The trick is to look “effortless”, by which I do not mean the natural look — that favourite of off-duty models that is, in fact, a thousand times harder than any other look. And for all the times I’ve heard a man say he prefers natural to obvious slap, inevitably, they all say you look nice when there’s at least more than a hint of blush about your cheeks. Men all think they’re differentiating themselves, proving what practical, sensitive new men they are by extolling the virtues of all-natural womanhood, but it’s a flimsy ploy, as obvious as hot-pink cream blusher.
The working girl’s lot is a good example. On the one hand, the sort of client who wants an upper-class escort visiting his hotel is not after the streetwalker look. If he were, he would have gone to one. On the other hand, looking as if you have just rolled in after a hard day of meetings, in half-done hair and a rumpled suit, will not do. Neat, controlled and slightly but not obviously dirty is the look to achieve. Beauty comes from within, no? Short of achieving inner peace, there are no greater beauty aids than a good night’s rest and copious amounts of fresh water. If forced to choose, I’d take water over sleep any day. I know it’s tedious for yet another person to recommend two litres of water daily, but it’s true — good hydration, especially with dry skin like mine, is the key. I always balance a late night out with a generous lie-in and plenty of tea and juice.
I love a good all-round product, especially one that is cheap and easily available, so I must sing the praises of Garnier Skin Naturals Cleansing Milk, which whisks off industrial levels of paint with nary a whimper. I always use it after a night out, and it has never left me with so much as a hint of make-up. Without it, I would be nowhere.
Considering that we, as a nation, get less sun exposure in an entire year than a Spanish woman does in about 10 nanoseconds, I don’t bother with sunscreen, though I probably should. Not out of ignorance, mind — skin cancer would be such a drag — but because it makes foundation go on unevenly. In 10 years’ time, I will probably be paying the price for this folly in an oncology ward; until then, it’s caution thrown straight to the wind.
When you’re getting ready, it’s important to remember you expect to be kissed. So, instead of a full mask of buff-coloured grease, I tend to focus on concealing problem areas and leaving the rest of the skin to breathe. Nothing is less sexy than the remains of your cheek on a hotel pillow, and believe it or not, men actually do enjoy the smell of a female (as opposed to Springtime Freshness or Powder Soft Bouquet). Revlon makes a good creamy base, the New Complexion One-Step Compact, but then again, Chantecaille does a cracking little tub of whipped goodness called Future Skin. Being a northerner, I err on the cheap side and usually opt for Revlon.
Some swear by Touche Eclat by Yves Saint Laurent. Not only am I not one of them, I’ve never tried it. If the press is to be believed, I feel confident that it will still be there, waiting for me, when I need it, like a face-lift. No sense doing the full monty at this age.
Treatments I’ve found that are worth the money include brow and lash tinting, because I’ve never really got to grips with waterproof mascara. Over tinted lashes, two whisks with a mascara brush (wiped on a bit of tissue first and left to air for a few seconds) do the trick without clumping. So-called extending mascaras are a load of rubbish and come off on your cheeks anyway.
Brow-waxing, too, is a crock. For waxing to work, it has to have something to grab onto, and going out with ingrowing brows is unacceptable in my book. Legs and pubes, yes, that’s fine — even a working girl has her days off, and can brave the regrowth — but a shadow of unibrow on the day of a big interview? Eww. Buy good tweezers — don’t skimp — and use them. Zoë Ball once confessed that her obsession was tweezing her brows in aeroplane loos, because they have the best light. You can’t take tweezers on flights any longer, alas, but on that alone she was, and remains, my personal heroine.
Some men love a load of make-up, for reasons that should be perfectly obvious to anyone who has even a passing familiarity with the pornography oeuvre. However, unless your fella is turned on by twin crescents of blue powder, it’s something best left to the porn stars and under-18s.
Lips are a tricky area. If you expect to eat, drink, be kissed and generally breathe, there is absolutely no way to achieve the glossy pout seen in most ads. While men love gloss, it does have the tendency, if applied too thickly, to settle into creases, like glitter eye shadow.
I am never without a tube of Origins Pinch Your Cheeks, a go-all-over blusher, lip stain and — even — eye-shadow gel. Easier to get hold of, but with far less staying power, is Redcurrant Lip Gloss by Boots, or similar. A slick of clear gloss must go over the Origins on your lips, and withstand the urge to blot, because that’s a ticket to Crease City.
Perfume and eye shadow are like chocolate: they should be used sparingly. If anyone can smell or see them from further away than arm’s length, it’s too much. Even for a tart.
Hair’s always my pitfall. Men usually prefer certain colours and lengths, but once they’re in your orbit, it has to be clean and not too sticky with products. Some time ago, I stopped using shampoo, and I now wash my hair with only warm water and conditioner, which has done wonders for its health and texture. I always use the same colourist, and she is well outside the M25. Sorry, but I’m not going to give away all my secrets.
Finally, if I have one obsession (apart from plucking), it’s my skin. Once home, free, cleansed and showered, I apply a generous amount of Lanes Tea Tree & Witch Hazel Cream for nappy rash to my face. It prevents breakouts, but doesn’t dry the skin, and my boyfriend says it smells “like a pleasant version of Germolene”. What more could a girl ask for?
