Where There's Smoke[-y Eye]

So I went with a friend to a Nordstrom make-up event recently. You could get your make-up done (for free!), and receive a swag bag chock-full of cosmetics fun (not for free. The bag, of course, could only be procured after you had purchased a $pecified amount'$ worth of co$metics.)

Sweet!

I don't wear a lot of make-up (and department store cosmetics prices make my eyes bug out of my head...), but getting my make-up done is right up there with a mani/pedi, getting my hair done, or a massage -- a massive treat! Especially when it's FREE!

(I figured I'd be OK without the bag-o-treats. What I wasn't so sure about was how to gracefully extricate myself from the makeup artist without buying anything if I felt so [un]moved.... But I'd deal with that when I got there. Focusing on the important things: free! makeover!)

Onward and upward, ladies!

We arrived for the "event" -- which, it turned out, was more of a sedate, quiet, weeks-long promotion, rather than a one-time"event" involving a crazed crowd of "University of Nordy's" card-carrying Nords-groupies, plastic noses, plastic boobs, and well, plastic. AMEX plastic, that is (Ed.: I love Nordstrom as much as the next gal, and it's my go-to store -- I know I'll find something great there every time. And that whole "plastic" bit I came up with on the fly. Please forgive me. Moving on.) -- and they set me up with my designated make-up "artist."

Everything started out fine -- they asked me what products I was wearing, did I mind if they removed everything to start fresh, assorted small talk ("So, telllll me more about what yoooou dooooooo....") and started a rather involved de-make-up-ifying process that was incredibly soothing in its laboriousness.

I'm not used to having my face cleansed (by someone other than myself, that is), so it was pretty Zen and relaxing -- I kept having to make sure I didn't relax too much, and enjoy myself right off the high stool upon which I was perched.

The "smoky eye" is everywhere -- the Oscars, the dry cleaners, my office, the Emmys, Starbucks, and of course, People magazine -- and I'm no Makeup Moron, but I don't feel like I've mastered the oh-so-elusive Smoky Eye. So when they asked what I'd like to do, I selected the "learn a smoky eye in three easy steps" option.

Smoky eye, prepare to meet your match, I thought smugly (smudge-ly?! hahah).

Or not.

The "artist" spent at least 45 minutes removing the few swipes of makeup I had slapped on my face that morning, cleansing, toning, moisturizingconcealingpowderingpreppingand... generally caressing my ugly mug. The soft, cool make-up brushes gently kissing my skin, the deliciously-scented lotions and toners and powders, oh my! It was blissful.

I'm relaxing all over again just thinking about it. Or perhaps that's the mojito talking. Who knows. Who cares!

Back to the make-up -- which I may decide should be called a make-down. You'll see....

At about the 57.3-minute mark, said artiste finally started in on the smoky eye. Remember that, the smoky eye? The whole reason I was there in the first place?! Oh, yes, THAT.

So Artiste spent a fair amount of time debating which colors to use, and then began applying the first shade. They talked me through each step so that (in theory) I'd be able to duplicate the look at home.

Great!

Except that each time I looked in the hand-held mirror they'd given me when I first arrived, my lids just looked muddier and duller and blah-er (yes, blah-er. It's a word. I made it up. Just now.) I reasoned that it was my smoky-eye-noviceness that was reacting this way and given that I was in the hands of a seasoned professional, I should quash my neophyte objections and proceed, confident that Artiste would not lead me astray.

Hmmm....

Not much farther along the road to Blahs-ville, Artiste stopped and said "Ummm, would you mind if I take all of this off and start over?!" I said "no...?" "It's just NOT looking right, and I can't send you out of here with it looking terrible." "Sure, go ahead."

Artiste stepped up to the palette, and tried again. It was a little better, and I was quite hopeful with the first few glances in the mirror. And then?

Mud. Mud mud mudmudmud. I don't know if the colors weren't diverse enough, my eyelids are defective....or Artiste just had no idea what the H*ll they were doing. I'm going to go with C (why blame the innocent eyelids if you don't have to?!) I wasn't going to have them re-do my eyes AGAIN, so I just rode it out.

Finally, 20 minutes into Eyelid Look Numero Dos, we were closing in on the finish line...I thought. Then the blush came out...along with the shimmer...another two blushes...the mascara...and the lip "stuff." At this point it was much less blissful...and much more "make it stop! when will it end! just leave me here -- save yourselves!"

Artiste blushered...and shimmered, and contoured...and just a touch more blush. The weird thing was that whatever foundation/powder combo had been used on me, all that blusher barely showed up -- which was just fine by me.

Then we moved on to the lips. And THIS was where it got good. (Oh, you thought the double-eye-job was good?! Yeah, me too. Then I saw my lips....)

Artiste grabbed two really pretty pale pink, shimmery lip glosses. They were really light, and I even thought maybe I'd buy one of them for the time Artiste had spent with me.

As the first one was being applied to my lips {i.e., TOO LATE}, they said "I'm putting this mood gloss on your lips -- it's really cool, it automatically adjusts -- but don't freak out, it's not bad, it won't turn purple or anything like that -- I wouldn't put something weird on you. I've seen it go fuchsia -- but I don't think it'll go fuchsia on you."

Famous. Last. Words.

So, it should be no surprise that the gloss that started out a pale, shimmery, shell pink? Turned full-blown 1980s HOT! PINK! on my lips by the time I left the store.

Artiste continued: "The great thing is that if the color goes away, just press your lips together." {What this really means: When it turns BRIGHT, FLAMING, FLUORESCENT, FLAMINGO FUCHSIA PINK, and you put your own lip gloss on over it to try to fix it and absentmindedly press your lips together to smooth the gloss around? INSTANT, REPEAT, FUCHSIA LIPS. Again. So you just have to wait for it to wear. off. Excellent.}

(Word to the wise: if anyone ever tells you they are going to put MOOD lip stuff on you -- ESPECIALLY at a department store makeup counter {READ: WHERE THEY SHOULD KNOW BETTER} -- RUNNNNNNN!!!!)

I'm pretty sure Artiste must have thought I said "Tranny" or "Circus Performer"...or perhaps "Mud Wrestler" when they asked what I did...way back in the beginning when we started down this sordid path...because that's the look they went for. A bit heavy-handed with the blush, weird "mood" lip plumper, and the crowning achievement?

Electric-blue mascara, applied just to the base of my lashes. Because I'm klassy like that.

Whaaaa?!

The funny part was that at the end, Artiste wrote down every product that was on my face, handed it to me, and told me to come back whenever I was going out and they would "do my makeup for me in about 15 minutes...and since we're not a salon, we don't charge or anything." No pressure, no hard sell -- in fact there was no sell at all. It was so easy and nice and friendly. A huge surprise.

Oh, and that "smoky eye" I'd been so excited about? It had morphed into a purple-ish-bruise-esque blob of blah.

Add my war-paint blush and wrong-color foundation, and I looked like a Weird Science-Junior High homage to Gem and the Holograms -- emphasis on Holograms.

It was so bad -- but more so in the disappointment category -- that my skin started to feel all creepy-crawly and I could not WAIT to get home and wash it all off. What a waste!

Mr. Perfect said it looked OK... but that he liked my "normal way better."

I think I'll keep him.

Right after I wash my face!