Scrubbin’, waxin’, workin’ it

Is beauty in the eye of the beholder or is it in the bottles in your bathroom closet?

Let me tell you a secret: there is much more to beauty than makeup. Manipulation starts way before that and can be very subtle. I never took part in the madness, unti I recently discovered that actually, I do…

You see, on thing that makes you really pretty, is a flawless skin. That is something you can barely fake with foundation and concealer. The best way to have a flawless skin, is to just have it. How? Well, you should ask someone else for good information, because I don’t have a flawless skin. I do use a peeling with dead sea minerals from Obey Your Body, and that stuff is good. It takes of the dead skin without it feeling like you are rubbing sand on your face. The skin on my nose had the tendency to look aggressive, but that really improved with this peeling.

I use a body scrub as well, though I don’t really see the effect of that one. Your skin feels a little softer, but it doesn’t seem to have a spectacular effect. You never know though, I believe it’s a healthy thing to do still.

A flawless skin also means without hair, if you think of legs. And so the adventure with pink wax starts… It hurts a little, doesn’t rip out everything, but in the end the effect seems to last quite a while. Thank god. There seems to be a new ‘movement’ of women not shaving their legs. Though I think it’s very freeing, I can’t bring myself to doing it. Having soft legs is something I do for myself too.

via 9gag

via 9gag

There are also even more subtle beauty tricks than these. I started polishing my finger nails – not with nail polish. Together with the Obey Your Body peeling we got a sort of cube. You have to rub three sides of it on your finger nail, however that may seem, and then your finger nails will shine. Very subtle, but it does look good. No shiny nail polish needed. It makes your finger nails look very clean.

And then there is the hair mask from Lush. It promises to ‘light up’ your hair, if you have blonde hair. I’ve always been blonde, but it gets darker every year, and I don’t like this evolution. So I am trying to light up my hair. It does seem to have a paler, lighter shine, so I believe it works. Of course it doesn’t turn you into a bleached blonde, but okay, the product never said it would do such magic tricks.

So you see, I’m guilty of manipulation you wouldn’t even notice when you see me. Of course I can’t live without makeup either, without mascara I don’t have eyes and I like some soft glitter as well, but that is manipulation you can trace. I don’t think all the products mentioned above are makeup, but they have a good effect and make you shine more. Shining is nice.
It does take some time,but not as much as it may sound, luckily. Shining isn’t as far away as it may seem!

So, is beauty in the eye of the beholder, or in the peeling/scrub/nail polisher/… in your bathroom closet?
Probably in both…

Whatever you do, be prepared…

It was a normal sunday during a normal year when I was 17. Sundays were never really exciting. There wasn’t a single reason to leave the house, so there wasn’t a single reason to put on make up or to dress up. I used to just pick some clothes and walk around looking ‘casual’. If only my family saw me, why would I do any effort? I’m vain, but also lazy. So to hell with it.

So I sat there, reading a magazine, casually as ever. Soon I’d do some more school related stuff, but I was  17 and life was easy, school was easy, everything was boring as it always was. How could I have foreseen what was about to happen? How should I have known? I only recently got to know we had nice neighbours, only four houses next to us, with even some kids a bit older than my brother and I. For years I suspected our street to be populated with old people. I was just sitting there, naive, not knowing what would happen next…

My parents, for some reason, left to see the neighbours and I could hear them return. But suddenly, I heard more than two voices. Wait – they were bringing someone? Oh noes, the neighbour. And I look bad. Sad thing. Wait – that’s not only the neighbour, that is, no wait, do I-


A moment of silence. My parents, introducing me to the most handsome, good-looking, pretty, beautiful Son of the Neighbours. A guy like you imagine a beautiful guy. Someone who would make it in life, just graduated, smart, clever, living so close to us, standing so close in front of me.

Me. ‘Casual’. Looking crappy. Wearing some random clothes I could find. Without makeup. My hair quickly tied together.




It traumatized me. For months I couldn’t stop thinking how stupid it all was, how I would never leave the house without makeup, o dear lord, what does he think of me…? Makeup was my dearest friend from then of. Never would I be trapped in such a situation again. I told my parents they should warn me (sirens, smoke signal, whatever) before bringing someone to our house on a Sunday. Slowly, the memory faded. No, that’s not true. I suppressed it. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have done what I did later on…

We went on a holiday, by car, and we returned on a random Friday. That holiday, I always met a friend on Friday, and as we arrived at home quite early, I decided we could still go for a drink that night. Of course I hadn’t done much effort to look good – sitting in a car for an entire day ruins every effort you do anyway. I still had the time to fix it at home, I thought. But as the hours passed by, I realized there wouldn’t be all too much time. Nah, whatever, I thought, and I left the house a bit in a hurry to be on time, by foot.

The gods conspired against me or something – right when I walked past The House of the Neighbours, the door opened and they all came out. The man, the woman, the wife of the eldest son, and then…

…the handsome son, in a white Hard Rock Cafe T-shirt. Looking better than ever. And I, I walked right, almost straight out of the car. Makeup? Barely. Nice hair? To be washed. Face overall? Let’s not think about it. Fuck my life. Again.

Since that day, I understood all hope was lost – I had to let him go. He had seen me in the worst situation. Our love was doomed to die. I decided I loved him enough to let him be happy with a girl who was fully in makeup when he met for the first time.


A lot of months have passed, but believe me, never have I been tricked again. I’ve been in a similar situation several times, but each time I was prepared. I’ve seen friends of a friend on the bus I take each Sunday, and I always wore makeup. I’ve met that friend several times out of the blue, but I always wore something nice.

You never know who’ll you meet somewhere.

Preparation is everything.

The Edita Edition

Sometimes, when sitting in a bus or when working, you see someone passing by with a face that reminds you of someone else. Like, really hard. You wonder if they’re family or something. Perhaps some people just share some facial characteristics. Possibly. Other times, you talk to someone and find out that they are very similar to you – but in another way. You discover that you both like the same stuff. When this happens, I’m always a bit stunned. Isn’t it weird how some people seem to have so much in common with you – though they live somewhere else?

For me, one of those people is Edita. Of course it’s a bit swanky to compare yourself to such a beautiful and nice girl :). But still, Edita and I have quite a lot in common. She’s a Lithuanian beauty who currently lives in London. (Obviously, that’s not what we’ve got in common!) Next to that, I found out she’s fluent in Russian and Polish – the languages I’m learning right now… Coincidence? I think not. She might look innocent and sweet, but don’t be fooled: she’s one of the people who understands my Kalashnikov jokes. And that is a bonus for sure. People compare her to a black widow. Don’t be fooled by her looks…

Because her looks can easily fool you. She hasn’t got one face, but much like a diamond (cornycornycorny) she’s got a lot of facets. One day she’ll be sporty, the next day she’ll be incredibly elegant. Whenever she post pictures of herself she surprises me – how many more sides of yourself can you reveal, Edita? Is there no limit to your ‘renewal’? It’s incredible.

This post is a sort of prize, in fact, but I actually wanted to this anyway. There are many bloggers who deserve a post about them, but not many of them are like Edita. Not many people combine beauty and brains and humour like that. Pret A Reporter isn’t just a fashion blog and Edita is no fashion victim. If that was true, I wouldn’t be writing a post about her.

Fashion can be fun, but just like me (time for some self-confidence, right? 😉 ) she doesn’t just follow the fashion rules. No, Edita rules fashion. In a very amusing way. With every post, she creates a new world, with its very own light, clothes and everything. Props to the photographer as well!

I’d love to go to London and have a chat with the bloggers who live there – and she’s on my list as well!

PS: sorry for me being so corny. I always become corny when talking about her – perhaps because we’re more or less friends…?

PPs: all pictures are stolen from her site, and are her ownership!!

Helen (part 1)

I’m Helen, and I’m beautiful.

That’s what they tell me when they see me. They gasp for air, put their hand on their chest, and utter admiringly that I’m the fairest om all women in Sparta, of all women they’ve ever seen, of all women of the entire world. Every sign of beauty they mention, and I’ve got them all. Hands as soft as the skin of a new-born, eyes in which you can drown by just looking at them, lips as sensual as those of Aphrodite.

At least, that’s what they used to tell me. No I’ve grown old, like everyone else, and old age is never beautiful. But once, once all men worshipped me for my face and my body. They lay at my feet. They begged for my attention. Only now I realise that they saw what they expected to see. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. If they want to see you as an image of perfection, they will trick their own minds and they will see nothing but sheer beauty.

And yet, beauty does not bring happiness. I had to marry, like every woman has to marry, and there were plenty of men willing to have me in their bed. Of all those men, Menelaus got me. He was strong, not very tall, and proud of his victory. He showed me to all his friends, to all his enemies with whom he drove a trade.
Look at her eyes, at her mouth! Have you ever seen such perfection? And those perfect proportions!
Once, one of his friends slyly asked if I was as good horizontally as vertically. The men laughed. I took revenge by seducing him, that night, but before he could touch me, I turned around and faced my own husband, who was standing there. He had seen that man attempting to touch me, and they never spoke again. He was ruined. That was my victory.

Menelaus was just a man, not interested in what I said or did. I just had to be pretty and that was it. Don’t say a word, Helen. Shut your mouth and smile. Your smile could kill. Oh Helen, like your beauty was treacherous!

It was. Some priests used to scream out loud that beauty caused death, and in the end they were right. I cursed everyone by using my looks.

But it wasn’t just my fault. How many had I spent obeying Menelaus, not saying a single word because that wouldn’t please him? Year after year, I felt the pain of transiency. One day, I thought, I would no longer be as pretty as I am now, and Menelaus would leave me, and I would no longer be loved. Year after year, the mirror started to grow viler, until I was on the edge of being desperate.

One day, it would all be over and I would be that woman who used to be beautiful.

I searched for attention and compliments and affirmation everywhere. Tell me how pretty I am. Tell me, please. Every man had to die of love for me, if not, I could not be happy. I only got my looks. Nothing but the most fading of all things. Every man entering our house had to feel a burning  desire for me.

And that’s why Paris ended up in my bed, and I killed all those men and women who still haunt me in my sleep.

Finally found it…!

A happy day, for I have found my dear perfume. Something in the universe makes me choose for rare things, but I could never have known that my perfume wouldn’t be sold anymore when I had almost ran out of this really good scent. Luckily a little shop in our neighbourhood saved me and my own, typical scent. (They also gave a sample that I tried and now I smell it all the time, because I can’t remove it. It stinks)
Someone once said to me: “I’ve been smelling something the whole day now, are you wearing perfume or what?”
I said yes. She then said how she loved it. This happened to me three times, three f*cking times, and that’s why I want to keep my very own perfume. It’s mine – mine! 😉 So I won’t tell you which one it is – you probably won’t find it anywhere. Or maybe it’s just this place, this country or whatever. But it’s a good thing that not everyone can smell like me. I want to be unique, or like someone on a forum says: I want to be unique too!