It's no secret that I can be a little make-up crazy even though I rarely do anything elaborate anymore (I was recently pawing through old photos to find something Mother's Day appropriate to post on Facebook even though it was against my better judgment to participate, and noticed that I really used to put a lot more effort into eyeshadow and also that it's no lie that my eyebrows are not as thick as they once were). I just like colors. Before heading to New Orleans I became crazed over getting a purple lipstick a la Mac's Heroine (I'm still not clear if the Pure Heroine tie-in with Lorde is the same shade or something different with almost the same name) which used to be limited edition. Not berry, not plum, this is very important.
I cheaped out, which is dumb because I've never used up a lipstick or eye shadow in my life so spending double digits counts as an investment, and bought a Maybelline lookalike ("dupes" in makeup blogger parlance) off eBay called Lavender Bolt. But I happened to find myself at a Dillard's in suburban New Orleans, not Metarie, the more upscale suburb but Gretna on the hunt for Vietnamese food, which frankly was underwhelming, and just bought Heroine anyway because I wanted the purple lipstick right then, not after I got back home and checked my mail.
Anyway, I'm sure you'll be pleased to hear that they aren't exactly the same. Maybelline is creamy and more sheer while MAC is matte and intense (when you Google images almost all the women are darker skinned, which kind of makes sense). Day lipstick and night lipstick. $6.99 and $16. I took photos of both for the heck of it, but only the Maybelline one really did anything for me (I looked too blurry and haggard in the other).
Ok, I was about to just let this stand as a throwaway post about two purple lipsticks and then got waylaid for a few days after knocking out a chunk of my right front tooth AGAIN. (Yes, I was wearing the Maybelline lipstick when it happened. The above photo is lipstick-less because I was heading to the dentist the next day.) The circumstances are too ridiculous to even detail (which is why I'm posting it here where ten people might see it rather than on social media even though Facebook is more private than this, an incongruity I've pondered before) but involved tripping over a pile of black plastic garbage bags stacked up on the curb as they do.
There are so many overwrought metaphors that could be gleaned from this (a friend goes to a therapist, who must be insightful to some degree but often forces meaning into things that are just things like cracks in a home's walls must relate to an unstable foundation non-literally). I have horrible balance. I'm not balanced. And when I start falling, I can't stop falling. I will tread more carefully from here on out and would be more upset by this if I hadn't already had one of the worst weeks in my life. It takes a lot to not be fazed by knocking out your teeth twice in four months.
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