Friday, 25 December 2009

London Calling Avon: Punk Rock Girl Turns Avon Lady
Above: the Avon Lady of popular imagination

And Now--Miss Justine Brown in Conversation with Miss Calla Jameison!

When Miss Brown first met Calla, they were teenagers on the punk rock scene. Miss Brown remembers a lively, witty, pretty girl with glowing skin-- skin that sticks in the mind of Skool-goer Miss Laura Watson as well. Laura, a gal with a great complexion who has always had a keen for others, rated Calla's as the best of all the girls.

Then there was the time she went bald. How many girls can pull off this look? Not many.

Lynn, Ageita, Calla, Eve, and Dawn at a gig (pic by Eric Foto)

But Calla could. All these years later, who knew that pogo-dancing Calla would be a poster girl for the legendary cosmetics firm we call Avon? Can the one be reconciled with the other? When Miss Brown talked to Calla again, it all fell into place. The common ground here is a certain DIY ethos.

Q: Punk rock girl to Avon lady-- it's a dramatic transformation. Let's start with the girl. What drew you into the punk scene?

Calla early-mid 1990s

I met some people who were punk and quite willing to challenge the status quo-- both in music and politics. I was very much affected by the threat of nuclear war, so those punks' refusal to just blindly accept what our politicians told us really resonated with me. I was also very keen on the sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll.

Q: Tell us about your style back then-- makeup, hair, clothes, attitude...Best described as Original Dirty Girl. Lots of heavy eye makeup, hair bleached blond or dyed black. Black jeans. Sneakers. Half bras. Plaid mackies [super thick, soft lumberjack shirts, a Canadian classic --Ed.]; leather jackets. Safety pins. White out. Kilts. We used to party at my friend Lisa's apartment in the West End. She had the best makeup stash! There was a host of punk girls and boys and great parties. We would listen to the record player, drink sweet wine with straws and play with makeup. Great fun!

Later I caught politics, but cured it with history.

Q: Would you like to relate a salty punk anecdote or two?

A: I actually met Simon Snotface [a notoriously rowdy fellow, to say the least --Ed.] at Lisa's. I entered the elevator and there was this nice young man wearing only a towel and a grin! So okay, I thought, this is the West End; whatever. I was more concerned with the missing button number 23, Lisa's floor. I took a Ramones button out of my lapel and, God knows why I thought it was a good idea, stuck it straight into what turned out to be a hell of a lot of power. Simon was very kind, given that he was laughing so hard. He helped me up-- I had been blown across the cage! It was my first taste of power... but not my last! Anyway, it turned out that he was washing the clothes off his back in the basement, and was headed to Lisa's place too.

A recent visit to the Science Museum.

Another time I was cast in a movie by accident. I was living at the YWCA and a headset/clipboard type grabbed me and asked if I wanted to be in a movie-- Dennis Hopper's Out of the Blue (1980). I got shoved into this trailer with a bunch of other punks: we were to walk down the street surrounding this chick, whooping it up, maybe taunting her. Dennis Hopper briefed us. He was quite aggressive and profane, as I recall. I've never seen the movie, but I was the one wearing a black leather motorcycle jacket with safety pins and NO FUTURE painted on the back with whiteout.

Q: You know quite a bit about the origins of Avon, which was founded in 1886. As you know, the first Avon Lady was a certain Mrs Albee. Imagine you are explaining the company to young punk Calla.

A: Successful Avon Ladies are quite independent and stubborn. They are not quitters, generally, even if they don't have the time to take it to the top. Pity the poor District Managers-- it must be like herding cats or witches!

I like to think about what a woman's life must have been like in, say, 1920. I'll bet there were a lot of single mothers and grass widows, what with their men having been killed in World War I, the complete lack of effective contraception, on top of the general difficulties of everyday human life. Contrast that with the heady, intoxicating rush of earning your own money.

Q: What is it like being an Avon Lady today?

A: I love being an Avon Lady. I've tried several other business models, but Avon stands head and shoulders above the rest when it comes to value and customer satisfaction, support and technical presence. The quality of the skin care and makeup is good. Avon stands behind its product, and Avon Ladies are the most important customers that the company has! We get the best deals, really reasonable cost-of-business expense and excellent support.

And the best thing, the thing that I love, is that Avon walk the walk. They don't tolerate shady dealers, and the deck is stacked in favour of the good guy. And I love knowing my neighbours-- who they are, their kids, who needs help with the lawn mowing and snow removal, who bakes the best cookies; that kind of thing.

I'd say to anyone looking at Avon as a business prospect, put down your $20 and try it. There are District Managers whose job it is to answer ALL your questions and happily drive all over hell's half-acre for you. So yeah, go for it!

(continued below)

At an Avon conference

Insider Tips by Calla 

If you've ever negotiated a family melt-down, an employee freak-out, or even just played poker, then you'll know how important it is to use your face and your body language to encourage calm, trust, and love. Moreover, sometimes a woman prefers a little more privacy, a little remove from the intimacy bare face implies.

Technical make-up, paired with good self-care, can help a woman put her best face forward. There are a few things you have to do to maintain optimum “face.” Luckily, they are easy to do. You can do these in any or no particular order.

Technical Makeup for Everyday Life
Film actors have long used products to fill in the worry lines and crows feet. Big cities have technical make-up stores: I recall going into the one on Robson Street as a teenager with some vague notion of buying green under-foundation to even out the red and purple tones. Holy Hannah Montana! Let me tell you, sisters, I have been struck dumb by bigger 150% out-of-my-league moments since, but that one has really stuck. Make-up like you would not believe. It was like a clown factory! I think I actually may have turned one slow circle and run out the door.

Recently, however, specific products that can be used at home have come on to the market. They are still technical, but the skills needed to apply them are easily mastered.

Now I am only going to talk about Avon products, because that's what I know. 

Crows Feet Corrector
Application time: including futzing around, 4 minutes
Number of steps: 2
What it claims to do: resurface and fill crows feet around the eye area

Does it? Yes. Bonus-- gives a massage to the area under your eyes

Often overlooked by the uninitiated, a thick firming cream called

Dramatic Firming Lotion is beautiful under foundation. It has a light almond scent and does not contain any of the anti-aging ingredients such as retinol, which are irritating to some skins.

Anew Wrinkle Zone Line Smoothing Duo is a skin-coloured treatment that fills the wrinkle zone. Loose powder sets it. 

Use Magix and/or foundation if you want before the setting powder. I love this product.

Bounce light off the area you want to soften. Use subtle shadows to reflect light. Employ light concealers over foundation. Keep your skin as smooth and matte as possible. Avon's Magix is a nifty little cream that lays down like a gel and provides and excellent base for foundation. Bonus: taking off your makeup later is a breeze. A final note: The best thing I've found to take off years is forgiveness. Laugh. Smile. Open your heart and mind wide open to wonder.

Thanks, Calla! You've provided a strong sense of your experience with an an iconic company. In addition to being iconic, Avon is well-respected in the beauty industry, not least because, in 1992, they became the first company to mass-market an alpha-hydroxy night cream, bringing one of the new generation of treatments to the public-- an anti-aging cream that actually works.

Over the past few weeks Miss Brown has been testing Avon's Anew Reversalist Night Renewal Cream, which she obtained through a half-price special in the UK. (It retails for $32 in the U.S.) The cream is billed a rejuvenator, and features a patented ingredient called Activinol.

Reversalist smells good and is a pleasure to handle, which is more than she can say for a lot of similar creams: Roc's retinol-based night lotion works, for example, but provides zero ritual pleasure because it smells and feels so medicinal. There are creams that do one (smooth the skin and restore even colour) and creams that do the other (feel fantastic), but Avon's does both. And without creating a cavern in the pocket. Miss Brown will be going back for more-- half-price sale or not.

Thursday, 17 December 2009

Never Mind the Dentist, Here's the Sex Pistols

article (and cartoon) by Mrs. Tami Thirlwell-Nicol

As a kid I had pretty decent teeth. My mom made it a point to put fluoride drops, which were all the rage in the 1960s, in our milk at mealtimes in the hopes that those teeth would grow strong and be free of major dental work. It was an investment. I was proud of the fact that I didn’t need braces; plus, I really knew how to floss. Smugly, I was pretty much ahead of the game.

In 1978 our 11th grade psychology class went on a weekend field trip to a facility resembling a ranch. It was like group encounter work for the budding Rogerian starter set. I only vaguely remember playing silly games in small groups and sitting in a lot of big circles. What I do recall distinctly is that on Saturday night it was my turn to help do the dishes. I was to dry them and my good friend John was to wash. While acting out some comedy shtick he turned suddenly and passed me an industrial-sized cooking pot, which I caught with my mouth. My teeth had their own group encounter as I watched shattered bits fly up in the air. It took me a moment to realize what had happened. 

When I arrived home from psychology camp my mother saw her investment in a jagged state. She was not a happy camper. If I had learned anything from that weekend retreat maybe I could have offered her grief counseling with my newly acquired teen empathy skills. I was to have prosthetics, two fake front teeth. And she was to have a very large dental bill. I easily accepted my fate, but a part of me always wonders how great my original teeth might have looked today.

The punk scene gave me a much wider view and perhaps more acceptance of those who, like myself, are dentally compromised. In fact it seemed that many of my music heroes had just about the worse teeth I’ve ever seen. Take Joe Strummer, for instance. Had his teeth ever experienced the ‘sip, swish and spit’ routine outside of a nightclub environment? What about Ten-pole Tudor with his ebony and ivory smile, or Shane McGowan and his mahogany picket fence? How dashing. And plenty of Damned, Pistols and Dead Boys members may not have had a peaches and cream complexion, but they had that same canned corn colored smile. These punk icons’ teeth were appealing in the way that lipstick was on Robert Smith’s mouth-- and chin and cheeks and sometimes forehead. 

Below: Mr. Shane McGowan and his famous accessories.
One learns to equate messed up teeth-- or the absence of them-- with a punk sensibility that says my mouth smells like a composter and I don’t give a toss, thereby excusing the need to see a dentist. The same unfortunately doesn’t hold true for our punk rock sisters. Evidence of a failed dental program is reflected greatly in one's looks, ladies. It is probably one of the leading telltale signs of aging. Witness one Amy Winehouse: she looks about 59 years old and really she’s only 15, right? 
Sure, the missing teeth might look edgy for about 10 minutes, but we all know she has plenty of money to get that fixed, thus, sorry Amy, street cred: denied.

But the award for “Best Capped Secret” goes to Keith Richards, another rock hero and dental delinquent. He eventually managed to plant himself in the big vinyl recliner. Soup had been starting to look like his best friend in the twilight years with the alternative being what? If only he had the same foresight as my mom and had thrown some fluoride in that IV drip during his famous blood transfusions! Today, however, having put his mouth through rehab, Keith is sporting a set of ‘teeth’ that would make your grandmother’s Poligrip quiver with an “I want to get with that” kind of lust. 

But maybe Keith’s teeth look too good. A set of fabulous pearly whites can look a little odd when juxtaposed against a face resembling fruit leather. Has Mr. Richards turned himself into Lyle Wagner’s doppelganger or just about any TV game show host? Look out Bob Eubanks and Wink Martindale! Fortunately, loading up on plenty of nicotine and coffee ought to even things out.

Lyle and the new Keef-- can you spot the difference?

I must admit I was quite negligent about my teeth for a spell, especially while I wasn’t on any sort of dental plan. My wisdom teeth started to crumble, and gold caps were hammered over my molars faster than you can say “nice grill, homes”. And as I got older my gums decided to recede like Sting’s hairline. (Okay, maybe not that bad). While that whiny crooner probably thought it made him look more virile, my recessiveness revealed the metal under the porcelain next to my gums, alerting everyone to the fact of my caps. This was unacceptable-- finally, I had them replaced. I invested in a proper bleaching tray one gets from the dentist, not those silly white strips. Now, like Keith, I can boldly present myself to the world with a carefree smile, snarl or sneer.  

Step right up, Skool-goers! Some of you are attending, but not on our class lists. WHO will be the 50th official reader? Just click on "follow" at the right of the blog and give Google a password. Miss Brown will then send you a full-size PRIZE from the fab UK line Soap & Glory. You can also choose between a girl-treat and a boy-treat.

Thursday, 10 December 2009

Boys' Own Makeup Manual

 Slow backstage with co-conspirators after backing up The Cramps in 1986. Tom Anselmi, John Armstrong, Mary-Jo Armstrong, Stephen Hamm, Terry Russell, your very own Miss Brown, Ziggy Sigmund and Christian Thorvaldson: we all dressed as nurses. John was guest guitarist and we girly girls sang backups on "Pills." (photo by Alex Waterhouse-Hayward, courtesy Scott Beadle)

by Miss Justine Brown

The Skool is a girls' school, but we sneak boys in for fun. Punk and goth boys have style stories aplenty. Take the tale of Al J for instance. When Miss Brown was fourteen, she had the run of an apartment below her mother's place. Al was a regular visitor. A pretty, funny, sweet, smart singer in the iron grip of a treacherous love for booze, Al used the now-classic recipe of sugar mixed with a little water to achieve his chaotic spikes. Add some black eyeliner and--voila!-- Al was an oil painting.

Another frequent visitor was Andrew Miller, a school friend.That old picture of Miss Brown and Andrew (see the Punk Rock Hair post) brought a vivid image back into her mind, something that epitomizes Vancouver punk style for her. The two of them made a spectacle of themselves in the hallways of their highschool by day, and went out to the Windmill and the Smilin' Buddha Cabaret to pogo to bands at night. People often told him he looked like Sex Pistols drummer Paul Cook. He did, actually. He even got into a few clubs on the strength of it (that and a little eyeliner). And when Paul Cook and guitarist Steve Jones were notoriously ensconced at the Denman Place Hotel to make a movie, Andrew really went to town.

Andrew had sandy-coloured hair, light enough that he could dye it green with food colouring and the grassy pigment was actually visible! One perennial problem, however, was the winter rain in Vancouver. Andrew covered up with either a) an old lady's cream-coloured faux-fur hat, or b) a simple plastic bag. This plastic bag didn't quite do the trick, and the green dye stained the standing-up collar of his white "business guy" shirt--worn flapping outside his waistband, of course. That leaking hair is the detail that, if tugged, brings the whole of the early Pacific Northwest punk rock scene with it-- the lack of readymade products, the resulting inspired  solutions, our lack of money, the hilarity... and the pitiless rain which always threatened to undo our meticulous styling work.
 Vancouver or Venice? Sometimes, it rained SO hard, people took boats instead.

Punks with cars to protect their look were pretty thin on the ground (especially among the 14-year-olds). Bands had cars-- or more likely-- vans. Getting wheels was tantamount to starting a band, and bands were at the pinnacle of our social hierarchy. So vehicles were prestigious in more ways than one. (Looking back, Miss Brown is struck by the force of that hierarchy. Everyone had a niche, and plenty of us struggled to keep our rung on the ladder. Once in a while someone would make a break for the top.)

DOA guitarist Dave Gregg, Miss Brown's boyfriend (ahem) from her sixteenth to twenty-first years, took a contrary approach to his own good looks. A contrarian amongst contrarians, his look could be described as  anti-anti-fashion. One of his favourite pairs of trousers was polyester with an elastisized waist, the kind heavy people wear when they have simply given up. The pants were big and baggy.They were also too short, like so many of Dave's pants (he was 6' 4"). No Mr Big 'n' Tall for Dave! He preferred naked ankles.But the most striking thing about this particular piece of polyester attire was the pattern. Picture this: plaid overlaid with big yellow daisies. Miss Brown dubbed these the Test Pants. If your love could survive the visual torture that was these pants, Miss Brown reasoned, then your love had passed the test.

Miss Brown's platonic ideal of Dave included a short back-and-sides bleached-out hairdo. She was sorely of course disappointed most of the time. Dave took his hair into realms of ugliness none of the rest of the punks would even dream of. Mainstream folk found us ugly, but we sure didn't. Dave's hairdos were another matter, however.

Consider the following incident: one night at 3am Dave pulled up outside Miss Brown's house in his van. He cut the motor and climbed the fire escape to her room at the top of the house, gently tapped on the window, and was admitted. He had just returned from a three-month tour (the theme to Gilligan's Island cues up in her head). Miss Brown was ecstatic, albeit a little weirded out. It had been so long. Things got weirder when, still in darkness, she stroked his head. It seemed to be bald.

Turning on the light, she was horribly dismayed to behold The Haircut. Dave was tittering, pleased with himself. He had really defeated his natural handsomeness this time. Not only did he have a Hari Krishna-style tuft at the crown (all the better for the deity to pull you up to heaven with, my dear), he had let the hair grow in a bit, then reshaved it, leaving a thin circle around the circumference of his hairline. The effect was vaguely target-like and monstrous in her eyes. And to think of the planning that had gone into it! It was an assault in the first degree on Miss Brown's overweening aesthetic sense. Add the fact that he was on some kind of shower fast and boys oh boys, was it hard to get re-acquainted with Dave after THAT tour.

Nowadays, of course, metrosexuality has come and (sort of) gone, and men think nothing of making up their faces and wearing sexy white nurses' uniforms to work every day, and cosmetic lines are specially designed for the urban dude. Soap and Glory ( recently come out with a laddish collection of bath and shaving products. This excellent line, sold at reasonable prices through Boots the Chemist, was designed by Marcia Kilgore, the lovely cosmetics sorceress who founded Bliss in the States, made her fortune and moved to London to spread cheer among the British with her playfully packaged-- think Benefit-- and generally fantastic makeup, skin and bath products (the products are available in North America now). Miss Brown's spouse has been gamely road-testing their Clean of England Shower Gel, which he says smells "herby" (that would be the goldenrod, ginseng and guarana extracts listed) and "not girly" in addition to keeping him squeaky. And is Mr. Brown happy to keep using it? Yes indeed. And that,folks, that is a man.

Thursday, 3 December 2009

Slightly Undead: A Beginner's Guide

by Miss Alexandra Oliver

I would have been ever so interested, as a pouty adolescent back in 1986 (see photo by Martin Blache above), to learn that, 23 years on, North America would be in the grip of Vampire Fever. Finally! I would have thought, the hegemony of burnished, big-haired jockitude is over! Then I would have trotted through the Teen Section of my local bookstore, or seen a few rushes of New Moon and I would have gasped, reached for smelling salts and toppled over. For the teen vampires of this day and age strike me as being intense, Clorox-marinated versions of normal, ultimate Frisbee-playing, gum-snapping, text-messaging youth. No fragility! No danger! No true eccentricity! Yes folks, I have had it up the wazoo with the Twilight franchise, with its pre-fab romantic gooiness, its ridiculous martial arts segments and its caravan of perfect GQ men’s hairstyles. I give you Roger Ebert’s own verdict on the latest Twilight installment:
The movie includes beauteous fields filled with potted flowers apparently buried hours before by the grounds crew, and nobody not clued in on the plot. Since they know it all and we know all, sitting through this experience is like driving a tractor in low gear though a sullen sea of Brylcreem.

Yet there are lots of young gals out there who have gone ape over the whole shebang. They trail through my local shopping mall with their Team Edward bookbags, their extra layers of Bare Minerals Mineral Veil, their Alice Cooper eye makeup and their stares designed to seem just a trifle more sepulchral and vacant. Great Caesar’s ghost, I think, where is my Advil? And should I write a handbook for carrying off Slightly Undead properly?

Back in the day, you didn’t need Klaus Nomi makeup and fake teeth to seem of another world. You had to have an imagination. All the kids I hung out with were stealing time from Biology 11 and Debate Club to immerse themselves in Mary Shelley, Goethe, Schiller, Dostoevski and (of course) Bram Stoker. 
A 1921 edition of Dracula (1897)


They were studying the attitude. There really was no name for this attitude, but it was the essence of what made the look authentic. Like Romapen to the Roma and duende to the Flamenco dancer, it was indispensable to pulling the whole look off. So what was the attitude? Well, for one thing, good-old-fashioned elegance played a large part. Entering a room the right way, sitting down the right way, eating the right way, and, well…being polite. Because none of us could have ever imagined Johnathan Harker striding into a room, slapping von Helsing on the back and crowing,”Yo! Wassup, mothafucker!” 

I remember, back in 1985, receiving two gentleman callers in inky Pete Murphy spiked hairdos, cutaway jackets, riding britches and long boots. They had brought flowers not for me but for my mother. Three hours were spent in the family living room with my admirers sipping Irish breakfast tea out of the family Lomonasoff and asking my mum about what exactly women did when nylon stockings ran out during the war. To have that certain vampirical allure, you needed to draw people in. You could be flamboyant, you could be a drama queen, but you had to do it in the most anachronistic fashion possible. And adults were, by no means, the enemy. Not only were they closer to the past than you were, they were (usually) closer to death than you were. How cool is that?

The cult of individual satisfaction so popular in today’s day and age has given rise to a new kind of oafishness. Teens are getting ruder and ruder. Drivers are getting more and more aggressive. The language is peppered with text-message syntactical mutilations (UR SO HOT!), as well as endearing terms of address such as “tool” and “douche bag.” Mystery has vanished into the water closet. I cannot boast of having been called a douche bag, but I have brushes with modern oafishness on an ongoing basis. 

The other day, I found myself virtually pinned (at a children’s birthday, of all places) under a zaftig blond social worker, a devoted Sex and the City watcher, who insulted the House of Basekić by bleating, “Your husband is SOOOOOO YUMMY!” and then (O, horrors!), “I wouldn’t throw him out of MY bed!” What about I throw you out of that window over there, honeybee? Somebody bring me a forklift! But enough on the sorry state of today’s manners. Let us talk about the delights of superficial beauty.

In the 80’s, paleness was everything. To the mirth of family and schoolmates, my cronies and I hid from the sun at picnics and on the beach (see Miss Brown’s excellent entry on the same subject.) I actually used to play softball for my school in an enormous hat. As for makeup, this had its own set of rules. My circle associated foundation with the orange masks sported by the bouncing, athletic big-hairs we so assiduously avoided. Powder on the other hand was greatly prized and applied with a generous hand. My favorite was Christian Dior’s loose powder (in Ivory), which came in a handsome lapis-coloured box. Add to this some smoky black Lancome eyeliner and some blood red lipstick (I wore a wine shade pilfered from Mum, again from Christian Dior) and you were good for a night out. Blush was never spoken of, nor was lip gloss. Highlighter had not yet been invented, but if it had been, we would have probably gathered up all the tubes we could find, put them into a giant wicker man and burned the whole thing.

Vampirella gets her beauty routine underway (a gratuitous offering, but who can resist?--ed.)

Today, being a busy mother, lady of the manor, writer and grad student, I have had to change things. I often air-dry my hair. I wear items that can be easily purged of yoghurt and crayon. I even wear sneakers (my ancient Coq Sportif ones) to go and get my son from school. And makeup? That’s changed, too. I no longer have the time to emulate the elegant severity of my 1980’s face. Instead, for my day makeup, I take my cue from, for example, Edwardian ladies: pale skin, slightly rosy cheeks and a stained mouth. It communicates “wan and interesting! No tanning bed and French Pedicure for me!” without taking an age to effect or breaking the bank. How do I pull it off, you ask?
  1. After rinsing my face in the morning, I hydrate with a good moisturizer and sunscreen (I’m chugging through a jar of L’Oreal RevitaLift Day, at the moment.)
  2. I pat on some Olay Regenerist Eye-Lifting Serum. I wait five minutes.
  3. I apply a tinted moisturizer with a foundation brush or damp sponge. (In this department, I like to mix Laura Mercier’s Illuminating Tinted Moisturizer in Bare with Roche-Posay Hydreane Tinted Moisturizer in Light. The former is too expensive to use alone every day, except for special occasions.)
  4. I apply a little concealer (I love Stila’s Cover Stick, but, in a pinch, I quite like Rimmel’s deadly cheap Rimmel Recover.)
  5. I reach for my lip and cheek stain, the astonishing LORAC Sheer Wash in Sheer Luck ( Though tricky to apply at first (blend! Blend! Blend!), this is a rare and flattering burnt rose colour. A lot of stains, I find, veer towards Barbie Pink or fuschia. This one does the trick. Sheer Emotion (in the same line) is great too, but definitely deeper and better for the night. Being a stain, it can be a bit drying, so I top it off with a smidge of Poppy King’s Medieval or the indispensable Smith’s Rosebud Salve.
  6. I attack my brows. My drugstore find of the year is unquestionably Maybelline’s Define-a-Brow pencil in Dark Blonde. It’s a truly authentic ashy shade and comes with a nifty, sharp little comb. To groom, I use a clear mascara such as Rimmel’s Style and Shine Clear Mascara or more Smith’s Rosebud Salve.
  7. I treat my lashes to one coat of Lancome Definicils mascara in Deep Brown, and the eyes are done.
  8. If I have time, and my son has not hammered the bathroom door down, I swish over some BeneFit Georgia powder ( with a large Kabuki brush to add brightness and to fix the whole deal and, bada-bing, bada-boom, I’m ready for my close-up.
    Fair, smooth skin, ironic eyebrows and stained red lips. Creatures of the night, look out! This is how it’s done. Team Edward, take note. And while you’re at it, watch your manners.