The High Heel Holy Grail

This may seem something of a flippant post, but honestly, never underestimate the power of shoes. This all started with my original character flaw: massive worry. I'm trying to live by a new philosophy regarding this evilest of enemies; When faced with a worry, try to absolve it. So, my current one regards footwear. Aside from high-diving back in the deep end of hectic word mode, attempting to sell and buy a home simultaneously, plan a wedding extravaganza and religiously stick to my 'only drink at weekends' rule (failing), I am concerned with a gentle worry about falling off the high heel waggon.

Oh yes this is a worry of the highest order of ridiculousness, but if you've ever watched that episode of Sex In The City where Carrie realises she's spent her potential house deposit on Manolo Blahniks you'll be near understanding. Imagine that horror, then imagine such a significant collection gathering dust in favour of necessarily comfortable Ugg boots or Converse, and you'll realise the gravity of 30 odd years of heel expertise gone to ruin. What a waste. All that sole hardening and ankle straining to pretty near Victoria Beckham standard. Those piles of vertiginous desirables that carried me from desk to, well just to meeting room, tea run and canteen if I'm perfectly honest - lost to comfort-in-the-face-of-joint pain. Heel expertise is not a 'get back on the horse' kind of skill. The tolerance for awkward foot arching wears off very quickly with my level of convalescence, so now I am practically a stiletto virgin once again.

I will always prefer the elongating effect of heel height, the confidence boosting, bum lifting, attitude changing, not to mention the absence of Dadjokes favourite 'midget' or 'magoo' moniker. But with my chemo legacy hip pain still limp-inducingly present, I need a compromise. This is my worry-busting mission.

Ok yes this may sound like a very wordy excuse to spend a fair whack on some more fancy shoes, but when shoes are as important to your feeling good as a clean bill of health or a life time supply of Malteser Celebrations, there is no such excuse needed.

So, I've found them. Even before the cancer I considered it my mission in life to find shoes that were wearable for an entire day, including journey to work or even an impromptu shopping spree. Throw in a fancy label and I'm SOLD (Oh it's not just me, why else would sample sales need practical riot control?).

Acne Pistol Boots. This isn't a fresh new concept in shoes, the cowboyish ankle boot has been around for a while, I just always felt stupid/masculine/stunted/fancy-dress in them. This version is boot perfection. Slim at the ankle, mid chunky heel that's tapered for a more feminine finish, not too rounded toe and nice and plain and simple. Plus they still make your legs/bum etc look magnificent, even teamed with skinny jeans. Even better, the Topshop version is just as amazing. Fraction of the cost, more readily available, but the payoff is the lack of delicious designer label satisfaction. Personally I'm happier with my Toppers versions, since I wear them every single day without feel of battering. My designer shoe collection stay in boxes and only get pavement action when absolutely necessary. How wasteful is that? Now I need never feel under dressed for the corner shop run again!

Add to the list the impossible to get hold of Isabel Marant Wedge Hi Tops and I have officially got my comfy, exciting shoe/life balance sorted. I managed to get my hands on a pair. This can only be because of rare shopping opportunities not available to the full-time workers. I happened to be in Selfridges when a new delivery came in so I was one of those annoying people who made it sell out again within 5 minutes. Thank you painful operation for affording me that perk. This level of hype obviously adds to the desirability of said shoe, which makes it all the more perfect a find for the purposes of this post. I ummed and ahhed for 4 whole seasons, till I finally cracked and forked out a small fortune. These are colourful hi tops of Back To The Future magnitude. Unforgivingly hip hop and probably not quite style appropriate for a 32 year old sophisticated heel fan, but I've never had so many compliments or attention paid to any other thing I own. Including my fiancé.

so exciting they get shared around the fashion desk at work

My mission accomplished; Cancer 0: Succeeding Style 1. Eternally comfortable, very exciting footwear that laughs in the face of hip pain.  I'd best get selling on eBay for all my less comfortable redundant pairs. (As IF...)

Acne Pistol Boot Perfection. Buy it here

I really really do love lipstick

It has taken me 31 years, a bit of life laundering, soul searching and boyfriend lecturing (him to me), to recently come to the conclusion that I am Too Nice. This sounds like an egotistical credit to bestow upon myself, but actually, if it is a compliment, I take it as a back handed one. Thanks very much, me.

Nice is a credit, Too Nice is a pain in the bum, and in several instances has seen me fail spectacularly in arguments, apologise for complaining, which usually renders the complaint completely redundant, see the best in people I really shouldn't, and in one instance get so uncomfortable about telling off a thieving intern, that I set up a scenario where she could explain her behavior away as a misunderstanding. And she STILL quit without notice and wrote in to complain that she couldn't learn from me as I obviously didn't like her. The little criminal witch. (I reverted to Twitter advice to find the nicest mean name here btw).

It was about then I decided to adopt a Hilary Alexander approach to work and life in general. My prop was an imaginary T-shirt, invisibly printed with 'What Would Hilary Alexander Do?' Which I would refer to in times of too-niceness. For those who don't know, Hilary is a renowned, respected, revered and feared fashion journalist. No intern would dare steal from her cupboard in the first place let alone survive her wrath mentally unscathed enough to write a letter about it.

Turns out an imaginary T-shirt wasn't quite enough to cure my condition, so I find myself still weak in the face of confrontation and agonizing over upsetting someone who upsets me to this day. Sometimes someone has to intervene - I am lucky to have a slightly unhinged father and boyfriend back up team, so when I was worried about offending my doctors by asking for a second opinion (you see? Ludicrous...), they helped me see the light, and yes, they turn it on for me at times too.

Since starting this blog I've had people actually and funnily enough, asking me What Would Sophie Beresiner Do? This is an eye-opening turn up for the books. Who needs Hilary? (well, me still in certain situations), but I'm pretty sure she wouldn't know how to deal with a reader worrying about how she will carry off her decision to be bald and proud, or another one wanting advice on how to get her mum back to her old self.

I have a universally appropriate answer too, and yes, it might seem superficial, or convenient even for the purposes of a beauty (ish) blog, but nevertheless it is my life philosophy. And I have a 2:1 in Philosophy, so I am qualified to bestow my knowledge upon you. Ready?... Wear Bright Lipstick

That is What Sophie Would Do. It sounds like a superficial action, rather than an appropriate reaction, but bear with me.

On the Outside
It is the truth in the face of baldness. Even Caroline Barnes said so - if you've nothing else to do, do your lips. No eyelashes? Do bright lips instead. Some eyelashes? No brows? Wig? Synthetic hair? Shaved? All gone? Sill, do bright lips. Bald and Proud? Sounds like you don't really need too much advice, since this is a marvelous and admirable approach, but since you asked reader, I would say it again. Wear Bright Lipstick. For one it makes you stand out from the generic cancer s/s 2011 look. For another it makes you look confident and breezy and like you're still very much a girl in there, for another, it's just hot and happy-making (you know my stance on colourful things by now), and face-lifting. In a radiant rather than surgical way.

On The Inside
I'm sure there are studies on the uplifting or confidence boosting properties of lipstick. I am not nerd or inclined enough to go there, but life experience has taught me that I do feel different with it on. Like sh!t hot heels or a serious blowdry - I could pretty much stand up to Colonel Gaddafi with my hair voluminous and bouncy. I would even go so far as to prescribe it for cheering purposes, to mums needing to revert back to old selves. Or me needing something different to look at in the mirror while I'm stuck inside. Again. (Only 5 more days till my nutropenic worries are over!). Its just a stupidly easy way to make a big effort, and that will make you and anyone looking at you appreciative of that fact as well.

What I'm getting at is maybe 'Wear Bright Lipstick!' wouldn't have helped with the criminal intern, but if a power suit (or an imaginary printed tshirt) can make you do better business, I bet a power lipstick can too.
And the boys like it, lets not forget that...


My picks:


Dior Rouge Dior in 752 Red Premier
This is my trademark, iconic, one lipstick true love that I've trotted out countless times in Q&A's and recommendations since I discovered it about 5 years ago. So much so, that I just googled 'when was Dior Red Premier launched?  and my own beauty blog came up at no. 3.

Topshop Lipstick in Ooh La La
Matte is only the way to do this colour - if its shiny it'll look a bit 80's - so the Topshop velvety corally blush is perfect. And its bright enough to adhere to my philosophy, but not so much so that you have to keep checking your chin for lip imprints all day. Is it just me who does that?

YSL Rouge Pur Couture lipstick in 13
This is what your gran would have worn if she was the foxiest lady at the tea dance. I know it's not so glamorous linking Granny's and lippy, but lipstick was born and done best back then. Basically it's a classic but on Botox and Restylane and with hair extensions.

No. 7 Stay Perfect Lipstick in Gay Geranium
Universally flattering, tan enhancing, giggle inducing (I love the name) and very current - coral is the lipstick buzz of the summer you know.

Mac Lipstick in All Styled Up (I will start a petition to bring the Ltd Ed back, but in the meantime, Pink Nouveau is close)
The ultimate baby pink that isn't so baby it makes your lips disappear into 1963, nor is it too bubblegum for a 31 year old to pull off. And you can wear it every day without looking like a pariah. Red can do that to you sometimes. A perfect hybrid that goes very nicely with ginger hair too.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

The Surprise Visitor

While I'm waiting for my white blood cells to grow a pair (metaphorically and literally also, in which case more than a pair would be even better thanks), I've noticed an increase in several homely occurrences.

1: Cat puking incidents.
Are they allergic to me? Is there in fact no change but I don't discover it if I'm not there to witness. In which case where is it? Not sure I want to think about that too much...

2: Teenage Angst.
This is because of all the extra vapid thinking time I suppose. But no decision goes unscathed. example: friends round last night. Thai delivery or Busaba take out? (Some of you may have experienced the thrilling debate on Twitter). The decision lay with me, it took no less than 8 tweets, 1 DM, and 9 text messages, before I decided that someone else had better make the decision.

3: Unexpected Visitors.
Ah, now, herein lies the problem. I'm not great with these at the best of times. Living in London arouses suspicion when the buzzer goes unexpectedly - Jehovah's Witnesses? Crazed murderers? Ex-boyfriends in which case this outfit will not do and I don't have makeup on.

But bald and in PJ's at 3pm? Shuddering nightmare... DadJokes has been fielding neighbourly requests for tin openers, or ASOS couriers, but he does have to go to work too.  Normally I ignore the door, but in the case of (I later discovered) new neighbour Steve from upstairs, I could be seen doing chores through the window and my TV could be heard in the living room, so I had no choice but to put on trusted bobble hat and open door. Sweaty from chores, zero makeup, or hair obviously, and in said woolly hat in 26 degrees. And I had to sort of slouch my shoulders forward to try and minimise the zero-bra-thin-tshirt-factor. This situation was uncomfortable to say the least. Nice guy though...

So, I have developed, with the help of my trusty makeup and hours of trial and error, a 'Ready For Knocks' trick, that basically means I look much less, well, cancerous, but doesn't involve the usual mascara on lashes battle (lashes? ha!), and actually doesn't even look like I'm wearing makeup. Its like Jennifer Anniston for bald people. And I can even be bothered to do it everyday, just in case, which is really saying something.

So here's where I'm at: Lash count, maybe 4 or 5 stubs on the top lid. Which buckle under the gargantuan weight of mascara.
Brow count: precisely 3 on one, 2 on the other. Long ones too. Ridiculous.

Here's what I'm doing.

Skin: Nothing. I'm staying in all day, if there's one bonus to that its letting my skin have days off makeup. This is a no makeup makeup remember...

Brows: I use Lancome Le Crayon Sourcils Pro in Brun Cuvre, just because its more wishy washy than my usual going out Dior one, so I don't have to be precise, just scribble it on and brush it through and then sort of dot it with my fingers so it looks worn in. I'm not wearing other makeup basically, so properly 'done' brows would look weird. But here's the good bit. Since I have no natural shape to follow, I can go Kylie and give myself a mini face lift with a slight over-arch. I discovered the need after dinner with my mum when she said I looked angry with no eyebrows. Strange but true. (if you need a tip, mine is don't literally draw an arch, I normally do a straight diagonal line up, then a straight line down, with a 3:1 length ratio, just make the 'up' line ever so slightly longer for a higher arch). So, eye-lifting, happy-looking arch in place...

Eyes: I'm using Topshop Bold Liner in Graphite, it's ltd ed, but 'London' by Nars is close, which is a foggy grey. I reckon this works on any skin or hair colour, black or brown is too much with no other makeup, this is the colour of a shadow, which is perfect. Draw a line inside the lower lash line, and then, and this is a bit tricky, inside the top one too. Drawing along lash line looks like eyeshadow, but inside just does a weird thing to define your eyes but not look like makeup. It's genius, even though I say so myself, which yes, does make me a genius...

That's it. 30 seconds (bet Jennifer Anniston takes longer), doesn't need makeup remover to come off even, and lasts a whole day of sitting around waiting for knocks at doors.

Now I have a few weeks worth of fluffy head too, this trick is making me feel OK to ditch the bobble hat for the summer. Sort of. Wig angel Claire is coming round tonight with "Two special guests. Ooo who could they be...?" So I'm ready; no makeup makeup on, actual clothes in place of PJ's and my hat, on standby, next to the front door. They'd better be worth the extra laundry...