Tuesday, April 23, 2013

The decade that style forgot.



This post is about a recent event I attended, I was not paid or commissioned to write about it, but I had fun so I did. This post contains mention of brands. If this type of thing hard waters your delicates, you should stop reading now, but please come back, I still love you and I can change..




Meanwhile, On Monday night, I attended a small get together to celebrate P&G's 175th Birthday and the launch of Pantene's new range. I met again with the man responsible for my red hair, Pantene Ambassador and occasional hairstylist to the queen I heard, Mr Barney Martin.


Swoon.

.
As fate would have it I awoke on Monday with the mother ship of all pimples on my chin.
I have not had a zit for weeks, and every one of those blemish free weeks I have spent at home, with nowhere to go, then it seems that all of the cells in my chin read my invitation to this event, posted it as a public event on Facebook, and conspired to erupt in an inflamed puss party, on my face whilst I slept the evening before.

I spent the morning staring at this zit and convincing myself not to touch it, for I knew that the minute I started interfering, the mild get together on my face would quickly become out of control.

By lunchtime, it became fairly obvious that whether I touched it or not, Lindsay Lohan had caught wind of this acne party, and things quickly escalated.. so I did what any one would do in my situation, and I sent out a self absorbed, first world problem tweet begging for a quick remedy.

Twitter did not disappoint, because there are a lot of freaky people out there doing some disturbing things to their zits. I picked those least likely to involve a trip to the ER and I was instructed to squeeze it, apply haemorrhoid cream, ice it, smother it in rubbing alcohol ( of which I had none, but after further investigation, twitter deemed it acceptable to use Vodka as a rubbing alcohol replacement) and finally, add toothpaste.

In an act of desperation, I deemed all of these solutions to be necessary. Like a full on call of duty black ops assault on my chin.

Firstly I squeezed. Not happy with the results, I began the other suggested treatments. I felt the Vodka begin to work almost immediately, then decided to apply some to my face before I drank it all, so on it went, over the top of cream specifically designed to reduce the inflammation and pain of protruding anus veins and toothpaste.  I topped it all off with a good icing, which was refreshing as my chin was now burning from the toothpaste, and I concluded that there was such a thing as mint burn.

It was then I followed the last piece of advice I was given and smothered it in makeup, crossed my fingers and left.

On arrival my face had not fallen off, though it was free of gingivitis and I was pleased to see the familiar face of fellow Pantene ambassador, Mrs Zoe Foster. I made a beeline for her. There was once a time that Zoe and I shared busses to our local blue light discos so that we could pash on with boys not from our school.

Zoe, not deterred by my zit.

Zoe made the mistake of asking how I was, as you do, and this was just the opening I needed to thrust my chin in her general direction and ask her very politely what the Corey Worthington I could do about *THIS out of control clogged pore party* with added pointing to my zit. Zoe took a very knowledgeable look at the problem, well; as good as she could get as I covered in about 4cm of concealer, and declared it immediately to be hormonal. Sadly, there was absolutely nothing other than the hormone pill I could do about it.

We then began talking about hormonal pit falls, namely PMS, and Zoe shared with me a tale of a time that she was struck with PMS so badly, that she almost cried tears of rage that her mashed potatoes were not blending with the peas on her fork. We decided such a level of anger over a dinner plate had to be PMS, and I shared with her the time I offered to pay a parking fine at the local council 5c at a time... from my ass... and was escorted from the building.
There was an awkward silence.

Female bonding at its finest.

After our bonding, it was time to take a quick trip down P&G product memory lane. We laughed, smirked and marvelled at some of the old packaging and sales slogans. It was like opening my Nan's linen cupboard.
My Nan's linen cupboard was crammed full of discontinued products from the seventies, chunky boxes of medicated soap, probably hand whittled by Mr Proctor himself such was its age and other hilarious paraphernalia.



Look what was waiting at my chair. It seems I have been here before.


Next came time to style our hair. This was my before shot.. not so much as a hairbrush had seen my hair that day.



I chose the eighties, because I was born there, and some of my friends still live there.



Noting the hesitation on my face, Barney was quick to tell me that the hair I was to get, was a contemporary take on an eighties style. The eighties were all about no parts, back combing and slick side burns. In his divine accent, the 80's had never sounded sexier.


 After... Hello forehead!! Represent.

So after some mingling I headed home to rock my pyjamas with fabulous hair, I awoke the next morning in a back combing nightmare and overnight my zit had tripled in size and I felt strangely as though I really wanted to wear something with shoulder pads.

Luckily for me P&G had also sent some tools helpful in the removal of back combing... 
Much like my approach to zit remedies, I opened all of the hair treatments and applied them liberally.


Love.

Whilst I enjoyed my trip down hairstyle memory lane, I concluded that some things, like zits and 80's hairstyles, should be left well alone.


Emma xx

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