Half my hair might fall out. Besides, the whole point of my assignment is to see what it's like being brunette. Why did I decide to do this two hours before my interview? I went to Northwestern. I have a degree in journalism.
Confessions of a Beauty Addict
I am, at least, theoretically , intelligent, although lately it seems like nothing I do reflects this. So how do I end up in situations like this time and time again? My father's voice floats through my head, clear as crystal, pulling me back fifteen years to a dinner with his Lieutenant Colonel: "Bella's book smart, but doesn't have much common sense. Now, Susan, on the other hand. She is the elder child, after all. They each have their own gifts. Where shall I collect my first-class prize for being a total spaz? I have an hour to fix this before I have to hop in a cab and rush down to Pamplona, the magazine industry hot spot I'm meeting the Post reporter at.
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Even if I wanted to dye it back and then fix it tomorrow, I wouldn't have time to blow it out. And in any case, I'm going to be photographed, so I'm definitely not going to make the mistake of trusting my own dyeing skills again. I'm getting my first big profile piece, in one of the most widely read, influential papers in the country. Can I wear a hat?
I don't own any hats. I hate hats. Showing up in a hat is even more embarrassing than showing up with orange hair. What about a head scarf?
Jackie O wore head scarfs. Princess Grace wore head scarfs.
It's very Monaco circa and is so ridiculously out there that I think it might work. The photographer will probably think I'm just another diva, self-absorbed, magazine head case. I run into my bedroom and yank open the top drawers of my wooden dresser, rummaging frantically through them. Through the years, I've accumulated countless fancy scarves that I've never once worn, all sent by beauty publicists as thank-yous for stories written about their products. Finally, they'll come in handy.
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I dump the scarves onto my bed and spread them out, surveying the stock before picking out two possibilities. Or psychedelic blue cotton Pucci with a green and white geometric print? The Pucci projects more of an image—a style moment. This, I can work with—all I need to complete the look is an A-line coat, shift dress, knee-high boots, and sunglasses. It's more than a little costumey, but after years of holding court at photo shoots, I know that the getup will at least photograph well.
After checking in for class online sign-up begins two weeks ahead of time , Lululemon'ed aficionados are given a tile, which they then hand to a "bouncer" standing outside each studio.
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The bouncers remain in place for the first few minutes of class to make sure that desperate yoginis don't try to sneak in, though Loren Bassett, one of Pure's most popular teachers, may let a chosen few practice in the supply closet. Grateful acolytes have given Bassett everything from jewelry to symphony tickets; one client even flew her to a resort in Turks and Caicos when the hotel's yoga instructors didn't measure up.
Instructors aren't the only objects of ardor. Ted Gibson, the New York stylist of choice for Angelina Jolie, Jessica Chastain, and numerous best-tressed women-about-town, inspires similar devotion. In beauty as in romance, however, being hard to get increases desire exponentially.
Clients have even flown him cross-country for a snip. One Hollywood wife sent Gibson a CD she recorded with lyrics extolling his virtues. Meanwhile, in Los Angeles, stylist Mark Townsend clients include Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen is so busy on photo and movie shoots that nonceleb clients have to wait three to six months for an appointment, and many resort to attempted bribery to move up the date.
Fanaticism doesn't stop at the hair on your head. Her gateway drug was electrolysis on her legs, and she moved up--literally--from there. I woke my twin babies at A. Cartier earrings.
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