Things That Ruin Real Life (But Never the Movies)

Movies and TV are a dream world, and I get that. But lately, the trend has been gritty, hyperrealism–take the hungry, dirty cast of The Walking Dead and the depressing personal lives of everyone on Mad Men, for example. Everything about modern movies and shows is as real as possible…but damn, do they still forget some important details. Such as…

1. Periods. Yeah, people, I’m going there. Sometimes–usually about once a month–girls have some “lady business” going on. And for those of you who don’t know, it’s not a one-day affair. I am really not sure how all the women of The Walking Dead are coping without tampons. And if you’re saying, “Oh, they have some but they just don’t show it,” bullpuckey. They made a whole episode about getting baby formula, so don’t tell me one of those girls isn’t in need of some feminine hygiene products. And Lost is even worse. There is NO WAY they were getting pads from anywhere, but nobody breathes a word about that.
2. Haircuts. See above–how the fuck is anyone in end-of-the-worldia making time for a nice trim with haircutting scissors? Or a straight shave?
3. Dead bodies. In a lot of movies and shows where a large number of people die, there are WAY less bodies around than one would expect. Or, said dead bodies are pretty as a peach, since no movie wants to show the beloved main character looking like a bloated beluga whale. Let’s get real here–corpses aren’t cute.
4. Bullet counts. Oh, wow, the main character of EVERY MOVIE EVER has a magical 42-round pistol! Better buy me one of those before it’s illegal, ammIright? Count the shots in the next big fight scene you’re watching, and I’d bet my bottom dollar the hero is not reloading when his double-barrel shotgun kills 9 people.
5. Makeup. Unless the movie is about beauty queens, you’re supposed to assume that everyone just looks like that. They show the girl next door lying down peacefully with a full face of makeup, and you’re supposed to believe part of her “natural beauty” are eyelash extensions and lipliner. Or said girl will be running through the woods for 6 weeks without food and water, but her eyeshadow is still flawless.
6. Clothes. No one in movies or TV shows EVER repeats an outfit. Even characters that aren’t supposed to be loaded seem to have a limitless closet. Take Sookie from True Blood–she’s a bayou waitress with noooo money and yet she owns more sundresses than a Macy’s.
7. Sex. I know that showing the two hot-and-heavy leads taking out a condom kind of kills the magic, but damn, people, STDs!

Now, I could go on and on, but I’m in the middle of a movie marathon, so I’ve gotta go soak up more deliciously flawed entertainment.

Real Beauty Secrets

The internet is full of beauty secrets. Lots of them are terrible and should stay secrets, some are so “okay, duh” that the article isn’t worth the finger-strength to type, and then some are actually pure gold.

Now, the secrets I adhere to come from a million places, most of which I can’t remember. But I promise that none of them suck, and all of them work (disclaimer: work for me, someone with fair, sensitive, dry skin). So here you go–you’re welcome.

1. Moisturize, you whores. You know when they ask an actress what beauty product they’d use if they could only have one, and they always say “mascara” or “lipstick”? They’re stupid. The answer is always moisturizer. If you’re thinking, “But that’s a skin product, not makeup!” then you clearly don’t realize the beautifying powers of moisturizer. I hate all moisturizers except for two; I’ve tried every one with good reviews and ratings and none work for me except Embryolisse Concentrated Lait Cream (ooh la la, from France!) and Burt’s Bees Radiance Day Lotion.
2. Cold water. There is so much back-and-forth on whether or not it actually closes your pores, but who cares–it refreshes your skin and wakes it up. Take that, hangover morning routine.
3.  Wiggle the mascara brush while you’re applying. Not like you’re having a seizure in your hand, just a slight, subtle back-and-forth while pulling the brush upward through your lashes. The difference is seriously noticeable.
4. Take makeup off before you go to bed. Yes, this is one of those “okay, duh” tips, but so many people don’t do this. It’s skin suicide. Leaving makeup to sink into your skin widens your pores–something you can’t fix, btws–and allows everything on your face to be absorbed into your body all night (60% of what you put on your skin gets absorbed, mmmkay?).
5. No foundation. Unless you reeeeally need it. See #4–it’s too much gunk on your skin. To be fair, everyone goes for a different look, but I like the “I have naturally flawless skin” look, not the “I caked something on and you can tell” look. Use non-comodegenic concealer and finish with mineral powder instead of using heavy foundations.
6. Exfoliate, and not with chemicals. See #4 again–you want that junk pouring into your body? Mix brown sugar and milk into a liquid-y paste, and gently scrub over your skin. It’ll be soooo soft, and if any gets in your mouth, it tastes good!
7. Get a dermatologist. If you have insurance and the means, this one is no joke. They will help you on a personalized basis in way no internet article ever can.

Now that I think of it, this post is dumb. It all feels like “okay, duh” stuff to me, but maybe some beauty-challenged folks will appreciate it. I hope so–and you better wash that keyboard grime off your hands before trying any of the above!

The Trouble with Being White

Okay, I probably already pissed off a bunch of people with that innocent little five-word title. Yes, yes, you’re right, being white is generally a cakewalk. People don’t yell racial slurs at you, and you aren’t given less of a shot at job interviews, and people don’t have a whole category of jokes about you based off of untrue stereotypes. I fully concede that being white is not tough, even for me, who is almost-totally white but still has a dash of Native American.

But. We honkeys will never, ever, ever be as beautiful as the rest of the world. I’m sorry, but it’s true. Sure, there are total knockouts who happen to be white, but then you compare them with someone who’s half-Cuban and half-Chinese and you’re like, “Sorry, Casper, but they’ve got you beat.” People with non-white heritage, especially those lucky ducks with a whole melting pot of it, are just stunning.

Take my girl Signe here, who’s Swedish and African.

Now, if you’re white and reading this and thinking, “Bitch, I am beautiful,” I’m sure you are! But you’re not exotic and you’re going to age terribly if the sun has ever touched your skin. I know, I feel it too. We can go get Botox together in twenty years to maintain our gorge levels.

See, I am from a tiny little podunk farm town, and everyone is white. Then I went to college in a city, and people were less white and lots of them were annoyingly beautiful. Then I went to an even bigger city, and almost threw up because everyone was so drop-dead gorgeous I felt like a sack of pasty potatoes. Everyone in that city is a quarter Jamaican, half Indian, one-eighth African, and the rest fairy dust, from the looks of it. People who have mixed heritage seem to automatically get the most stunning parts of each ancestry and then some.

So, yes, whiteys are totally unfairly privileged, but we will never be the hottest. C’est la vie.

Things I Want to Happen (That Never Will)

The title says it all. I’m a pretty big daydreamer, and even I grudgingly accept that some of my best fantasies will never come to fruition. But there is just SO MUCH STUFF I want to happen, I guess some of it’s bound to be impossible. Like…

Having sex with Cry Baby-era Johnny Depp. Yes, the man is like a fine wine that gets better with age, but dude is still OLD now! Oh, how I wish I had a time machine to waste on twenty-six-year-old Johnny.

Winning fifty billion dollars. Or inheriting it, I’m not picky. See, while some optimists might say this isn’t impossible, let’s be real–I don’t play the lotto, I don’t know of any rich relatives, and even if I did magically get a windfall of cash (pleasepleaseplease), it would never be that much. Fifty billion is “throw out scuffed Jimmy Choos” rich.

Being French. You can’t change genetics, and while I’d never toss away my own face and blonde hair on some weird French nose and mousy brown locks, I would die for the accent and access to tried-and-true beauty secrets (those French hold out in interviews, I swear–I’ve read French Women Don’t Get Fat, and I think there’s more to the story then they’re letting on).

Having an amazing talent. I am not without my skills, but I am not “the best” at anything. Wouldn’t it be cool to be, even if it was something dumb?

Being an amazing cook. I guess this is similar to the previous one, except I don’t want to be the best cook, or even halfway best, just pretty good. It will never happen. Never. I hate cooking, and I will always hate cooking, which is why literally every meal I eat has under 5 ingredients (never underestimate the stimulating powers of chili powder, lemon juice, lettuce, bottled sauces, and butter).

Seeing every country in the world. I started to write “every cool place in the world,” but I refuse to put that on a list of things that will never happen, because it’s one of my life goals, damn it! But it’s crazy to me how we live on a big frosty marble and don’t save the money or make the time to leave our tiny portion of it. Brasil, people? Ireland? Have you seen pictures of Greece? I’d even go to Antarctica, just to say I have.

To be honest, this list is starting to get a little depressing, since I want all these things and I feel like I’m condemning them to impossibility, so I’ll cut it short. And if a young Depp knocks on my door, I’ll take it as a sign from the universe that there’s still hope on that 50 bil.

SUPERficial

You know what word I hate? Superficial. And most of its synonyms (which, I’ll admit, I totally just Googled)–shallow, skin-deep, sciolistic. Now, I now there are a lot of meanings to these words, some of which are terrible, like being self-absorbed to the point of ignorance. But when most people toss out the word “superficial,” it’s regarding a girl who is obsessed with fashion and makeup and clothes, because these are “shallow,” “superficial” things.

And you know who is someone who’s obsessed with fashion and makeup and clothes? Me. So I take offense to that, thankyouverymuch! Because here’s how I see it–a stamp-collector, or a basketball fanatic, or an avid woodworker, or a surfer who never leaves the ocean–are all obsessed with something particular, and no one calls them “superficial.” Why? Because style and cosmetics are related to one’s appearance, and woodworking–not so much.

But why does loving these things have to make you “shallow,” when no one would say that to a fat guy in a Nets jersey who DVRs every game? Why can’t people separate the fact that “superficial” things relate to aesthetic with the “superficial” person’s love of these things? Loving clothes doesn’t mean you love them because you are self-absorbed regarding your own appearance, it could mean that you appreciate the artistry in a fashion designer’s work, or that you love the experience of pairing and styling clothes to create outfits. It’s all fine and dandy for a nerd to bore your face off about Dr. Who, but if you breathe a word about Chanel, you’re suddenly a boring, shallow bimbo.

So, people-who-label-and-shame-others-by-calling-them-superficial, the next time you decide to write off a makeup junkie or a shopaholic, realize that it’s just a hobby or fixation like anything else, and then go back to your bird-watching or scrapbooking.

New Year’s Resolutions

Ten percent of all New Year’s Resolutions fail, according to some magazine I recently leafed through. New Year’s Resolutions are like trendy clothes–you’re crazy about them at first, start to get a little tired and bored of them, and finally, you ditch them. Let’s face it, challenging yourself to start the Insanity workout the day after the year’s biggest binge-drinking fest is not exactly a stellar idea.

Which is why you should just resolve to do easy stuff! Exercising, diets, doing that whole no-shampoo hair thing–these are all great, but they’re lifestyle changes, and they need to be contingent upon a real desire to change, not a drunken promise you made on December 31st. In my humble opinion, New Year’s Resolutions should be fun. Now, I personally don’t make any, because I’m not a nerd, but if that’s your thing, I’ve compiled a few you might try. Ditch your new gym membership, put down that lean salmon, and listen up.

New Year’s Resolutions Anyone Can Actually Stick To!

1. Try a new hairstyle once every week. All year. It’s going to be hilarious (after the usuals, you’re going to have to get creative–hope you look good in cornrows!) and a great excuse to spend tons of money on hair products.
2. Invent your own signature cocktail (and then teach it to the bartenders every time you go out). When the “[Your Name Here]” becomes a thing, and all the sorority girls are ordering it at the pub, you’ll thank me.
3. Get a pet. Animals are extremely funny and do weird, entertaining things all the time. If you hate animals, get a cat–they’ll hate you too, and they’ll still be entertaining!
4. Learn a stupid skill that will get you laid. You know what drunk people love? Stupid tricks. Not everyone can do a cartwheel or spit sunflower seeds into a shot glass–these are life skills! 2013 is your year, baby.
5. Eat a food you’ve never tried every month, for all 12 of ’em. And I mean never. Here comes uglyfruit, zebra meat, and caviar (for those with a previously unsophisticated palette). You’re welcome!

Ok, go!

5 Good Reasons to Date a Foot Fetishest

The title says it all.

Number One:

I’ve been dying for these Valentino Rockstar heels since I first saw them. What can I say, it was love at first sight.

Number Two:

Number Three:

Number Four:

I’m not the hugest fan of platforms–heels without platforms are so much more elegant–but how cute are these velvet shoes?

Number Five:

Hostess With the Mostess

Okay, considering that the holiday party season is in full-on swing, I’m here to help (as always). So I present to you…

The WildHearts Guide to Entertaining: How to Be the Host(ess) with the Most(ess)

1. Stock up. A good host/hostess has enough of everything. And I mean everything–yes, Mr. or Mrs. Mostess should ensure everyone’s cocktail glasses remain filled and the h’orderves are a-plenty, but that’s not all a good host thinks of. Band-aids for the clumsy guest who manages to slice herself with the cheese knife. Vicodin for your friend with anxiety issues (or yourself–parties get stressful, and no one likes a snappy host). Extra toilet paper and tampons hidden discreetly in reachable tins in the bathroom–trust me, no one wants to ask for that accouterment, and they will root around in your stuff.
2. Be flexible. Your best friend shows up with her gross, loud boyfriend? Greet him with grace. A snooty vegan refuses to eat the vegetarian options you thoughtfully prepared (see Rule 1)? Offer to run down to the corner store and grab that bitch some lettuce. Your power goes out? Why, a candlelit dinner would be ever so fun! No matter what catastrophes threaten to ruin your big night, you are the best host ever, damn it, and your feathers won’t ruffle.
3. Look stunning. I don’t care if it’s a casual margarita night (although, come on, it’s Christmas or Chanukah or Kwanza–pizzazz your get-together up a little). No one wants to go to your house to find you still wearing the outfit you tossed on to clean the house–a good party should appear effortless. Your sweaty gym-bun and flour-dusted sweatpants are just a gross reminder of how much work you put into your fiesta, and then everyone feels guilty and weird and over-compliments your canapés.
4. Make plans (but don’t be afraid to break them–see Rule 2). Now, most people are content with sitting around in your pretty house and drinking, but sometimes a little more effort is required. Maybe you’re having a weird mix of guests who don’t know each other well enough to dive right into dinner-and-drinks chitchat, or maybe your friends just suck. Either way, if you’re afraid your party is going to fall apart like a badly-baked souffle, you need some backup plans. We’re adults here–Twister is not an option. But nobody said you had to leave drinking games at college–card games are a classy means of getting your guests wasted, and no one will be bored.
5. Outsource. If you want to do everything yourself, fine. There is nothing wrong with that. Make sure you get extra of everything, clean your house like a madman, and have a fabulous outfit hanging on the back of your closet to pop into. But if the host task seems a little daunting, well, that’s only because it is. And the bigger the party, the more stressful your Lone Ranger routine becomes. So outsource! Caterers are by far the most helpful resource–mmm, delicious food that you slide into homey-looking pans so it looks like you did all the work, et voila! But if you’re really lazy, a maid can come in handy, and you can even hire sous chefs or servers to make yourself look like Donald Trump (with better hair, let’s hope).

So, that’s it! Now you can host a great party in 5 not-so-simple steps! I could drone on about location and presentation and why trying to make everyone lobster solo is sure to be a tragic failure, but really, I have better things to do. And for those of you who aren’t having a bash this year: here’s how to be the perfect guest! Arrive a little late, look great, pretend you love everything even if you don’t, try not to incite any arguments, play your host’s childish game of Kings, and above all, look like you’re having fun.

Crush That Girl

Everyone has a girl crush. Guys and gay girls, sure, but everyone else too–straight girls and gay guys and the people who fall somewhere in between. See, the reason is that a “girl crush” doesn’t have to be sexual, and usually isn’t, so EVERYONE has one. Girls are magical creatures, kind of like unicorns but with soft lips and shiny hair instead of a weird deformity in the middle of their head. Personally, I think it’s impossible not to have a crush on at least one.

Mine is my girl Candice, which I agree is probably narcissistic since I’ve been compared to her on more than one occasion. But far be it from me to make Girl Crush rules–if your girl crush happens to be the fox you see in the mirror every day, more power to you. But COME ON–look at Ms. Swanepoel. I don’t care who you are, she is gorge.

Now, I pretty much have a GC on Candy because she looks like a human Barbie and she has a really awesome accent that should be used to record soothing fall-asleep tapes. And girl has some serious yoga flex. But usually, people’s Girl Crushes are a little more complex. Take the most girl-crushed-upon girl of all time, the indie darling Zooey Deschanel.

Now, yes, people like Zooey for her looks. As with most (but not all) girl crushes, it’s all about appearance. Zooey is a normal-looking pretty girl with big boobs, so naturally a lot of people like her. But toss on the thick bangs, vintage dresses, and the occasional pair of quirky-cute glasses, and Zooey is the world’s Girl Crush extraordinaire. I’m not hating at all, I just don’t happen to have a GC on Zooey so that drooling, hearts-a-pitter-patter feeling Crushers have is absent in me. Which means I find it a little annoying when people squeal, “Ugh, I just love Zooey, she’s so unique!”

That brings us to…the dark side of Girl Crushes. When you have a total GC on someone, and your best friend says, “Oh, really? I don’t like her,” and you stare daggers into them because OBVIOUSLY THE PERSON YOU CRUSH ON IS PERFECT…yeah, that’s when it’s gone too far. Then you need to stop bidding on their used tissues on eBay, making a scrapbook of their tabloid appearances, and doodling their surname in your checkbook. A girl crush is just that–a crush. Obsession? Come on, now you’re just creepy!

Staples

I have loved clothes ever since I was a little girl. I like to think I was pretty fashionable even as a 5-year-old–trust, my oversized Nike tee and my vast collection of Ariel gear would be indie gold today–but it took me a long time to hit my shopping stride. Let me explain–I’ve never had problems shopping until I drop (mostly my jaw, when looking over my bank statement). But until a year or so ago, I wouldn’t say that I was shopping properly.

See, there are three types of clothing shoppers. And if you ask me, these could apply to personalities as well, but some people don’t like to be defined by their ugly shoes, and that is their right. So, there’s…

1. Shopper Numero Uno. This person is the practicalist. They don’t like shopping for clothes. They get in (to boring stores with cheap clothes) and get out with the bare necessities. They probably wear running shoes as sneakers and own jeans that make their butt look flat.
2. Shopper Numero Dos. This kind of shopper is also practical, but they have a modicum of personal style. They shop at plain stores and aren’t super into it, but they have enough sense not to wear Shoxx out to dinner.
3. Shopper Numero Tres. The trend-whore. This shopper leafs through Lucky, runs to the store, and spends $600 on high-waisted baroque pants that make them look like a 15th-century whale.
4. Shopper Numero Quatro. The classic shopper. They know that quality is worth more than quantity  and they buy clothes that flatter their body type. They don’t like to change it up–they know what works for them  and they stick to it. Forever.
5. Shopper Numero Cinco. This is the best type of shopper. They’re a healthy mix of Dos, Tres, and Quatro. They shop smart, know what works for their shape and style, but still try new things.

See, I just made that up right off the top of my head, but it seems pretty accurate. You can probably squish anybody into one of these categories (if you’re some kind of cruel freak who likes to label others–God, what kind of monster are you?!). And so for my whole life, I was a Tres-Quatro. I had my body-conscious, never-change-’em clothes (ancient jeans that I still wear–they hug my body even after 700 washes), but for everything else, I’d just run out and get whatever was in stores. If i liked it, I bought it. The end result was a tragically overstuffed closet filled with clothes that clashed more than two Kardashian sisters fighting over a basketball player. I couldn’t put together an outfit to save my life, unless it involved a stripy top and floral-patterned bottoms.

But then, in a beautiful moment of clarity–or, you know, getting really sick of having a half-useless wardrobe–I realized: you have to shop for staples. The majority of your wardrobe should be well-fitting, nice, practical staples. Jeans. Black leggings. Black tank tops and tees. White tank tops and tees. Plain-colored cardigans and sweaters. And then, once you feel like you’re in a Uniqlo, you can finally get fun things, because hey, you know something you own will match them.

In conclusion, I am now the most fashionable person in the world, and you can be too. Click this link to take my, “What kind of shopper are you?” quiz and then buy my styling book (Stop Dressing Like That, Fugly!) for the low cost of three installments of $19.99!