Archive for ‘the world is love and life are deep’

April 5, 2013

Thoughts about femininity inspired by the Mrs. Carter Tour

I guess the drone has become more important than the Queen B

What Beyoncé is trying to do with her Mrs. Carter Tour is a tricky and noteworthy move: she’s affirming her freedom to place her marriage and her experience of raising and having a family, a child — her man’s name the symbol of such — above her own professional persona. What started with her affirming that if a man liked it, then he should put a ring on it, very cohesively led to this point in which the sexy lady decided to shout to the world, rather loudly, that married life is delightful, delicious, de-lovely.

Generous displays of legs and cleavage aside, Beyoncé demonstrates to have a very, very conservative personality — at least when we’re talking about love. She does it without denying female power, saying that it is us, girls, who run the world; however, that doesn´t stop her from telling men they’ll only have her through marriage. Now, she’s not only married, but making a point out of being known as a particular man’s wife.

I guess I don’t have a problem with a woman who says she wants to get married. Honestly, I do to. It’s fine that this is important to people. I think the not-so-early feminist approach to sexuality as a right to, say, promiscuity, somehow became a bit of a dictatorship — as if wanting to only have sex with a person you truly love was a dishonor to the feminist cause, as if sexual freedom had to mean having a generous amount of partners to account for. I guess the whole point is to be able to choose freely and not be judged for your personal beliefs and interests concerning self-presentation, love and sex, right?

In this sense, I enjoy Beyoncé’s message: to be free means to be free, including the freedom of publicly loving to be in a family and to have your husband and your children. It’s like saying, hey, I’m not eating frozen food for the rest of my life just because cooking was imposed to women before me and now women should prove to men they are not here to cook for them (nor themselves, nor anyone. ANYONE!). I like cooking, I like sewing, I’d love to be able to spend a lot of time raising my kids, which are non-existent at this point but shall be made in a reasonably near future, and I don´t think I´d ever be able to hire a maid to clean my house because I feel like a house is too personal a thing to be cleaned by someone else (would you hire someone to wipe your ass if you had money to do so? that’s how I feel about someone being paid to do my dishes). I also share most housekeeping activities with my roommate-partner who happens to be a man and who happens to be a person I really enjoy pampering when I’m not tired from work or anything else that might tire me, and that goes both ways too. To take that message about yourself to the general public is fine and I think is a valid message about femininity.

However, however, Mrs. Carter, that’s not quite the right message. I think with this move Beyoncé takes a strange step towards confusing family with the male authority over the family. And that move takes the flavor of all other interesting ones for me. No, no, Beyoncé, you’re not Mrs. Carter; you’re Beyoncé, not just a man’s woman, and you love your family and you love motherhood and you love your man.

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March 7, 2013

Impressionism, Fashion and Modernity @ the Met

Impressionism, I believe, is probably the most popular and adored of the art movements. When confronted by works created by masters such as Monet, Manet and Renoir, I believe very few do not experiment a sense of awe and amusement. The special exhibition Impressionism, Fashion and Modernity at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, however, subtly lets us into the backstage of the construction of this powerful unanimity that circles impressionist painting, taking us right back to the trenches from which it emerged: the Parisian high society.

When reading about it, at first, I figured the exhibition would just cater to a certain historical curiosity, allowing us to literally immerse ourselves in the fabric of time and materialize the impressions of textures the artists had delivered. What was waiting for me there was instead a very relevant contribution to the comprehension of the Impressionism movement as a integral part of the French society, an art embedded in the small politics of relevance that we may not fail to spot in the art scene of our days, but we might forget was also present even when the works in question hold, as of present, the status of undeniable masterpieces.

The Impressionist movement relates to modern ideals in that it both denies and affirms the perennial by emphasizing the present, the moment; representation is embraced as such and detaches from the contradictory obsessions for both ideal and reality that permeates art in the days of yore. The ephemerous, the impression, gains immense importance, being, in fact, what is truly worthy to be captured. And portraits cease to function as documents meant for posterity that idealize their objects as great warriors, lords or saints and instead become a statement of their personality and uniqueness: enters style as an immense part of this equation.

The first piece of the show is a very fine green and black striped silk-taffeta dress that was worn by Monet’s wife Camille as she modeled for one of his paintings. Through the subtile curatorship, we are led to understand how the fashion in the pictures would attract curiosity and interest as much as it does now in celebrity pictures and Vogue Magazine. It was the majestic dress that has caught the eye of the viewers in the salon where the painting was first exposed.

A painting then was as powerful a status indicator as being invited to shoot an editorial could be, except the concept here was far broader, extending to intellectual and personal wealth implications in a way that being cover of Harpers’ Bazaar never will. The most fashionable ladies, on the other hand, were also and simultaneously the best sources for great composition — that´s when you realize the colors and the textures and the ruffles and laces were all there, were sewn together by someone and worn by someone else that mattered to a picture because they were in possession of them, and not the opposite — and the finest patrons available for an artist, as they used their influence to get the works in which they had modeled into the finest exhibitions and salons, making sure they would grant their portraits the status of great art.

To be immersed in the particularities of real life instead of the usual larger than life feel I get from the Impressionism movement made me actually feel closer to understanding what it was truly about. Somehow, the ego-trips  inspired by Facebook and Instagram today seem a bit less current when we are confronted with this century old brand of vanity, the same look-at-me-being-tremendously-charming-while-I-take-my-gloves-off-and-by-the-way-this-is-art-OK?-not-just-me-showing-off-my-designer-clothes-and-being-pretty sort of thing made possible by such powerful artists. Who can say to which point they truly subscribed to portraying the mundane, even though they did it so remarkably? It is made clear in the exhibition that the likes of Monet and Renoir clearly understood that, on top of the aesthetic revolution they were proposing and of the truth behind their own brand of modernity, there was good fame and money to be made out of reframing the superfluous routines and interests of the upper classes into art.

(all pictures from the internet due to the fact they were — theoretically — not allowed to be taken)

February 28, 2013

The me trends

20130228-144548.jpg

Sneakers and black and white and the nineties are all the rage, but blue fingernails and red polish on your toes are even more so. At least, with me.

It started during American presidential elections so maybe the choice of color was somewhat unconsciously inspired by politics, but the fact is those colors, combined, remind me instead of Superman (which are intentionally the same as the American flag, I know; Superman IS America, both a farm boy who made it in town and a hero, each side of his personality also one of the Great Struggle for Freedom).

Blue nails work beautifully with red hair, so it’s been hard to get over that. Red toe nails are good with every shoe there is. Together, they make me feel like a superhero; how can this sentiment be overcome?

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This is to convey a less superficial point than to simply advise you to follow my personal nail embellishment mania. In fact, I think the me trends are the ones that make our personality surface. There is a lot to be said about the likes of Wintour or Lagerfeld: if anything, they have a signature style, something so rooted in their self images it never gets more than slight alterations. On the other hand, most people do change (see: family album) but those who do it in spite of themselves are the weirdest to watch throughout the years.

I think we always should give in to our personal convictions regarding style, in spite of what is said or seen on the scene. Don’t try anything you feel is ridiculous or do indulge in something you are dying to try even though no one said you should.

On a side note: pink and green have been really da thing for a while now. That is, for me (pink pants, green shoes, red toe nails — put on a white blouse and it will work with the blue on your hands, too!).

February 19, 2013

All the CIA ladies

the human spies are women

Having recently finished my prep for the Academy Awards — I have already watched all of the Best Picture nominees, which covers a lot of other categories as well — I did notice the divide between the two trends of favorites — American slavery versus the CIA. While I did have a hard time deciding between Argo, Django Unchained, Amour, Silver Linings and Zero Dark Thirty, in the end, what I truly hear my heart singing is Argo fuck yourself.

That, however, is just a practically unrelated introduction to the matter of CIA ladies. If teenage vampires and the revamping of Snow White (and as of later, Grimm princesses in general) have been ruling the world of television and cinema for a few years now, the women at the Company have been given their fair share amount of spotlight without me particularly noticing it until now: Homeland, of course, Covert Affairs, Zero Dark Thirty.

I guess there has been no relevant tale of female spies since Mata Hari, who is, by the way, not a fictional character (but perhaps I’m just not knowledgeable on this particular subject, female spies, and it is just I who have not heard of the others). That of course until now that we have Claire Danes, Jessica Chastain and in a lighter mood, Piper Perabo representing for us the true personal hardship that is endured by the good covert people gathering intelligence for America at the Agency.

Argo — like I said, my favorite movie this year (except for Intouchables, which in fact was my favorite movie this year, but it’s just not running for the Oscars) — is a (true, or almost) tale of bravery and patriotism, spiced up with a delicious dose of nonsense and of course, success, and I do love a happy ending. The main character played by Ben Affleck is a flawless man — in fact, his flaws are those of others, such as his wife, who has left him for not being able to cope with the secrecy that came with his job. His thoughts and actions are all mission and country, plus he’s the coolest CIA agent ever, with some amazing Hollywood connections. This, I repeat, is the portrayal of a real man, not a James Bond or a Jack Ryan (though he does remind me of the latter).

The CIA ladies, however, are problematic. Annie Walker from Covert Affairs is the one with the least problems — she falls in love with some very wrong dudes (such as an FSB spy or a rogue ex-CIA agent) and sees her relationship with her sister become a very difficult one from the moment she joins the Agency. Carrie Mathison from Homeland is on the verge of lunacy, having bipolar and borderline personality disorder and falling in love with even more wrong dudes such as an American (cough British) soldier turned by the TV series’ resident Bin Laden. Maya from Zero Dark Thirty has no love life — no personal life at all — and no particular issues with promoting torture. As the years go by and she sees many of her friends die in the hands of Muslim terrorists, the quest for Bin Laden (the real one in this case) becomes a personal matter to her.

What they all have in common is that they have deep personal issues (even if due to the complete absence of a personal life) and that they follow their instincts almost irrationally, or at least that is how their colleagues often perceive their initiatives. Brilliance is eventually conceded to those women, but always at the great cost of being on the verge of losing all credibility. On the other hand, the male spies we have come to know are creatures of distinct rationality and perceived audacity, not lunacy (we should perhaps nod to the construction of the new kind of fucked-up James Bond, who is, however, at least how I understand it, on a carefully crafted path to becoming the good old proper one), who do not have any particular concern about their family and friends that are worthy to be portrayed for longer than five minutes per episode, if that much.

Basically, the women were chosen to portray frailty — an angle rather absent from the espionage thematic until our recent times. The question remains — what lies behind the media choosing the female to represent the human side to anything? Something of which to be aware.

January 28, 2013

Forget Rihanna, or: in 2013, live a life without gossip

If you feel the urge to gossip, just go watch Revenge — you´ll have a lot to talk about: most characters are awful people and are very creative in talking behind each other´s backs. The men and the women alike…

Gossip is one of those subjects disturbingly related to women: put it together with fashion and miracle diets and you have yourself a so called female magazine, as opposed to masculine matters such as politics, naked gals and cars. A protest against this categorization on the present post would sadly be absolutely pointless, as a good number of magazines targeting each gender is there to confirm this unfortunate truth about how simplistically the ladies and the gents are generally portrayed.

The worst part of it though is our passive acceptance of these generic portrayals; worst, we indulge in it, by consuming products that define who we are in a quite unflattering way. I diet, I enjoy fashion, and as a human – not as a woman – I do fall prey of that morbid curiosity that results of – and from – gossip.

But here is what I don´t understand: while dieting is O.K. and fashion is fun, and both matters can have somewhat uplifting effects on a person´s life – after all, being in a great shape (thin, in our days) and dressing well are self-esteem boosters – gossip thrives in the most horrible emotions, envy being at the top of the list. So why admitting in such an open way our deep, dark feelings towards a gorgeous, talented (this may be open for discussion), millionaire young girl from Barbados because she has offered the world, publicly, something that can be constructed as a personal flaw (her love for a man who once hit her – No, I´m not defending men who hit women. I just think my speech against domestic violence doesn´t need to turn Rihanna into a victim or an idiot or into anything at all)? Worse, why should women accept gossip is a gender-related concern? Because we do it by consuming self-proclaimed feminine products that insert gossip as part of what is offered.

On top of already having tried a few times to induce you to abandon your Facebook, Instagram and Twitter accounts — surely without success — I now take an even wider step by urging you to share with me one of my favorite New Year Resolutions: no more gossip, in none of its forms.

Hard. Gossip is a favored corporate social interaction: everybody loves to talk about each other at work, usually not in a flattering way nor in the subject’s presence (this is one of the male´s favored form of gossip, at least where I work. Women are far less aggressive on their work environments and more concerned about their friends). Gossip and family — I know it’s what binds mine together on Christmas (and also what sets us apart while provoking epic fights among “enemy” relatives).

The thing is we spend a lot of good energy hating someone else, or simply over-examining their faults. Our attention could be probably put to better use if we just focused on bettering ourselves and finding our own flaws and living our lives instead of wasting time worrying about Rihanna being irresponsible or whatever for getting back with Chris Brown, or getting extremely upset because a third-grade cousin has knocked up a 14 year-old and she doesn’t want to abort and he’s clearly been set-up (even though your cousin is ugly, has no money whatsoever and the girl is underage and he shouldn’t have been playing with games other than those you can play in a public park, some in your family think she’s the bitch here). If you want good and dirty little secrets and a lot of shit to say about dubious people, go watch Revenge — one of ABC’s hit series with the previously sweet (Everwood anyone), now kick-ass manipulative millionaire avenger Emily VonCamp. You can definitely go wild talking behind the backs of every single character in that show, with the advantage that (1) they are really mean. All of them and (2) they are not real, so your conscience is clean.

Do this for me and abandon this preferred form of judgment for good. No more InStyle, no more Kardashians, no more royal pregnancies or marriage scandals, no more taking behind your aunt’s back about her new 24 year old boyfriend. No more telling everyone at work that you saw your boss hand in hand with his assistant on a family barbecue picture his sister published on her Facebook profile. Ride on that boat with me and save your wisdom for the mirror. Forget what else Paul McCartney has included in the lyrics of that (extraordinary) song, and stick with the part that says live and let live.

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January 18, 2013

I can´t idolize anyone. Is there anything wrong with me?

I don´t have permanent platonic girl crushes. I don´t endlessly admire anyone. I am not an obsessed fan of nobody. There is no one I´d rather be but me. Am I too self-centered? Should I have an idol? According to the Old Testment, I shouldn´t — some terrible punishments were bestowed upon those who indulged in devotion for anything other than the Lord, although the Catholics later introduced the concept of saints and then a few other Christians really disliked that idea and later the Islamic folks also didn´t get into it, and this is where I stop concerning myself with religion and I go back to the fundamental question, which is: is the worship of another fellow human a natural, expected, even somewhat healthy thing?

Is it obvious that it isn´t? I´m not sure. Again, my pet peeve against social networks is fed by the perception that they have aggravated immensely not only the general obsession for celebrities and public figures in general but, also, that which we used to privately nurture against charming, but relatively unknown people such as the girl from your yoga classes that makes her own patchwork and recycled cork handbags, has a PhD in Irish literature and currently works as a classic ballet teacher for kids with motor disabilities.

A temporary crush, well, it´s O.K. But a platonic admiration that endlessly grows and is fed by legitimate stalking, made possible through the various ways people can offer information to the entire world population with free access to the world wide web as though it was actually necessary to ensure everyone knows what you ate for breakfast — see From Rome With Love by Woody Allen and the story starred by Roberto Benini.

I guess nobody actually believes in filters anymore, and everything is potentially relevant, and the worst part of it is that I actually believe that is true, but I don´t see any potential — much less concretely interesting results — coming from most twitter, Instagram or Facebook individual profiles, or from blogs or whatever else there is that are platforms for the commoners to publish their minds away (although to be quite fair, I do not see a lot of good writing coming from the good old publishing houses and journalistic vehicles that remain, either). Basically, what there is is a lot of self-idolizing, done with the purpose of convincing others you are actually worthy of their worship. As often as not, it works, and my question remains: why??? And why do I not indulge in this numb and blind admiration for others? Why do I retain that realistic sense of contentment with who I am, always reminding myself that there is nothing relevant anyone is that I couldn´t be too if I truly deemed it important? And most of all — why do I bestow such hard criticism on other bloggers and users of social networks, idols or stalkers, when in fact, many might find my blog is bullshit too?

Maybe I am too self-centered, but I post what I believe are thoughts that will be of service, not just stuff that make me look cool. Again, relevance is all I can hope for here.

January 9, 2013

truly undone

 

Goudurix – the done undone teenage nightmare from Lutèce in Londinium

Even in old Lutèce — the ancient Gallo-Roman city that once was where today lies Paris — the allegedly French “done undone” look was a must among true hipsters, or so are we led to believe when watching the adorable movie Astérix and Obélix: God Save Britannia, starred again by the excellent Russian actor Gérard Dépardieu.

In my opinion, the current obsession with “done undone” looks suggests control issues have become epidemic and psychologists are probably earning huge amounts of money originating from the wallets of highly disturbed fashionistas. Why, oh, why, would one carefully pretend not to care about how they look?

Care, or care not; done undone is madness, friends. Why the need to look like you did not put a lot of effort in your self-image? I know you are not perfect, my friend. I know you do not sleep on heels and that your manicure chips. So why should you hide from me that you also did something to your hair… by striving to make it look like you did nothing?

On the other hand, truly undone is something rather relaxing and honest, meaning — I truly do not have waxed legs underneath my leather and velour leopard print pants; I truly did not wash my hair today and also decided not to comb it; the results of either grooming strategies needing not be offensive and certainly being the kernel of French coolness. One gives oneself a break and instead of compulsively manicuring, just puts the nail file to a quick work; instead of blow-drying the manes to perfection, twists the hair into a simple high bun; instead of a leg shaving update, maxi-skirt.

At this point, honesty again must prevail, and there is no truer fact than this: if you feel good, smell nicely (this is of utmost importance) and look clean, well, you are clean as far as society is concerned. And isn´t this far more interesting that striving for squeaky cleanliness and looking messy? You tell me.

November 29, 2012

Fashion values: the unbearable balance between being unique and on trend

My very own bowler-deemed-cloche hat from Marc by Marc Jacobs, courtesy of the Outnet

Is it just me, or everyone instantly thinks of Milan Kundera when confronted with the word “unbearable”? Nevermind that; let us enjoy however the fact that we (I) were (was) reminded of one of his great novels, a particular one which pays homage to the bowler hat at a certain crucial point — The Unbearable Lightness of Being is what we are talking about, friends — and linger on the headpiece for a few minutes.

(…)

Hats are, I believe, a great transition point in terms of personal style. When one decides to wear such headpiece on a regular basis, an important point has been made: “I truly don´t care if you think I look ridiculous”. The fact is that unless you are Queen Elizabeth II, your hat may be passionately criticized by the public in general, not in the constructive way; let us remember that most of the regular people — those who think Anna Dello who? is a weird, crazy woman, A.K.A the majority of the population living on Earth — find Philip Treacy fascinators absolutely ridiculous.

However, when moving back to the fashion grounds — meaning those places in which the letters A,D,R have a meaning as obvious as F,D,R do — your choice of hat will speak even more loudly of the commitments your soul has made to sartorialism: will you go with tradition, emulating gangsters with a fedora, early twentieth-century starlets with a cloche, Fred Astaire with a top hat…? Or will you prefer to instead pay homage to a Cézanne painting — or Carmen Miranda, it all depends on your own personal references — and go for a piece rather similar to a basket of fruit?

What is unique, and what is trendy, when it comes to wearing hats? Everything or nothing? Is there a hat equivalent to what Isabel Marant wedge sneakers meant to fashion this year (this is extreme rhetorics, as the obvious answer is NO)? In fact, what kind of opportunities are created and destroyed for a fashionista when such a massive takeover occurs — should one stay true to the sneakers because even though they do not display one´s unique eye for style anymore, they are still rather cool; perhaps more importantly, they are so now? On the other hand, how far from whatever is so now can one go for the sake of outlining strong personality and still be fashionable? To me, there is clearly a dialogue between trend and not that for its subtlety, makes it all the more magical when a look really works — try to notice how originality actually emerges from very private dialogues between the old and the new.

Hats are, to me, the epitome of such discussion between uniqueness and trendiness — because there is very little else that strongly evocates timelessness and at the same time, as strong and potentially insane as this particular accessory; the attitude, here, comes from deciding to tell your own story in the form of a thing you will wear on your head.

October 31, 2012

On fashion and ethics – transparency

Pucci Spring 2013

In Paris, Elie Saab and Giambatista Valli. In London, Christopher Kane. In Milan, of course, Dolce & Gabanna, but also Pucci and Alberta Ferretti. In New York, we had Marchesa, Jason Wu and perhaps Tadashi Shoji? I´m talking about transparency taking a major role in shaping what Spring 2013 will look like: sheer joy indeed.

Christopher Kane Spring 2013

Of course there is nothing new about transparency, as there is in fact something quite old about shoulder pads or fringes, but there is a fascinating phenomenon to fashion that is in fact what fashion is all about — something about the spirit of our times being captured in a specific way of self-presentation that translate into tendencies, that is, suddenly, all at the same time, everyone thinks transparent skirts and pants and crop tops are very now.

Alberta Ferretti Spring 2013

I think sheer bottom wears and mid-riff baring outfits have everything to do with our post online-social-networking times. In the 2000s, we started creating our public profiles, publishing online photo albums, even writing our own blogs. Some adhered to twitter at rather early stages, and our lives were out there for the world to see: we would sit at home or at work (if possible) and update some or all of those windows we decided to open for others to glance into a bit more of ourselves, and it was like we were lighting up a room at a time in a house that represented our lives: Blogger, then Flickr, then Facebook. MSN Messenger was on while we were at it (does anyone remember ICQ? It was all the rage in the 1990s).

Probably it was smartphones that changed all that into something more, just as cellphones helped destroy punctuality. The routine of having to *get somewhere* to check your emails or updating your status has disappeared. Twitter has become massive because you still cannot update a blog over your cell — but you can post a funny sentence and a link to something you just found really interesting. Instagram provided filters for the masses to produce some immediate beauty out of their ordinary lives (and plenty of pictures of one or many pairs of feet photographed from above, dressed in a variety of shoes and placed over a variety of sidewalk patterns, rugs, all shades of grass, and floors in general) even if they are eventually ill-equiped for actually taking a good shot. And Facebook now brings everything together — including the other things, such as random online services for which you sign up with your social network account. It also guesses the people you know that are members too and you really wish they didn´t find you. So now, you don´t get to light up a room at a time. In fact, there are no more windows: life is, or at least it can be if you don´t compulsively check privacy options, a glass-walled loft.

Transparency is a common philosophical trick for bringing about moral behavior — think Kant and the famous (ok, not so much, maybe?) categorical imperative: act as if your actions and motives were absolutely public. Our society has taken this idea one step further by making it possible for everything you do be ACTUALLY subject to universal scrutiny — no need for idealizing publicity anymore. And some are still very suspicious of those who resist being fully connected, even though YouTube has proven transparency in excess might bring only pain and trouble — how many people have been ridiculed by millions (MILLIONS) because a private moment of play (singing a stupid song, dancing a stupid dance, falling on their asses) has gone viral? I always wonder when confronted with a new fashionable video of such kind if their protagonists will actually someday be able to get new jobs. Maybe in the long term.

So if you are no longer private about the inner workings of your soul, your honneymoon or your dinner, it only makes sense for the next step to be no longer being private about any of your body parts, hence sheer pants, thigh-high splits and crop tops. Cellulite? Shouldn´t have them, just like you shouldn´t sing around if your voice is mediocre or have sexual intercourse with people that posess cameras on their cellphones (they might take pictures of you naked while you are sleeping and then publish them on their twitter). Let alone body fat or an abdomen without evidence of hard muscles sitting tightly beneath your (flawless) skin. Definitely shouldn´t have THOSE, you weak minded, lazy bum!

Having said that, I guess the best way to enjoy the beautiful and ever unrealistic proposals emanating from Spring 2013 Fashion Week shows is, as always, to select and adapt — just like you already probably do with your social networker life. I, for instance, have this blog, no Facebook or Twitter accounts, and have been in love for quite a while with a pair of Valentino sheer gauze top that´s sitting on the Outnet´s virtual shelves for months (and for a relatively matching pair of lace pants that have been long sold out):

Valentino Appliquéd jersey and gauze top @ the Outnet

Sheers!

October 15, 2012

She´s 50 years old and doesn´t need make-up — SO WHAT?

She does look amazing without make-up, by the way. So does my mother. And probably, so do you

I´m shocked at how popular have become the recent paparazzi pictures from Julianne Moore walking around in NYC without make-up. The reason for the fuss is, basically: wow, she´s old and she doesn´t look horrendous wearing her own face. WTF? Seriously?

Please, guys, just don´t pay any attention to shit like that. Lady Gaga is fat, and now Julianne Moore looks good for a  woman so ancient. She doesn´t need make-up. Who needs make-up, please? To walk around town with my husband? Do all women in your families wear make-up all the time? Not in mine, in fact, I am one of the heaviest users, and certainly not because I feel I need it — just because I like to wear different colors on my face, and sometimes because I have a more formal event to which attend at work — I think I average 4 out of 7 days a week with make-up on. My mother and my grandmother only wear lipstick.

The media is talking about how incredible it is that almost dead Julianne Moore can even be looked upon without make-up, but the fact is we hear this pathetic stuff about women in her 20s, 30s, 40s — should it really be amazing that Rihanna looks good without make-up? Should it be like, news? Are we lacking news, for christ sake? Someone please get pregnant or cheat on someone or something.

People do not look as perfect as they usually do on the cover of magazines or at parties (and most of us up the ante at a good party, not just celebrities). The thing is that´s OK. Chipped manicure, or no manicure at all, or that moment between shavings/waxings, our hair just before we wash it, a little wrinkle or some purple around the eyes — that´s just how life, is, right? Please do not demand from me to look my very best every single minute of my life. Do not demand that from anyone, especially yourselves. Life is so much more than perfection.

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