Does Sephora Sell Existential Ideology?

I’m at work reading about skin care routines by niche micro celebrities of the cool downtown NYC variety, passing on the most recent issue of Vogue that’s sitting in the common room for the group home residents who sit, in a state of heavily medicated catatonia, watching football, cooking shows, Disney Channel… everything mild, without cause for excitement, something you might watch, magazines you might read, before, during and after the mood stabilizer kicks in and you can retreat into the folds of your brain that are comfortable, intimate, without giving much thought to what’s happening around you. I do it with reality TV, and obsessively scouring the internet for beauty routines that aren’t endorsed by a big name celebrity who’s just trying to make an extra buck off the companies that hire them to advertise their products. Vogue is no longer en vogue, in my opinion.

 I was in a very naive period of my life when I would have chosen to reach for the latest Vogue instead of maintain an online presence. I felt the call from Allure, Vogue, InStyle and Elle when I was too young to even understand current buzz words like “beauty standards.” I was even younger still when Seventeen magazine first opened my eyes to what I now recognize as the capitalist beauty machine. I believed with every insecurity inside my little girl brain that a 40 dollar cream I had no money to buy was the only thing separating my dull middle school self from a super model. I believed in products, and nothing more.

Now that I’m a tiny bit older, I go through phases with all that fashion and skincare and makeup junk. I find myself going back to beauty advice from the already absurdly hot ladies of the world when I’m feeling bored with my sobriety. I may not fuck with magazines anymore, instead choosing the long articles detailing the skincare routines used by glamorous New York poets, hookers and writers, but my vigor for learning about that “thing” I wouldn’t be able to find on my own is renewed every time I see someone I find interesting and think: I don’t really give a fuck how they look. I want to get as close as I possibly can to their life. I want to know what stories they bring home with them when they travel. I want to know how their concept of beauty has shaped the little things they like to keep around them to remind themselves all that glitters is gold as long as the glitter you choose is deeply personal to you. 

That “thing” I’m wanting to learn more about is no longer a product, but a mindset that I can adopt that will guide me out of the discomfort I feel when I’m bored but don’t have any desire to get high like I used to. When I read about whether someone I idolize uses Tatcha sunscreen or Supergroup, what I’m really doing is looking for sentences that let me know there was some kind of shift, an existential change if you will, that led them to a place where they’re able to decide between one brand or another. Rachel Rabbit White got close when she said coming into money of her own gave her choices, and she sometimes still goes with the budget friendly option not because she has to, but because that product allows her to present the face of wealth, a face she needs to maintain given the fact she’s a high class escort. 

I’m blessed with the ability to decide, which is maybe why I’m so invested in these sacred skincare routines. I got nothing but money, and after my suicide attempt I learned I’ve got about 5 lives left before my time runs out, so show me what’s on your bathroom sink so I can learn a little more about what allows you to decide. I promise I won’t judge you if the only thing you have to show for your time spent getting ready for the day is prescription pill bottles. Decisions about ways we care, or don’t care, for our bodies are the most intimate one’s we will ever make. 

Right after finishing a cigarette, right before I asked my current man to be my boyfriend, he said there was a time when he thought he’d never date a girl who smoked cigarettes. So I went back to vaping. Later, when I asked why he always kissed me so lightly, he said it’s because my lip piercing jabs him whenever we make out. So I took it out. My skin has cleared since I quit smoking, nothing distracts from my beauty now that I don’t have a gold bee floating on my upper lip. My man sees things about me I can’t see myself, but requires nothing of me other than the ability to make him laugh. With him, I can make changes that will help me shed the layers of my rough exterior I’ve built up over the years. I know everything about changing your appearance to fit a mans standards, and I no longer care for that grossly impersonal lifestyle. I routinely let my man into the bathroom while I’m pooping, he talks to me while I’m in the shower exfoliating my pussy after a wax, and I walk around naked before I get in the shower without being sexualized. I’m becoming beautiful in a way that transcends the lessons I learned from magazines. Those lessons, wash your face before bed, etc. make it so that you focus all your attention on making yourself appealing to yourself and to others, a superficial bandaid to the problem of building intimacy that plagues everyone who’s suffering from a mood disorder such as myself. Beauty is superficial. Yet the moments we spend caring for our bodies in the bathroom, showering, slathering our bodies in lotions, potions and oils, and the gross moments when we take out a nasty tampon and get blood on the toilet seat, are more often than not the most intimate moments we have in the day, and reaching a level of intimacy where I’m able to not shy away from both the beauty and the beast is what I strive for. 

Knowing that I could have products in my bathroom that make me breakout, or make my whole face peel off, or temporarily turn my skin orange, and still be loved, cared for, desired for something beyond my beauty, is intimacy that has nothing to do with my ability to perform sexuality through skincare. I still splurge on a 75 dollar serum. Yes, I’m self indulgent. I found freedom in endlessly scrolling through page after page of writing dedicated to skincare routines. In this timeline? Whatever the fuck I buy will be priceless.