small businesses out there that don’t care what you wear so long as you can do your job, and you don’t mind getting paid below market wages. But those small businesses unfortunately also have a habit of going under, and taking your career with them. Even if you're not working for a small business, the departments of large businesses that allow you to dress how you want tend to shed staff as frequently as I shed skin. You could certainly run your own business - I tried that too. But let’s assume for this guide that you’re where I was about two years ago – you love jobs where you can go to work in your Converse even when it’s not Casual Friday, but if you hear the words, “You’re great at what you do, but we just can’t afford to keep you” one more time you’re going to puke. You have the skills to GET a job, but your choice of workplace is making it almost impossible for you to keep a job for any significant length of time.  You're sick of being on the jobhunt AGAIN, and sick of having to face yet another round of time-wasting recruitment agency appointments. You've tried running your own business in between jobs, and found that it's just not for you. You're running out of options if you ever want financial stability.

It’s time for a Real Job.
A job that pays market wages. A job with annual leave. A job where you have to do annual productivity reviews. A job that won't have to let you go again in six months time because a client didn't renew their contract. The Holy Grail of job searches.

Unfortunately, I am yet to come across a Real Job that doesn't requires at least a minimum of makeup for people who identify as female. (There are some exceptions to this, but they tend to be in highly specialised areas like programming, science, medicine, etc) But if you’re anything like me, you also don’t want to get yourself into a situation where you’re expected to wear full on makeup every single day. So how do you manage the employers expectations and make sure they align with what you're willing to do, in the fifteen minutes it takes for them to interview you, while at the same time as convincing them they absolutely must hire you?

I could not pull off this much makeup even once,
let alone every day.

Over many, MANY interviews, I have put together a "recipe" for a makeup look that says, “I am willing to work within your expectations, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to wear foundation every single day.” Just as with your outfit, your makeup should be a little bit fancier than what you would wear every day, but not so fancy they expect a level of presentation you can't/don't want to keep up.Wearing Paris Hilton level makeup every day is simply not something I could do without losing my sense of self (or my mind), but I will put on the bare minimum, and I want a potential employer to understand that. If I show up for the interview in this makeup "recipe" I have concocted, I know from experience that if I get hired, my employers are willing to deal with what I'm willing to wear on a day to day basis.

If you have a friend you can borrow the products required from, that’s awesome. If not, my recommendations are based on getting the best bang for your measly buck. If you’re going to a job interview, I’m going to go ahead and make the assumption you don’t have a ton of cash to throw around. You can get really, really cheap makeup – but in some cases it’s a total waste of time and money. This guide is designed to tell you where you can scrimp, and where you shouldn’t, based off my experience of throwing good money after bad in my lust for a bargain.

Stay tuned tomorrow for the nitty gritty of what you will need!

Neverending Nail Art

 

Aussie Nails Monday 7/01/12 Theme: Animal

As usual, I managed to take this theme and run off somewhere pretty unexpected with it - but that's what you're all here for, right?

When running through my head all the animals that I could use as inspiration, for some reason my brain seized on Falcor from the Neverending Story. I wonder if this is because The Neverending Story is inextricably linked with the despair of realising you're becoming an adult and that you'll never be truly a child again once it starts, and I've got a bit of that going on with my imminent return to my day job. Maybe it's just because I picked up a sweet sky blue polish the other day and was looking to use it. Regardless, here is my effort.

I took my visual inspiration from the movie version, and did what I think is a pretty good impression of Falcor soaring across my nails.

I even painted some clouds for him to fly in on my other hand.

The Neverending Story is the first movie I remember really, really loving, and I would watch my VHS copy over and over if allowed to. Even though I was so scared of the wolf at the end I had to leave the room until it was over, I watched the movie again and again. I've often wondered if this is where my long time obsession with boys with long hair came from. I even put down money to get the actor who played Atreyu, Noah Hathaway, to sign a picture for me last year at a comic con - he looks NOTHING like he did when he was in the movie anymore, but then, I don't look like I did when I loved it either. (In case you're curious, he now runs his own tattoo parlour, and has cut his luscious tresses into a mohawk now.)

My obsession with researching the crap out of things that interest me isn't new - I remember as soon as I found out the movie was based on a book I started a frantic hunt to track down a copy of it. Unfortunately, the single copy in our local library was in the adult section, and being only nine, I wasn't technically allowed to borrow it. Fortunately, I was friends with the librarian and she was kind enough to let me borrow a book as big as my head from a section I wasn't even supposed to be browsing. She appreciated my passion for books, and apparently didn't think the fact the book was translated from German, or intended for readers roughly twice my age would hinder my enjoyment of it. And she was absolutely right.

I loved it so much I immediately decided I was going to be a writer, and started a novel with some rather striking similarities to The Neverending Story. Eventually I gave up on this idea, and the ambition got pushed aside for more pressing matters, like whether that boy at school liked me or not. I have occasionally gone back to writing fiction, but it never lasts. I write some shorts, attempt another draft of the novel I've been working on for over ten years now, but the compulsion always gets swamped by self doubt and the dream gets shoved back under the bed again.

I read this book again a couple of years ago, and ended up weeping for hours over it, because lost dreams are what the book is all about, and as it turns out, it only gets more moving the older you get. 

If you've only seen the movie, you've really missed the best part of the story. The first half is pretty stock standard "for children" fantasy. Bastian hates his life, he gets sucked into a magical world where everything is way more awesome. Only the land is in danger! Oh noes! Of course, Bastian saves the day. This is where the movie ends, but it's actually only about halfway through the book, and while there is a sequel movie, it's pretty dreadful and doesn't capture any of the bleak pathos of the second half of the book. The quick crib notes of the second half of the book are that Bastian sets about rebuilding Fantasia (Fantastica in the English translation of the book), but eventually discovers that for everything he creates, he loses a memory of who he used to be and the life he had before Fantasia. If he keeps going he will become nothing but a shell. While his BFF Atreyu is horrified by this, Bastian is largely unmoved for a long time - he doesn't even remember what he's lost, so why would he stop?

It's a fascinating study of the relationship between power and freedom, and the sliding scale between adulthood and childhood. It warns against leaving your childhood entirely behind, and illustrates the sacrifices that are demanded by power. It asks the reader to decide what they are willing to lose to get what they want, and whether it will really be worth it in the end, while pointing out you have no way of being sure of whether it will be worth it or not until it's over.

Having said all that, it's an incredible book, and I would highly recommend it to anyone. If I could get everyone who saw the movie to read the book and really think about it, I have a sneaking hope the world might be a different kind of place.

 And on that inspiring note, be sure to check out the other participants in the Aussie Nail Challenge!

Lissa’s Polish Addiction - Nail Gun XS - Marie’s Manicure Madhouse - Shatter Me Claire - A Polished Prance -Shades of Phoenix - The Epitome of Superficiality - Lacquer Dreams - NananaisNails - Enamoured With Enamel - Adelle1985 (Instagram) - Kelly's Kolors - Polished Peripherals - Every Little Polish - Mel My Issta - Walk In My Eyeshadow - JennLojko (Instagram) - Erinzi’s Nails - Lovessweetas (Instagram) - Jas’ Blingtastic Nails - Mckfresh (Instagram) - Lili_Bete (Instagram) - Jibber Jabber - Messy Mansion - Nailovelogy

Femme Gone Wild

You may have noticed from reading thus far that I have a tendency to just throw myself into things, once I've decided I'm going to do them. I find it very hard to do things halfway - this is not always as helpful a trait as you might think. I get it into my head to put more effort in at work, and then I turn around and find out I haven't taken lunch in a week. I then decide I have to chill out more, and turn around a week later to find a really important document hasn't been posted because I wasn't paying any attention at all.

I've noticed this tendency particularly flares up when I am trying to do something I find counter intuitive - like staying out late at a party with lots of people, or having a "girly" day. I'm very bad at tempering the "oomph" I put into something in order to push myself to do it, and can end up in some very unfamiliar places just by virtue of overshooting.

My mother was in town yesterday, which is of relevance to this post because my sudden enthusiasm for all things femme and "girly" has given her a foothold to relate to me from. We haven't always gotten along well, not for lack of trying on either side. But for a long time we just didn't have anything in common, nowhere to even start conversations from. She's currently in the middle of a "Doing Things I Wouldn't Have Done Before" phase too, co-incidentally, and so she suggested we go get a mani pedi together, since this is something neither of us has ever done.

Well, technically, I HAVE had a pedicure once, but it was enormously grudgingly. A group of friends wanted to get one together, and then have cocktails, and I thought the whole thing was just appallingly "girly". I went, but seem to recall flailing and rolling my eyes a lot and generally being a dick about it. Neither my mother or I are particularly fond of having people touch us unless we know them well, or we're prepared for it. You can see then, why letting a stranger mess with our feet was such a challenge. But if she could do it, dammit, so could I. This time, I was determined to just jump the fuck in.

This meant that when they asked me to pick a colour, I deliberately found the girliest, most ridiculous colour they had - OPI "Let Me Entertain You."

Fuschia. Fuschia Glitter. Fuck. Yes.

There was this little voice in my head, bouncing around like a boxer gearing up for a big fight. "Yeah! Come on, do it! Let's be GIRLY! Let's be GIRLY AS FUCK! Let's FEMME THE SHIT OUT OF THIS!! YYEAAAAAHHH!" ...and so on, and so forth. This is how my brain gets me to do things I'm not entirely sure are a good idea, like letting a stranger mess around with my feet.

My mother looking deceptively calm.

To our credit, we made it through without kicking anyone reflexively, or being overly rude. I did have a moment when the manicurist picked up the clippers and asked if she should take any length off my fingernails though. I said what I hoped was, "No thank you, just shape them please," but I'm pretty sure it came out as "NO!" in the voice I use to tell our cat off, because she dropped the clippers VERY quickly.

After making it through without really ruining anyone's day, I was pumped.
"YEAHH!," said the voice in my head. "FUCK YEAH, let's do some more shit! Let's go buy NAIL POLISH!! Let's get our HAIR DONE! LET'S FEMME THE FUCK OUT!!!"
So I did.

Every time I saw something and thought automatically, "Oh, that's not me," this roaring Femme Hulk in my head screamed "BUY IT!! DOO IT!! WHY THE FUCK NOT!?" I got...I got a little over-excited, it's true.

Pro Tip - Paddy's Markets is a surprisingly rich nail polish mine

When I got home and unpacked all the things I bought, I did have a moment of doubt. I wondered if I had gone too far in the name of challenging myself - if I'd wasted a bunch of money on stuff I would never use, just because I got all over-excited about being so different to how I used to be. It was pretty late by then, and I was pretty tuckered out from a long day of being quite amped up, so I decided to think about it some more in the morning.

I got up today, and was packing away all my new purchases, when I pulled out this lovely little thing.

The Boy was disappointed the glitter wasn't shaped like Hello Kitty's head

A Hello Kitty chunky holographic glitter? Really!? Firstly, I've never been a fan of Hello Kitty as such. I always liked her sidekicks better. Secondly, I've been quite vocal lately about my disinterest in chunky glitters. But if I remember, these are exactly the reasons Femme Hulk used to make me buy it.
"Meh, Hello Kitty?", I remember thinking. "That's so cliche. Everyone likes fucking Hello Kitty."
"BUT YOU WANT IT. Your excuse is STUPID", she replied.
"But I don't like chunky glitters," I thought.
"Do you not like them because everyone else likes them?" she replied.
"Maybe," I thought.
"BUY IT. MAKE IT YOURS!! Give in to the GLITTER!!" she bellowed. So I did.

And you know what? I fucking love it. Heaven help me, I'm in totally uncharted territory here, but I love it. I especially love it over my fuscia glitter base.

I got this colour thinking to myself, "Heh, it'll be a bit of fun, and I'll take it off when I get home." But I LOVE IT. I don't want to take it off. I see my nails twinkling out of the edge of my vision and it makes me smile.

When I started this whole femme kick, I was totally unprepared for how much what I wear could change my sense of identity. I figured that what I wore on my nails, or how much effort I put into my hair couldn't change who I really was. And in some respects, it hasn't. I'm still writing this sitting on the couch in a slouchy jersey dress that hasn't been washed for a week. My nails look fabulous, but my hair is bundled up on top of my head. But in other ways, I feel totally adrift. I tweeted yesterday that if I time traveled to that salon from five years ago, I wouldn't have recognised myself. And you know, I really wouldn't have. That is a very...unsettling sensation. But I don't hate where I am. I LIKE wearing mascara to the markets just because I feel like being pretty. I LIKE having sparkly nails, even though I'm just slobbing around the house. Getting my hair cut yesterday made me feel more relaxed than I have in a week. I am really enjoying all this "girly" stuff. I just have to come to terms with the fact that I love it.

I'm sure I'll have deeper analysis of this for you all once it's filtered through properly, but I just wanted to share my initial impressions, and the fun of my Femme Day Out.

Work It, Princess - Part Two

So yesterday we had a look at some princesses from folklore that show a different side of princesses than the one that is normally portrayed. But it's not just in stories that princesses are more than just selfish, silly twits - history is full of examples of inspirational princessing.

For a real historical under-rated princess, I always like to look to Marie Antoinette. All the cake quotes and bullshit covers a deeply fascinating story of a woman stuck in a terrifying, deeply complicated political situation, who was subjected to enormous amounts of pressure over things she had no way of controlling. It would be a more inspirational had she survived – but I think there are still interesting examples to be found in her story. This is one of the reasons I’m one of the five people who saw and loved Sophia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette. I feel like she really captured a lot of the complex motivations and really human feelings behind the actions that became famous. There is a fantastically moving scene where Marie has spent most of the film thus far attempting to convince her husband not to be such an uptight, terrified virgin and get it on with her in order to make the heir that is more or less Marie’s job to produce. She gets a letter from her mother tearing her apart for her failure, and threatening that there could be war over her uselessness, even though it’s a situation that is largely her husband’s fault. It’s a heartbreaking example of the kind of pressure she was under from the moment she set foot in France.

Antoinette was widely criticised for “wasting” money setting up a summer home of her own, complete with a working farm, where she would spend great chunks of time just chilling the fuck out. A lot of this criticism stems from the fact that France simply couldn’t afford to be supporting her in this manner at the time – but there is no way she  could possibly have had access to those numbers. For someone who is known to have been wildly irritated by the ridiculous ceremonies of the Court at Versailles, I think her farm was a brilliant compromise. She would play the stupid Court games when she was at home, but then she would fuck off with her daughter and play with the ducks for a while to keep from completely losing her mind. 

So how do these stories relate to femme, and fashion, and my newfound obsession with pretty dresses and putting shiny things on my nails? I’m glad you asked.

All the stories I have come across regarding princesses, be they “good” or “bad”, or selfish, or selfless, there is always a common thread running through them – the idea that a princess is inherently special. Even if she starts out as a peasant girl, or is reduced to the station of a gooseherd because her serving girl is a total bitch she is still inherently a princess. It’s something that she is, something special and wonderful and irreplaceable. Historically this is linked to the idea of the divine right of kings, the theory that the royal family is the royal family because God has blessed them with everything they need to be kick ass rulers. But in folklore, this special “thing” that princesses have crops up in even in cultures that aren’t really based around the Christian god as such. There is something special about a princess, and that can never be taken from her. She deserves good things to happen to her – in the stories I’ve read it’s only the “evil” character that begrudge the princess the handsome husband, or the tons of gold, or whatever it is she’s rewarded with in that particular story. Everyone else recognises that simply by being who she is, she deserves the good things she wants. In Cinderella, it’s only the wicked stepsisters who refuse to see the innate worth in Cinderella – everyone else accepts happily that obviously she was SUPPOSED to marry the handsome Prince all along. Marie Antoinette stood fast to her belief that she deserved the things that would make her happy, no matter how unfashionable (or unfortunately unaffordable) those things were.

I’ve noticed that a lot of women have trouble convincing themselves they deserve the things that they want, or the things that make them happy. Someone else deserves it more, I don’t have time, the kids need this other thing more, it’s alright, I don’t really need it, it’s only for me, it’s a waste of time....the excuses go on. I find myself doing it a lot, especially at work. My boss will ask why I’m not going to lunch, and I’ll explain that someone else in the company needs something done right now, so obviously I can’t go to lunch. At home I catch myself doing it when my boy asks what movie we want to watch, what we want for dinner. If I’m a little down, I will almost unconsciously default to the position of “Whatever you want,” like it’s an enormous favour to ask of him to watch something or eat something I want. If I had children, I imagine I would be even worse. 

One of the fascinating things I’ve noticed from trawling around the nail community is how many of the bloggers I come across are mothers. Their lives are so centered around the needs of other people, that often their nail blog and the whole nail “thing” is the only excuse they have to do something just for them – and I think this should absolutely be encouraged. As Virginia Woolf observed so long ago, everyone needs a room of one's own. Everyone needs something  that they do simply to make themselves happy, and that can be hard to find when you’re in a situation at home or work where so many other people have things they need from you, and so much of your life is effected by the decisions of others. But the thing is, whatever it is that makes you happy? You deserve it. Even without a crown, or a handsome Prince, or a castle, you can be a princess. The divine right of Kings and royalty in general has long ago been thrown out the window. We all know that the people who become princesses are the people who want to be them. But I don’t think you have to marry a prince to be a princess . If you’re smart, and resourceful, and kind, and concerned with those around you, then you are a princess. You can be a part of a long tradition of resourceful, awesome women who changed the world around them.  You deserve a happy ending. You might have to work for it, certainly. There are actually surprisingly few traditional stories in which the happy ending just happens to the princess. There are a lot more where she has to travel, or sacrifice, or come up with a plan to make her happy ending come true. But a princess deserves a happy ending, and so do you. 

And this is where it comes back to femme fashion for me. Indulging in pretty dresses and pretty nails makes me feel beautiful, and reminds me to celebrate the kind of power that I DO have. Instead of lamenting my lack of total control over my professional life, I celebrate the fact I can make things happen without anyone knowing it was me, like the Clever Peasant Girl. I rejoice in the kind of dogged strength I have, where I won’t give up until things are how I want them to be, like the Pigeon Bride. I celebrate the confidence that allows me to make sure I have the things that make me happy, like Marie Antoinette.  The things in question don’t have to be expensive – it’s the frivolity, the impracticality of frilly dresses and holographic nail polish that remind me that I am a princess, and that there is something in me that is unique, and powerful, and deserves to be celebrated.

Take this polish for example – it was a gift from my sister for Christmas, and it absolutely makes me feel like a princess when I wear it. Not because it’s the prettiest polish I own – but because it’s ACTUAL BLOODY GOLD. How ridiculous is that? How gloriously ridiculous! It’s so amazingly over the top and frivolous and totally Marie Antoinette that I fucking LOVE it.

Wearing things like these reminds me that I am a princess, and that being a princess is something that can’t be taken from me. I can’t reach the light fittings to change the bulbs, or beat off a horde, but I can make my kingdom/office run so smoothly that it looks like magic, and that's something worth being proud of. I can’t decide when I am going to get to work every day, but when my boy asks what I want to watch, I can tell him I want to watch the Little Mermaid, AGAIN, and he can deal with that. I can’t help everyone, but if someone in my kingdom is having a bad day, I can reach out to them to try and help even if it’s only to cheer them up. Dressing like a princess reminds me that I am strong, and clever, and allowed to treat myself like a princess once in a while.  It helps me hold my head high, and believe that even though my power isn’t as sexy and bold as it could be, it’s still mine, and I can still reshape the world with it.