Oh hey!… Madame Tussauds called… Yeah, they want Michael Jacksons, 1982 Thriller, facial Wax Work back.
This surly to God, HAS to be one of those ‘what were we thinking?’ fads, that women universally, shall sorely look back on in 15 years to come.
I hereby predict a deafening wave, of unanimous cries and a probable cringe induced genocide; when our then doting husbands discover, our long forgotten grave yard of social media account’s, that teem with the tangoed ghosts, of ones selfie obsessed past.
And we may just ponder… ‘Why oh why, am I masquerading my then glorious and glowing, pore free 19 year old face, in 28 layers of toffee shaded cement.’
You see, just because the Kardashian’s (and other unexplainably famous folk, similarly responsible for the deterioration of mankind) told us to do something, once upon an Instagram post; it shouldn’t necessarily be interpreted as a wise idea. Especially if you don’t actually employ a full time glam squad to conduct such ‘happening’ trends and your about as skilled in the brush strokes department, as yours truly.
I have approximately 35seconds worth of patients, to my name to work with. In which I require my clothes ironed and on my back, hair strictly up and out of my face and some form of slightly undull-ifying cosmetica slapped upon thy mush.
If said daily chore-some activities, oops-ily surpass my own timely constraints. Woe betied thee whom stands in my pre-Americano tracks. Various household objects will most likely be propelled and swear strewn screams, will assuredly be overheard from three doors down.
I recognise my problem primarily lies, in that I only feel the need to experiment in the warpaint department, when I’m off out somewhere uber fancy. When time is even more so of the essence and looking on-point is imperative. (Talk about some conflicting objectives..eh?!) Some how my hands and ever clouded optics, translate that intended smokey seductress, into a most uncanny alikeness of David Bowie… (post 24hr bender in Bangkok).
Oh yep, you bet. That watermelon splash, of cardinal-sin crimson, is right up there in the hair line.
So I’m perhaps not one to rightfully roll out the ‘how-to’ beautorials, but Im gonna haphazard a guess, that the sacred key to the holy contour, lies in the artistry of the blend. Yes. Blend, blend, blending…. and when you think you’ve done just about enough, you probably ought to do a little bit more. You see we’re simply (and light handedly) defining our natural God given beauty. We’re NOT amplifying our foreheads and features, in preparation for an International Space Station taken selfie.
I of course, can’t demonstrate said blendy craftsmanship for shite. But I’m honest enough with my ego to accept such facts; scrape it off and not go out. #YeayGoMe&MyNotoriousSocialCalender
But in all realness, when your patchwork blanket of foundations, are high/low-lighting your face at 12 shades apart, it quite naturally sends the beholders pupils into a disco-dancing, dilating frenzy and paints the (never-a-good-look) illusion, that your fella’s on the ‘artois’ wife beating tackle.
OK, so I’m not exactly saying this contouring lark is the biggest of predicaments, our little planets got going for its self right now. Nor may I add, am I officially declaring war on 50% of the British female population. Its merely an observation, that’s busy blowing my mind on a daily-some basis; that I just kinda had to articulate.
To sum things up… Just don’t do it. I’ts a bad idea, for the unknowing hand and for those whom just don’t know when to stop.
Speaking of which, I’ll probably take a generous slice of my own advice, on that note right now and get to work on documenting something marginally more pressing; like the continuing TRADE OF SHARK FINS, that’s still very much legal, in an unbelievable 40 States. Please show your muchly needed support & sign the linked petition, to help keep our gilled giants, IN the deep blue and OUT of our soups. It takes only 30 measly seconds, out of your big old 24hr day, to do your itty-bity bit, in helping end these scandalously ignorant & barbaric wrongdoings.
So go ahead! Cleanse your conscious with a splash of oceanic action…Right Now!….
With Love Raphaella x
Added, wet-plate visual fiesta’s, by the incredible Deep-perception.