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Liz

Liz is a freelance writer with a day job. She writes about feminism, fashion, her forties and family....

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A Letter to My Sister

Liz O'Donnell

Dear Sis:

I know how upset you were that you weren’t able to purchase the Yves Saint Laurent Touche Eclat concealer you really wanted. I feel for you that your experience at Neiman Marcus was so unpleasant. I have never experienced anything but joy in that store and I’m sorry you couldn’t experience the same. Perhaps that’s because I only ever visit the shoe department. The women in the frilly white blouses and black pencil skirts don’t work in shoes. In fact none of the help on the second floor wears their blond hair pulled back in velvet bows so tightly they don’t need Botox. Some of the customers do, but not the sales women. That must be a cosmetics department thing.

And while I don’t buy into your theory that there is a radar system under the counter that alerts salespeople when someone who earns less than the price of a Marc Jacobs bag approaches, I do believe you were snubbed.  And I can understand just how desperate you felt when you wondered if you should have faked a seizure for attention.

The whole situation is unfortunate. I agree with you: women deserve to look luminous. If it makes you feel any better, I have not been able to achieve luminance either. I came close once but my tale ends tragically. Unlike you, I was able to walk into a high end boutique and purchase my elixir of light: T. LeClerc's loose powder. For years I read that this makeup was the key to a perfect complexion. So I shelled out $50 for 1.2 ounces.

The next morning, trembling with anticipation I opened the powder prepared to give my tired, puffy skin “an enviable glow” as the company’s marketing promised.  But alas I was trembling so much, I dropped the powder.  I was distraught. I had just dumped $50 worth of beauty on the bathroom floor. But I was determined to achieve my dream so I got down on all fours and swept it back up into its beautiful silver container. Along with the iridescent powder pearls, I also scooped up a weeks worth of hair that had fallen out during blow drying and several large dust bunnies. I came very close to applying the hairy, dusty mixture to my face before I came to my senses: another dream gone pouf.

Dear sister, it doesn’t matter that you were treated like a leper at the YSL counter. Here’s the brutal reality. There are two kinds of women in this world: the ones with straight, shiny hair and luminous skin and the ones with hair that gets really big and scary on humid days and have blotchy skin. Those of us in the latter category do not need to spend money on luxury beauty products -- they don’t work. Don’t despair; there is good news here. We can buy our makeup at Rite-Aid leaving us more money to buy shoes.

Meet me on the second floor of Neimans tomorrow. I’ll treat you to a pair of pumps.

Love,

Liz