Kara Nesvig

When I’m at the near-end of a long-ass retail shift, only a swipe of really bright red lipstick will cure me. It lights up my whole face; my eyes look bluer, my hair shinier.

3. Please, don’t sing “Say My Name” or Spice Girls in a group of girls and just giggle drunkenly through the entire thing. Nobody likes you when you do this.

She hauls in a bag or two full of sparkles and spangles and fringe, tiny outfits and brightly colored thongs that are just strips of fabric, no substance.

It’s an event when an unknown car drives through town. Who could it be?

The bigger and burlier the man, the more he melts when he smells a candy-sweet perfume.

When I say cult products, I don’t mean things used in the Heaven’s Gate dorm room. I mean beauty products that have a rabid, devoted, loyal following. They’re best-sellers, beloved favorites, eternal stars.

I had high hopes for Lifetime’s adaptation of “Flowers,” because any adaptation is better than the horrible, godawful 1987 version.

“The most beautiful makeup of a woman is passion. But cosmetics are easier to buy.”