How To Shop At Sephora
Going to Sephora is, without a doubt, one of the most complex and potentially frightening experiences one can have in an otherwise uneventful day of shopping. From the overbearing salesgirls who JUST WANT TO DO YOUR EYEBROWS, to the endless rows of perfumes which completely erode your sense of smell within ten seconds, it’s a serious undertaking. Here, the exact process to completing a successful trip to everyone’s favorite makeup emporium:
- Enter the store with a firm idea of what you want to purchase, something along the lines of “base makeup that doesn’t make me look like a human pancake” or “fun eyeshadow for tonight,” determined to go straight to what you need.
- Immediately get distracted by the eye-meltingly bright displays of candy-colored, glittery makeup by some absurd brand like Urban Decay that you would never actually wear in real life but are still fascinated by.
- Get accosted by an overzealous makeup artist who is all but sticking you in the eye with a mascara brush as she tries to guide you over to her station.
- Insist that you don’t need help, and keep browsing.
- Stare, completely mystified, at the seemingly endless array of base makeup and wonder how something so simple could come in so many slightly varying forms — then realize that this is only one brand, and there are at least seven others with exactly the same range of options.
- Try on various makeup from the testers with the free little sample applicators they offer, marveling at yourself in their surprisingly unflattering mirrors.
- Consider how gross these testers must be, even if you’re using a fresh applicator.
- Test various shades of makeup against your wrist, not sure exactly what that has to do with what it will look like on your face.
- Try things on that you know you would never wear, simply to confirm that it still looks horrible on you. (Orange lipstick will never not make you look like a crazy pumpkin hooker, get over it.)
- Throw something completely frivolous in your basket which you know you will probably not actually use, such as sparkly black eyeshadow.
- Notice how fancy and coordinated all of the skin and hair products are here, and briefly consider how much more beautiful you might be if you bought 30 dollar toner and 45 dollar conditioner.
- Argue with yourself for ten minutes in the lotion aisle as to how moisturized you actually need to be this winter.
- Get accosted for the second time by a new salesgirl/makeup artist who, for some ungodly reason, has decided to make herself up with every single product in the entire store and has therefore attained the approximate look of a turn-of-the-century circus clown. Be unsure as to how this is supposed to encourage people to want to get made up.
- Imagine the kind of person who is bougie enough to only buy Chanel makeup.
- Briefly consider buying some Chanel lipstick yourself because, come on, that shit is so classy and you are easily impressed.
- Be unimaginably jealous of all the beautiful people wandering around who just love frolicking through makeup stores because everything automatically looks wonderful and cool on them.
- Stock up on sweet, sweet samples.
- Realize that you have about 20 more things in your little basket than you intended to have.
- Go through a mental list of all the things you absolutely must buy vs all the things that are completely unjustifiable purchases, and be somehow completely unable to put your third bottle of liquid eyeliner into the appropriate category.
- Get to the register and hear a number that seems ungodly and impossible for a bunch of makeup and perhaps a hair product or two. Be tempted to make them announce the price of each item just so you can get indignant and be like “18 dollars for concealer?! I will not heed these absurd demands!” and storm out.
- Think of the mountains upon mountains of Wet N’ Wild you could be getting for this money.
- Leave so excited to try everything you almost blow off the rest of your day just to go mess around in front of the mirror and make yourself up like a pretty, pretty princess.
- Repeat in two months.
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Will it feel the same when you tell me you love me over the phone? Will the peacefulness of those words still floor me from thousands of miles away?
I was conflicted. It felt like one eye was trying to look away while the other soaked it up. I felt the heat rise in my face. This was wrong. But it didn’t feel wrong.
Any nervous flyer knows the progression of descending panic: bile, sweaty palms, social awkwardness and self-induced sedation.
I know how it feels when the weight of darkness crashes down onto your chest in the middle of the night, and how you wish things would stop spinning because the axis seems tilted now. I know, love, I know.