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.

January 20, 2013

Academy enslaved

Django Unchained

This year, two of the movies running for the Best Picture Academy Award are about American slavery. This may or may not be a coincidence, considering there would be some political interest in such thematic in 2012, but the fact is, in spite of any other reason for it to be done as it was, Django Unchained is a hell of an interesting movie — I am not sure I can say the same for Lincoln, and when I say I am not sure, I actually mean it, because I couldn’t put up with it for more than 20 minutes. Back then, when I tried to watch it, I didn’t know there would be such a buzz about it, and now I am trying to commit to see the entire thing and maybe change my mind, but I remain unsuccessful in achieving that commitment.

Tarantino is a master of tasteful lack of taste. He doesn’t take his time to grab his viewer’s attention, going for our guts immediately as his movies starts showing on the screen: awesome (and loud) opening music, brilliantly designed credits, clashing colors and great photography are made available right from the beginning, as if to win you over without even a fight, or maybe, before you feel like putting up one when he starts doing the repulsive things he likes to pair up with his quirky, cheesy, and at the same time somewhat genius offers of sound and vision.

All in all, Django Unchained lacks somewhat in taste, as all of Tarantino’s work does, but that lack of taste is lovingly enveloped in some excellent acting, good screenplay, and some subtle reminders of the beauty of America which I have rather enjoyed (note to readers, I was not made in the U.S. of A.), particularly of it’s beauty — there is one scene in which the sandy desert and the mighty Rockies covered in snow appear side by side and that made me wonder, why did American filmmakers forget the amazing landscapes their country offers? — and the fact that it actually does harbor actors. Tarantino has understandably fallen under the spell of Christopher’s Waltz amazing acting talent and language skills (the man has no noticeable accent in any of the languages he speaks, and that is a rare gift), but at least the man has so far always played German characters in his movies, and the Americans are Americans. Now tell me, on a side note, why, oh why, is a British actor playing Abraham Lincoln? In fact, why are all American actors actually NOT Americans? I have been fooled so many times, now. I mean, Dr. House was a great shock for me, but I believe NOTHING compares to how hurt I felt when I discovered Sergeant Brody was a child of England too (an AMERICAN soldier has been turned, you know!?).

I have nothing against actors with U.K. citizenship — in fact, I share everyone’s enthusiasm about them — but I also believe it is kind of strange that American actors have become so irrelevant to a point that Meryl Streep is nominated to the Oscars every year she stars on any movie just because if she doesn’t, all contestants will be from the other side of the pond (or eventually from across the borders) and you know, the Academy just doesn’t dig that. Not to say Meryl is not a great actress, because she is, plus I’d much rather they’d chosen her for Lincoln’s wife instead of digging Sally Fields up from wherever she has been rightfully hiding. The fact remains, however, that there are not many other fellow ladies that share the birthplace of those two women and are having the opportunity to up their games.

Back to Django Unchained, well, it is beautiful and distasteful and somewhat erratic, but I truly believe that a movie such as this needs no commitment to taste: it can be as ruthless as it was, as crazy and violent and filled with dark good humor as it was, because honestly: slavery needs not be treated with seriousness anymore. The subject is beyond that. What it deserves is what it got here: strong mockery against the vile groups that perpetrated that unspeakable cruelty against mankind and that still have their distorted and disgusting beliefs echoing in the society of our days, disguised into something else, or not, but either way disturbingly present.

I have a radically different opinion of Inglorious Basterds, a movie that also mocks of unspeakable cruelty, but in a distasteful distasteful way — I must say I actually wouldn’t be surprised if calling on Waltz to play a German abolitionist in 1850s America was Tarantino’s way of saying he too believes Germans can be nice people. I confess, however, to having had a lot of fun watching that movie; what changed my mind towards my present opinion was an episode when a young German friend of mine looked genuinely sad when I mentioned it; that is when I realized how much those past events still impact and cause a lot of suffering on many good, innocent people, and here, mockery does not apply.

Having said that, I am not, as of this moment, rooting for Django, nor Lincoln. My favorite here is Argo fuck yourself (you need to watch the movie to understand why I, for no apparent reason, have just told you to fuck yourself) but I still haven’t watched Amour (very much admire the work of Michel Haneke), Les Misérables (love a good musical and Victor Hugo is definitely a plus here), Life of Pi (tiger and kid on a life saver boat? could be very good) or Silver Linings (enjoyed the trailer very much) so, basically, my opinion is worthless here. What is worthy, however, is Django Unchained of being watched by an immense crowd and nominated for a lot of awards, because if maybe it’s not good enough to win the prize, it is definitely ballsy enough to get a lot of credit. And well, if blood is not your thing, just close your eyes, and listen to the music.

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.

November 9, 2012

Virtual shelves and our propensity to buy expensive clothes

This scene wouldn´t have happened in our days — Vivian would have had net-a-porter

I have recently developed a theory about designer e-commerce and our propensity to buy expensive clothes: I think the internet makes us more comfortable purchasing items from tried and true, high-quality brands than we would should we follow our “normal”, physical world inclinations to such indulgences.

Firstly, the internet is far less intimidating than fancy, shiny stores with tons of security and two huge guys in black suits and sunglasses suggesting you might be regarded as a delinquent as you may or may not be allowed to enter the whimsical insides of a Prada store — and if you do, you also may or may not receive the approving nod of the salespersons in place, a doubt that provokes great fear of reliving the dreadful experience Julia Roberts had on her first day shopping on her movie Pretty Woman — without having Richard Gere on hand for a next day redemption splurge.

Secondly, and I think this is my most interesting breakthrough, the internet does not provide the sense of cut, quality and detail one achieves by physically experimenting with many options, online, realtime, pun intended. Thus, a respected, though expensive brand offers a guarantee that what you see is what you get: I definitely feel more safe about how a purchase will fit me and about the quality and detail of the fabric if the item in question is Stella McCartney and its measurements correspond to mine, then if I buy from a fast-fashion shop, even though I do buy a lot of stuff from the latter — if in a real store, not a virtual one. There is a reason why they are cheaper: not only that they copy designs and use materials of (usually) lesser quality, but also the fact their cuts are much more industrial and less supervised and their finish idem.

Last, but not least, it is rather rare to see a big red lettering outside a Gucci store shouting “SALE – 80% off” — not so much on net-a-porter. So why not spend a few extra bucks — a few, maybe not so much — and instead of buying three items of lesser quality, get a great pair of shoes for about 150 bucks? I often subscribe to that sentiment.

So how do you feel? Do you think you are actually more inclined to purchase designer clothes on the internet than in actual stores made of brick and stuff? Are your reasons similar to those I have exposed here?

November 7, 2012

On elections

Elections are over and Obama will be ruling a very important part of the world for quite a while. And even though there was a lot of talk about the Americans being rather torn between him and Romney, I just never really got where exactly those so many Romnatics were supposed to be — I don´t think I even met any, although I do know they exist somewhere. Anyway, that shouldn´t exactly be an excellent point considering the fact I am not American, nor live in America, but then again, taking into consideration the rather comfortable win that kept Mr. O. exactly where he is for another four years, I guess it was an excellent point anyway.

As a citizen of a world that still largely depend on the US for its stability and wellbeing, I did keep my eye on the American presidential elections. My point today is to remind everyone that blissfully, the US conserves many characteristics intrinsic to democratic republics and one of those is the fact the President is not all powerful and much of what you vote for is for coherence and ideals, as well as the action that is promised. So patience is required if (a) the President cannot live up to all his promises in one term, but does show coherence in his pursuits and (b) overall, considering how things were when the President got there, things did get better. To me, it comes to a matter of balancing the candidate´s intentions and competence, not simply to making a checklist of what has and has not been achieved among everything that has been promised — promises are a reference of intention, as achievement is a reference of competence.

Having said that, I will now have tea.

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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


October 19, 2012

Fifty shades of very bad literature

What´s the buzz, tell me what´s happening — that´s what the apostles sing to the Lord in one of the first numbers on the semi-blasphemous rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar, and that´s also the thought that started popping in my head as I read more and more distinct, even opposing reviews of the new supposedly erotic literary blockbuster Fifty Shades of Grey, by E.L. James.

The reviews that got me particularly curious were those of some feminists who basically destroyed the book for (1) disguising the old quest for Prince Charming in some BDSM, (2) fantasizing about control freaks and confounding sociopathy with BDSM and (3) contributing to worsen self-esteem issues regarding the difficulties some women have to reach orgasm during sex. I found it odd that a book so theoretically forward in terms of its thematic could also be so backwards, and I decided to judge for myself. I now regret that decision, but alas: what is done, is done. Let´s make something of it.

Let´s go first for the literary aspects of the book : it´s horrendously written and it has given me the impression the author has had no meaningful emotional experience in her whole life, as if she was herself actually a teenager with the depth of a Beverly Hills 90210 character. The self-esteem issues the main character and narrator Anastasia has lack credibility; her inner dialogues and conflicts are unnervingly pathetic, as she spends the entire book in a bizarro struggle between her “inner goddess” (what the fucking fuck?) and her “subconscious” (WTFF 2), two aspects of her personality who in a television cartoon would correspond to a little sex driven devil on one side of  her shoulder and Larry David on the other.

The author has a very disturbing obsession with some awful narrative images she repeats over and over again throughout the seemingly endless pages of the book: the way Christian Grey´s pants hang from his hips, the sound of the condom foil packet being ripped open (she mentions it ALMOST. EVERY. TIME.), the way Anastasia bites her lip. All characters are very superficial stereotypes, all dialogues are poorly constructed, it´s all just so… sad! Yes, it makes me sad that a book as bad as this one has made the cut and attracted such a massive crowd.

Having reviewed the absent literary aspects of E.L. James´ work, I must say I also agree with the criticism regarding the backwards-pretensely-forward approach to love and sex the author develops in her book. The BDSM in the book is basically null, except for a lot of talking about it, objects in a red room that remain for the most part unused throughout the course of the events, and some spanking that scare the shit out of the girl. The rest of it consists of blindfolding, tying and conventional sex toys — sorry, that´s not BDSM, that´s almost not even particularly kinky sex anymore. Also, Anastasia, a 20 years old virgin, has countless orgasms in her first day of sex, including one during her first time — and she has never ever masturbated. What? All due to her being masterfully manipulated by sex genius Christian Grey. Virgin girls, please, believe me when I tell you, take responsibility for your own orgasms. Your partner´s ability certainly count for a lot, but there is much we must learn about ourselves first, and work to be done by us every time we have sex if we want to get there.

Grey is a spoiled, filthy rich control freak, and everyone encourages Anastasia to love it because it´s just so great to be the object of those wild displays of affection translated in new cars, phones, computers, clothes, airplane ticket upgrades and showing up without invitation or early notice… right? Isn´t that what every woman wants in the bottom of their hearts? Fuck, no. I like ridiculously extravagant gifts, but I also enjoy being consulted about their convenience from time to time, and most of all, I do not want to exchange my freedom for your expensive presents, thank you.

There´s popcorn literature, I accept that. It´s like Indiana Jones, but written. Popcorn literature, as popcorn movies, can also be brilliant works — think Mario Puzo, Ken Follet, Tom Clancy at their finest (I´d mention Harry Potter but I have not read a single line of it — did love every one of the movies, though, and do find the world J.K. Rowling has imagined a work of welcome creativity). Fifty Shades of Grey is not popcorn literature. It´s just bad, really bad.

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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