I’m going to start things off with a very self-indulgent piece in honor of my coming birthday. And to honor this unremarkable occasion of my birth, I present you with my list of “firsts” in the long, winding road of cosmetics and beauty:
Lipstick
Chanel. This Grandmommy of all fashion and cosmetics brands was my first taste of that mixture of carnauba wax, petrolatum and rich iron 
oxide pigments. I was about 8 or 9 years old that slow summer afternoon. I tiptoed my way into my parent’s bedroom and became curious for the first time about the shiny jars, tubes and bottles on my mother’s dressing table.
It wasn’t long before I gave into temptation and opened a classic black Chanel 22 lipstick tube. With sheer abandon, I began smearing that lovely crimson over my kiddie-size lips, catching some in my teeth and chin in the process.
At that moment, it was the smoothest, silkiest thing I had ever felt on my face. I loved the shade of red (it was not a flattering shade for me, I now realize), the scent, and most of all, the act of putting it on. I felt like I had stumbled on a precious beauty secret.
Of course, I ruined that expensive, scented piece of pigmented wax by forgetting to twist the lipstick back in before pushing down the black cap. At first, there was a slight resistance, but I forced the cap and the lipstick broke, falling to the floor.
After seconds of panic, I dared to hope that I could still get away with it. I picked up the broken lipstick, reshaped it with my bare fingers as much as I could, gently put it back inside the tube, cleaned the cap with my shirt, and put it back on the table.
I hurried to the bathroom to wash off the evidence, but apparently, soap and water were no match for Chanel no. 22 lipstick’s staying power. Wetting my shirt didn’t help, either. The concept of a make-up remover was unknown to me then, so I spent the better part of an hour holed up in the bathroom. Eventually, my worried mother demanded that I to open up. She took one look at my crimson-streaked face and wet shirt and ran upstairs. Hearing her shriek and indignant footsteps coming back down the stairs, I was surprised how she could tell what I’d done so easily.
Of course, now I know better how grave that offense was — destroying a perfectly innocent, extremely expensive designer lipstick that she bought in Rome (where she worked as an Overseas Contract Worker). It must have taken supreme self-control for my mother not to spank me. I was locked in the house for a whole weekend and not allowed to watch TV. But this memory tickles me pink when I realize that the very first make-up that touched my face was no less than a Chanel.
Read more about lipstick:
- Chanel lipstick review
- Blogtoplist on Lipstick
- Lead in lipstick hoax: (no, you cannot determine lead content of anything by rubbing a piece of gold jewelry against it and watching it change color!)
Daily Facial Routine
My first facial routine was passed down to me by my girl cousins who considered this a family beauty secret. They spent summers at our already-cramped house in a small housing project, systematically taking over my room. As they were all about five years older than I was, I was excluded me from everything they did, except for the nightly skin rituals.
From what I remember, it went, more or less, in this manner: wash with face cleanser, two cottonballs of astringent (it wasn’t called toner at the time) and, the coup de grace, a cup of ice cubes.
Yes, ice cubes.
I admired them so much, I imitated everything they did, including subjecting my facial skin to burning cold ice every night to “draw out the impurities” and “close the pores.” I’m sure they meant well. Back then, in their mid-teens, how could they know that the extreme temperature only served to dry out the skin and cause more problems?
Every night, I stood in front of the mirror with them and admired our complexion, flushed by the freezing ice cubes we ran over and over our faces until they completely dissolved.
No moisturizing regimen followed after this. It was simply off to bed, lights out, and me, listening to my cousins whispering gossip to each other until I fell asleep.
More on using ice cubes as a facial regimen:
Face Powder
Around the sixth grade, most girls in my class went through the stage of using plain baby powder as face powder. They’d shake it into their palm, rub their hands or lightly clap them together, and spread it over their faces, closed eyes, as if they were rinsing their faces with powder instead of water.
I found it incredibly distasteful and my natural morena complexion didn’t look well dusted paper-white. Also, the white flecks of that usually got stuck in the brows or eyelashes of my classmates after putting baby powder on their faces seemed to me like such a senseless assault on my idea of beauty.
So I decided to skip the baby powder trend, going straight to “real” face powders. My very first one was Angel Face. I’m not sure if this still exists in some corner of the universe: the red, angel wing-shaped powder compact that came in a color that matched my tan. As soon as I bought it, I ran to the bathroom and patted the puff carefully over my face. I was pleased. I still looked like nerdy little me, only better.
In school the next day, my friends couldn’t tell I was wearing anything on my face. Until lunch break, at the heat of the sweltering sun, while playing tag with my classmates.
The flesh-toned powder turned into mush on my face and dribbled down my neck and back. While resting in the shade, my friends started pointing and laughing at me. My uniform’s collar had turned tan!
A lesson was learned at that moment and that was: never wear a light-collared uniform while wearing face powder and playing under the sweltering sun with your friends.
(Shortly after, I also learned that talc, in general, didn’t agree with my skin. That, and you can never bully your skin into submission.)
