Sephora is like Disney Land. And not in a good way.
Big, overwhelming, expensive, and nothing feels real. Except at Disney Land, I get to take a picture with Minnie Mouse. I could probably kill two birds with one stone and head on over to the Times Square Sephora where I COULD actually take a picture with Minnie Mouse – Except Minnie Mouse is probably also the guy who stands on the corner holding the “Not going to lie, I need drug money” sign.
Let’s be honest. We all know that scenario ends with me in fetal position underneath a park bench. Although after spending 15 minutes in ANY Sephora, I pretty much feel like that regardless.
For those of you who are new here, my constant battle with Sephora and all things “foundation-y” is not a new thing. I am fundamentally bad at make-up. I recently convinced myself that I was hip enough to do that cat eye trick with black eyeliner, and a good friend of mine kindly pointed out that my swoops were crooked.
And trust me, saying, “I’m not good at make-up” isn’t like when someone says, “I don’t like TV” to make themselves sound important. I LIKE make-up, on other people. I see someone looking effortlessly chic with just the right amount of je ne sais quoi, and my inner girly-girl goes:
I also have this problem with risk taking, in which I do not take them in make-up land. I asked a sales person in the store tonight to help me pick out a “fun lipstick shade” because I’m generally boring with lipstick. The unsuspecting sales lady brought me over to the Nars section, and I proceeded to make an awkward joke out loud, (WHY, GOD? WHY?), about how Nars rhymes with Mars.
The sales lady did not laugh.
After toying around with a few different colors, we settled on a pink shade, because EVERY lip color I own is a “nude” shade. They probably wouldn’t even be considered colors, or shades, or whatever the correct terminology is. Actually, I own one feisty red color that I pull out when I’m feeling especially dangerous.
And by dangerous, I mean weddings.
The woman picked up a hot pink lipstick and checked the bottom.
Sales Person: “This is ‘Funny Face’ by Nars.”
Me: *Blank Stare*
Sales Person: “It’s one of the more popular pinks!”
Me: *Blank Stare*
Sales Person: “Would you like to try it on?”
Me: “Who gets to pick the names? Funny Face doesn’t sound too comforting if it’s going on MY face.”
Sales Person: *Blank Stare*
Guys, I looked like Nicki Minaj. White Nicki Minaj. White Nicki Minaj wearing a flannel and a pony tail. It was bad. At least I didn’t start rapping “Super Bass”. Or twerking.
She then took me to the “Smashbox” counter, where I made a joke about how they must have taken their name from “Smashmouth”…Yes…Like, the band.
Note to self: Space Jokes and 90’s band references are not appreciated in Sephora.
You know what I’ve learned is also not appreciated in Sephora? My presence.
It’s cool though, because after gathering my dignity in my black little make-up basket, I picked out a new lip color by Clinique.
Nude. Except it’s not JUST Nude. It’s…”Heaping Hazelnut.”