I was invited to the 2008 MTV Movie Awards Gifting Suite today, so I dropped by around lunch, not really knowing what to expect.  Holy free stuff, Batman!  It was an utter orgy of swag (gee, Jolie, think you should have realized that sooner, seeing as the invite had “gifting suite” in the title and all?) and I felt genuinely mortified as people tried to shove things at me.  All I could think was, “Don’t need that…don’t want that…maybe I should just grab things and give them to charity…do I know anybody who needs free dog food?…ooh, champagne! no, it’s too early in the day…”  In the end, I took a pair of Tag Jeans, plopped an energy drink into my purse, grabbed some t-shirts, underwear and face cream to throw into this weekend’s beauty sale…and surrendered just a little bit of my soul.  (As I left, I spotted Whitney Port from The Hills—my second Whitney sighting in three weeks—looking adorable in a multi-colored sundress.  If I can find a photo of her online, I’ll post later.)

A Day in the Life, or Jolie Gets Wordy and Earnest

Tuesday, July 5th, 2005

The day-to-day life of a beauty editor is always changing: sometimes I’ll be at my desk for eight hours straight, interviewing experts and writing stories, and other times I’ll be dashing around the city, running from appointment to appointment. The days filled with appointments are the interesting ones, since you never quite know what to expect.Appointments held in the office, where public relations people visit you to present their latest beauty products, are usually rather run-of-the-mill, and only take about 15 or 20 minutes, if you’re lucky. Of course, depending on who the PR person is, even the most mundane appointment can take a wrong turn, such as the time I sat down with a publicist I wasn’t particularly fond of. Apparently, the feeling was mutual, since I commented on her exotic bracelet, and she replied, “Oh, it’s a bracelet to ward off the evil eye. I wear it when I’ll be around negative people.” Hey, thanks!Completely different from in-office appointments are out-of-office events, thrown by public relations people at clubs, hotels, museums or restaurants, and designed to make a big enough splash that you’ll have fun and think, “You know, I think I will write about this completely ordinary and not-at-all innovative beauty product.” That’s the only possible explanation, since events are getting more and more lavish (think jungle motifs, hot male models acting as waiters, private museum viewings, day trips out-of-state and even cross-country or overseas press trips), when most of the time, an in-office appointment would serve the same purpose, let you ask more questions without worrying about getting the evil eye from other, busier editors, and would probably save the company a lot of money.In between the appointments and the events are the lunches, which can range from decadent and delightful to painful and pointless. Some of the best food I’ve ever eaten has been in the company of PR people at chic eateries like Nobu and Per Se, although the average lunch tends to run more toward places like Sushi Samba, Bryant Park Grill and Koi. Sitting down to lunch with a PR person is a crap shoot: sometimes you’ll hit it off and chat excitedly about college, “the industry” and various crazy celebrities (Tom Cruise, anybody?), whereas other times you’ll be desperately grasping at straws for things to talk about, until you’re finally forced to discuss what types of stories you’re currently writing. (That’s usually the point at which they’ll try to convince you that their new anti-wrinkle cream is just perfect! for the oil-free foundation story you’re writing.) Luckily, those uncomfortable meetings are few and far between, since PR girls seem to be getting younger and younger (it can’t be that I’m getting older!) and are endlessly cheerful and talkative.It’s a very unique industry, but it’s thankfully never boring. And at least twice a week I’ll think of my banker and lawyer friends chained to their desks and I realize, in a nutshell, that my job rocks.

Pink is the New Black

Wednesday, July 13th, 2005

Today, in a fit of whimsy, it struck me: everything I own is pink. I have a pink Marc Jacobs wallet, three pink purses, three pairs of pink shoes, a pink dress, two pink skirts, a pink Lacoste shirt, endless pink tank tops, a pink iPod…you get the point. Why is this at all noteworthy? Because nearly every single one of these things was given to me. (Dude, I don’t buy pink.) In fact, I actually hate pink. But I love getting free things, and I long ago abandoned any pretense of being too cool to wear gifted swag. This is probably because gifted stuff=I don’t have to go shopping=a happy Jolie.The real problem with having all of this stuff you received as gifts is that everybody else has it, too. Try holding on to your pride when you walk into an event to find seven other girls sporting the exact same purse. Most beauty editors adhere to an unbreakable rule: do not wear or carry to an event anything you have been gifted. (Sage advice, but easier said than done, since half the time I end up forgetting it was a gift.) My only salvation: a Very Expensive Bag that I bought years ago as a “Happy Graduation to Me” present. I pull it out on event days, wear it with pride, and silently smirk at the other poor girls who accidentally brought the gift bag. I hope that doesn’t make me an asshole.

Swag Happy

Monday, July 25th, 2005

One of the most unexpected things about the past couple of days has been all of the support I’ve received from people within the beauty community. Far from shunning me as a pariah, I’ve received countless emails from editors and publicists, letting me know that they’re behind me, that they love the blog, that they know I’ll land on my feet and—most importantly—that they’re there with tons of products should my beauty closet run dry! Thanks, guys—your kind words mean more to me than you’ll ever know.Luckily, as far as beauty products go, I’m not in danger of running out anytime soon. My bedroom looks like a strange cross between the beauty level at Henri Bendel, a beach party, and a hurricane. I’ve spoken in the past about the various swag and tie-ins editors receive with new products, and the summer months mean loads-upon-loads of beach paraphernalia: colorful beach towels, Rafe straw bags, LL Bean totes, Malia Mills flip flops, Juice Couture terry cloth robes, and cowboy hats. Since I only had a few hours to pack up my desk upon leaving my job, I was forced to stuff everything haphazardly into bags—and trust me, a beauty editor has a lotof bags. My place in New York is the size of an average city apartment (read: I can almost touch both walls by standing in the middle of my bedroom and extending my arms), and so my poor room is now stuffed to the brim with all the bizarre beach goodies, plus several extra bags containing all of my beauty products I’d stored at work. A quick glance at the “hair products” bag reveals that I will be using up all of my excess shampoo until about 2007.Believe it or not, I’ll miss the beauty products more than the swag. Free purses and gift certificates to chic restaurants are always welcome, but I got into this industry because of my adoration for beauty—nothing makes me happier than a new jar of Bare Escentuals (Fair 1.2, if you’re reading, Leslie!) or a preview sniff of the latest Calvin Klein fragrance. Going forward, I’ll be working like a busy little bee on my book—I had some great meetings with agents today and I’m very excited about it all—but I also want to continue writing about beauty on this blog, and perhaps parlay my expertise into other projects. The outpouring of love for the blog has been overwhelming but gratifying, and I’ve realized that there’s a niche for honest and straightforward dishing on products. Let’s talk.

Yes, I Actually Get Paid for This

Wednesday, May 18th, 2005

So, I got back from my spa weekend in Arizona last night. It was as predictably phenomenal as three days of spa treatments, palatial suites, and gourmet food can be. On day two, while lying on a private patio getting a moonlight massage in breezy 85 degree weather, I thought, “I can’t believe this is my job.” And that’s the crazy thing about beauty: you get to do the most amazing things, and it’s called “work”.Everybody knows what a weird, parallel universe fashion is, but nobody delves into the beauty side of things that much. I find that really strange. Beauty is even more decadent than fashion, since beauty companies have so much more money to throw around on press trips, free products, and gratuitous gifts. I took a trip six months ago (again to Arizona) and the company flew us there via private jet. My boss (and sometimes even I, only a mid-level editor) regularly gets Marc Jacobs wallets and coats, plane ticket vouchers, iPods, overnight stays at the Mandarin Oriental, year-long gym memberships, and—of course—all the free highlights and haircuts your poor dyed, straightened and styled hair can stand. It’s almost embarassing.Of course, the entry pay is crap. When my parents found out how much I made at my first job (good ol’ Condé Nast!), they questioned the legality of paying somebody that little. (Nope, not slave labor, just your standard editorial assistant position.) Then again, I managed to double my salary in a year-and-a-half, which is the benefit to hopping around from magazine to magazine. It’s an incestuous little world, because everybody has either worked with, press-tripped with, or interviewed with everybody else. We see each other about six times a week, at various lunches, appointments and events put together by the PR companies, which means our industry is basically akin to a sorority. With even better hair.The strangeness of what I do seems like the most natural thing to write about, so expect more posts on it. It’s also the subject of the book I’ve been toiling away on (if “toiling” means shoving my laptop aside to watch The Bachelor and Veronica Mars) and expect to finish roughly in 2017.

Beauty blogging has become an interesting thing.  We mascara-and-serum bloggers used to be so separate from “corporate” magazine editors (Down with The Man!) that it was like night and day.  Now, however, with beauty blogging regarded as a force in its own right, the line occasionally blurs, sometimes to the point where it’s hard to tell the “us” from the “them.”  Who’s writing for the love of it—for the edification of fellow readers, because we might actually be able to help guide people away from the utter crap and toward the good stuff—and who’s just writing for the swag and endless deliveries of free publicist-supplied lipgloss?

I’m pretty honest about the beauty products I don’t like (here’s looking at you Maybelline Great Lash), or the ones I think are insanely over-hyped (what up, La Mer?).  Tonight, however, while rummaging through my personal beauty closet looking for inspiration, I actually considered staying mum on an expensive product I recently tested and didn’t like, because…well…wasn’t it nice of the publicist to send it to me in the first place??  So you didn’t like it, I thought.  Just…er…don’t write about it.  It took me about seven seconds to realize that, of course, my loyalty is to the people who read my blog, not those who try to get me to pimp out their products, and the entire point of this blog is that I’m straightforward and wait everybody to be as painlessly pretty (at the best price!) as possible. 

So, with that long preface, I tried the GHD hair straightener this week, and I was incredibly underwhelmed.  People have been orgasming over this thing for so long and with such intensity that I was convinced it would change my life.  The only thing it changed was the texture of my hair (it’s definitely a bit worse for the wear, although, to be fair, I’d have probably fried my locks a bit no matter what the brand).  It’s over $200, and, I’m sorry, but for that price, your hair straightener shouldn’t just be perfect—it should buy you dinner and do your laundry, too.  Hair straighteners, like mascara, can be a deeply personal thing, and if any of you are among the converted, maybe you’ll let me in on the secret.  But in the meantime, I’m stick to my beloved, trusty, want-to-make-out-with-it-it’s-so-good Solano Sapphire.  Oh, and I’m also vowing never to consider copping out on you again, publicist-inspired-fear be damned.

My non-sleek, frizzalicious hair this weekend, minutes after using the GHD. 

The New York Times has a feature on beauty blogging, which seems to have finally come of age.  Jolie in NYC is mentioned in it, as well as two of my aforementioned favorites (Kristen Kelly’s Beauty Addict and Tia William’s Shake Your Beauty).  After I read the article, thrilled though I am to be mentioned in the Times, part of me thought, “Oh, no, it makes us sound like swag whores!  Egads, it’s 2005 all over again!”  So, as I blogged a few weeks ago, what’s it all about: the swag or helping readers?  Kristen makes the good point that you don’t want to bash a product and hurt a company, and Tia adds that she’ll only blog about products she likes, not the ones she doesn’t.  Some beauty blogs read like a virtual list of the latest releases, with little flavor, soul, or remembrance of the fact that, whether or not we’re doing it online or in print, first and foremost we’re still supposed to be writers.  I won’t mention a product just because it’s new unless I’ve tried it and love it–and if I truly dislike a product that’s getting a lot of  hype, I think your wallet deserves to know where I stand!  (It’s undeniably fascinating to see how beauty bloggers are shaping the industry, however!  Vive la blog revolution!)