Beauty

The lipstick stalker ⁴

You know that blissful feeling of discovering a blog, and instantly falling in love? You scroll through the archives, take in all the content you can, learn as much as possible about the blogger and catch up on all the exciting content you’ve been missing out on. Naturally, you follow them on Twitter and Instagram, like their site on Facebook and subscribe to them via your blog reader of choice. Their site is the first one you check in the morning…and when you see a new post has been published, you feel your heart skip a beat.

Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like you to meet my newest blog crush.

Helena from Brooklyn Blonde

I briefly mentioned Helena in Tuesday’s post about how a trip to Brooklyn inspired me to make some life changes. A highlight of my weekend in NYC was taking in all the effortlessly edgy street fashion. The minute I returned to ‘Sota I found myself Googling “Brooklyn Style Blog” so I might continue to gaze longingly at trendy fashion eye candy straight out of my favorite borough. Helena’s blog ended up being the top search result.

The past three days have been a giant blur of obsessively devouring the Brooklyn Blonde archives, creating an inventory of what items I need to add to my wardrobe, and browsing ShopBop.com while asking myself “What would Helena buy?” I may have even attempted to purchase duplicates of a few of the items (cough! cough! military jacket! cough!) Helena features on her site.

And then I realized the ‘ish she wears is expensive.

Real expensive.

Fortunately, Helena also shares the different types of makeup she wears, which are much more conducive to my Minnesota budget. While I can’t afford her adorable Chanel bag or classic black Louboutins, possessing every single shade of lipstick she wears is surely the next best thing, right?

This is the reasoning that led me to purchase five new tubes of lip color this week.

Yup. Five.

That’s not creepy, right?

Alright…maybe these side-by-side photos I’m about to show are a little bit creepy. Helena…if you’re reading this, please rest assured that I am not some crazy stalker. I’m simply a makeup-loving, fashion-forward female who appreciates good style and adores your lips.

Uh…I think that may have come out wrong.

1. MAC Candy-Yum-Yum lipstick

I’m a sucker for a statement lip, and this color from MAC did not disappoint. The only downside? It kind of makes my teeth look yellow. Looks like it’s time for a secret rendezvous with my Crest White Strips!

I made the mistake of forgetting to wash this stuff off before Turbo Kick class last night. While it looks fabulous with a stylish outfit, pairing it with workout clothes and a messy ponytail looks a little…well…1980s cray cray. (Lesson learned the hard way.)

2. MAC Ruby Woo lipstick

This one might be my absolute favorite. It’s a red with just a pinch of yellow/orange undertones, which makes it perfect for day time. Bonus points for making my teeth look somewhat white-ish! It’s my new go-to shade, and I’m currently working up the balls to wear it on during a video conference tomorrow.

3. Maybelline Color Sensational Lipcolor in Coral Crush

I’ve got to say — for a cheap drugstore brand, this stuff stays put for hours. It’s a little bit dry, but if you pair it with some gloss or chapstick, application is much easier. I’m really loving the orangey-coral shade as a fun alternative to neutral lips.

4. MAC Russian Red lipstick

This red is slightly darker/more blue-toned than Ruby Woo, and is perfect for evenings out. Again, it’s a super flattering shade, and makes those pearly whites look like they are fresh out of the bleaching tray. Hesitant to drop fifteen bones on a tube of lipstick? So was I…but Brooklyn Blonde has made me a believer! This stuff goes on so smoothly, lasts for hours, and requires zero lip liner. Trust me — you’ll be addicted after one application.

5. MAC Twig lipstick

So…this one isn’t an official Brooklyn Blonde color, but while I was haphazardly adding tubes of Mac lipstick to my cart, this one kept coming up as a recommended item. The color had nearly 300 5-star reviews, and I figured if I was already spending over fifty bucks on lip color, what harm could just one extra tube possibly cause? I’m so delighted I decided to go for it. It’s a beautiful neutral color that is perfect for the days where you simply don’t feel like having people stare at your Technicolor lips and wonder if you’re mentally stable.

Because I’m currently saturating my pucker with lots of pigment, I figured it was time to take it easy on the peepers and save my signature smokey eyes for days when I go with a more subdued lip color. Consequentially, I’ve only been wearing mascara. And ladies, have I found a mascara for you! While shopping at Nordy’s a few months ago, I was given a sample of Chanel mascara that basically changed my life. Alright…’changed my life’ may be a bit of an exaggeration, but trust me, the stuff is nothing short of miraculous. I recently ordered a full-size tube and couldn’t be happier with my investment. While I never imagined spending thirty dollarss on something as accessible as mascara, I also never thought I’d own anything by Chanel. Needless to say, my lashes feel quite fancy and have been blinking with a little extra ‘tude now that they’re coated in designer cosmetics.

So, there you have it. I’m officially coming clean as a lipstick stalker. I swear I’m not dangerous or cause for alarm. I’m simply a lost soul of the internet who allows my blog crushes to manifest in online cosmetic shopping sprees.

Uh…that’s totally healthy and normal…right?

Liked this? Then try these:

Look mom, no makeup!

Nailing it

Fact: There's a hole in my pants

Please tell me if I’m being ridiculous ¹⁴

Some of you may remember this post from a few months back where I gave away a fabulous MILK Bespoke Photobook, and shared my experience with the product as I finally got around to creating my own wedding album.

I’m sure it comes as no surprise that three months later, I have yet to finish the book.

That’s right…it’s been nearly six years since Scottrina became a legally recognized entity, and I still don’t have a wedding album as proof. Why you ask? It’s a question I’ve been pondering a lot as of late.

Perhaps the MILK Bespoke book software tedious and cumbersome?

No! Quite the contrary, in fact. It’s easy to use and makes even the crappiest of photographs look worthy of an art gallery!

Could my subconscious be in denial that I’m married to Scott? Maybe the lack of a wedding album is my inner-psyche’s way of crying out for help?

Pfft! Of course not. I love that sarcastic blonde man with all my heart and couldn’t imagine my life without him. In fact if it were up to me, I’d marry him all over again.

Whoa.

I think I just totally had a “Eureka” moment you guys.

Scott and I need to get married again!

(This is why I love blogging. You’re typing away and then BAM! You get a brilliant idea, everything suddenly makes sense and you find yourself embracing a renewed sense of purpose! And deciding whether you want pink peonies or exotic roses!)

Let me be perfectly clear — I’m not talking some elaborate vow renewal or a second honeymoon. I actually don’t even want a ceremony. I simply want to get dressed up and retake our wedding photos. I’ve suddenly realized the reason I’ve never finished a wedding album is because I don’t actually like our wedding photos.

This is the part where I forbid you to feel sorry for me. Six-years of wedded reality has given me some healthy perspective. The type of perspective that makes one realize a wedding is just one brief day over the course of a lifetime. Yes, it’s an important day…but I’m okay with the fact that my nuptials may not have been Pinterest-worthy. Admitting that I’m not incredibly pleased with our photos doesn’t make me want to collapse on the floor and cry until I dry-heave.

It’s simply inspired me to take matters into my own hands and initiate a photographic “do-over”.

You know…a photoshoot where I haven’t abused the tanning bed or opted to style my coif with a Jessica Simpson clip-in and…I can’t believe I’m actually admitting this to the internet…a “Bumpit“.

It’s bridal Snooki! (Only blonder and more virginal.)

Don’t I deserve a set of photos taken by a photographer who charges more than $300, and as a result, knows that this is not good lighting?

A photographer who understands construction zones are not an acceptable backdrop?!

I worked some Photoshop magic and cropped it out/added some foliage…but there was TOTALLY an apartment being constructed behind us in the original.

A photographer whose idea of a cute pose isn’t…well…this.

Or this.

And seriously…what the ‘eff is up with the stool from K-Mart?

Not sure which is worse…the composite wooden stool legs, or my Bumpit.

I suppose that’s what I get for skimping on the photography budget. To be fair, when you’re trying to pull of a wedding for 250+ guests with a $6,000 budget, you end up cutting a few corners.

And using (cringe!) fake flowers.

And purchasing a dress from David’s Bridal that was on clearance for $199, even though you don’t really like it all that much.

Again — I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. I truly have no regrets! While I wasn’t in love with my dress, it was simple, somewhat timeless, and not poofy. Sure, I don’t get goosebumps every time I think of it, but I also don’t look back and say “What the hazayschnay was I thinking?!” I consider it a moderate success.

Speaking of the dress…in a fit of nostalgia I decided to try it on while I was at my parent’s house a few weeks ago.

It was way too big!

(I’ve never taken drugs before, but I imagine the feeling of trying on your too-big wedding dress is probably similar. I suddenly lost my appetite and felt nothing but bliss, energy, and the urge to hug everyone in sight for several hours.)

All in all, I think would be a way more rockin’ bride now than I was six summers ago.

So why not embrace it? I could rent a dress, put on some classic red lipstick…even order a bouquet of real flowers this time around. There will be no ceremony, no guests and no cake. It will simply be photos, and then a trip to the bar so people who think I just got married will buy me free red beers.

(Told you I’d be a more rockin’ bride.)

The tricky part will be convincing Scott…the man who didn’t even want to have a real wedding the first time around. To make matters more complicated, he’s getting braces put on at the end of the month–our wedding shoot will have to wait until the summer of 2014, so our photos aren’t mistaken for awkward (yet beautifully composed) prom snapshots.

Of course, I’m totally fine with this. It will give me plenty of time to discover a dress that is truly worth of my MILK Bespoke photo book album, after all! You don’t think renting a Vera Wang would be over the top, do you?

Liked this? Then try these:

Star-spangled forehead

Happy Earth Day. Love, The King

A lesson from the naked spa

A lesson from the naked spa ⁶

Y’all know I love me a day of clothing-free laziness at the naked spa. (And if you didn’t know that, you can read more here. I highly suggest checking out this story of the time I was quite literally the only nude person at the naked spa. The tale is 100% true, and one of the most awful, memorable and strangely awesome experiences I’ve ever had.)

But back to the story at hand. When I found myself in Seattle last Friday with the day off from work, I knew exactly how I wanted to spend it. My sister Hayley had also taken the day off so we might spend some quality time together. And so, at the butt crack of dawn (by which I mean 10:00 am) we crawled into her 1986 Toyota and hopped on I-5 towards Lynwood. We had some naked relaxing to get to.

Hayley had never been to any spa–let alone a nude one–and seemed slightly tentative about the entire experience. I assured her she would feel right at home, and offered to pay for her day pass, just in case she didn’t end up liking it. I was more concerned about her reaction to the general spa experience as opposed to the idea of walking around naked with dozens of fleshy strangers. Hayley and I come from a family that is very comfortable with the idea of not wearing clothes.

Err…that may have come out wrong.

Let me clarify that we aren’t one of those new age families who have family meals in the buff and vacation at the nudist colony or anything. Still, I’m pretty sure one of my parents (I’ll let you guess which one) was a nude art model, and my sister and I visited our very first nude beach as elementary school students. (Perhaps this explains my desire to crash that naked resort in Mexico?) My parents have always had the very European mindset that “It’s just a body.” While they always encouraged modesty and adhering to social guidelines, we were also taught that the human body shouldn’t be something that is taboo or shameful.

Needless to say, Hayley took to the naked spa like a fish to water. (A naked fish to water.)

Olympus Spa actually requires you to remove all clothing before entering the spa facilities. Much like a traditional spa, they provide you with a few towels, and a robe to wear. But I’m not talking the plush robes and bath towels you see in staged stock photos and luxurious advertisements. These towels are thin, worn and basic. The robes are clinical mint green cotton with thin red stripes–they look oddly similar to the modesty covers one wears during an annual pap smear. In addition to the medical-inspired robes, patrons are required to wear a pale pink shower cap to prevent hair from clogging the various drains. The result is an army of relaxed, naked women, walking around barefoot in identical uniforms. Hair is hidden, makeup is absent, and there’s a serious abundance of tattoos.

“It kind of feels like we’re in prison!” Hayley remarked as we waited in line for a spot in the spa cafeteria.

“Yeah,” I responded, “A very relaxed, zen prison with lots of tea and throw pillows, but I totally see the similarities.”

“I think I would do well in prison. It feels like one giant, naked sisterhood.” Hayley added.

“Yeah…but real prison doesn’t have delicious Korean food or a 150 degree mud and jade room.” I reminded her.

“I meant I would do well in spa prison.” she elaborated.

I smiled and nodded. The fact was, Hayley had passed the naked spa prison test with flying colors. She was worry-free, comfortable, and wasn’t letting the sweaty pink shower cap cramp her style. Dare I say it, she had made the nude spa her b****.

After a lovely lunch of steamed dumpling soup and Korean BBQ shrimp, Hayley and I returned to the pool room for a bit of communal skinny dipping. We couldn’t help but observe the variety of women around us (in a studious way, not a creepy way) and comment on the incredible nature of the human body.

“It’s kind of amazing how our bodies are all identical, yet at the same time so completely different.” Hayley observed. “I love the vibe here,” she continued, “Everyone is comfortable and embraces who they are. I feel like everyone here really loves themself.”

She was right. As I gazed at the dozens of naked strangers sharing the pools with us, I couldn’t help but agree that each body was uniquely beautiful. Some women were tall, others were petite. Many sported athletic physiques while others were incredibly soft and curvy. Every shape and size was represented, and the variety of female physiques were all graceful and delicate in their own special way. The spa was a place to celebrate the individuality of one’s body–no one was ashamed or self-conscious. It was a community of pride and diversity.

“I feel like they should bring awkward teenage girls here on field trips.” Hayley remarked. “You know…so they could see that it’s really not that bad.”

I nodded in agreement. Instantly, my mind travelled back to the late nineties — my junior high and high school years. I remembered studying magazine photos of Jennifer Lopez and Britney Spears, sighing as I felt I would never measure up. While I was never self-conscious about my body as a young girl, I absolutely hated my nose. Keep in mind that my beak has been the size it is now since approximately 1991. While I’d argue that today, my nose is relatively proportionate to the rest of my features, as a twelve-year-old girl, my face hadn’t even come close to catching up to the size of my schnoz. I would spend hours looking at my profile in the mirror, desperately wishing I could afford a preteen rhinoplasty. My father, who I clearly inherited my nose from, would try his best to comfort me.

“Katrina,” he encouraged, “You have a beautiful nose. Once you’re older, you’re going to be more accepting of who you are and less worried about silly things like this. But until then, just remember that there are lots of things that are more important than your face, okay? Plus…Barbara Streisand has a large nose, and she’s one of the most beautiful women in the world!”

At the time, I didn’t believe him. (Partly because I had no idea who Barbara Streisand was.) Yet now that I’m older and wiser, I see that his words were full of truth. While I still struggle with my appearance and feeling comfortable in my body, I become more and more accepting of myself as the years pass. I can’t help but think that going to the naked spa as an awkward bundle of puberty may have been really good for me.

“You are so right, Hayley!” I exclaimed. “We should totally do that. Like, start a foundation where we bring young girls to the naked spa to make them feel comfortable in their own skin. We could call it ‘Awkward is Awesome’ or something! It’s genius!”

Hayley stifled a giggle before continuing. “Umm…I was kind of joking, Katrina. I don’t think you could actually bring young girls here on field trips. I mean, it would be cool if you could, but I’m pretty sure most schools would consider it sexual harassment or something.”

Oh. Right.

So much for being the naked ambassador for young, self-conscious tweens everywhere. Sigh.

Liked this? Then try these:

Oysters and Guinea Pigs

Spinning and Winning

Miss Advised

Brunhilda ⁴

One of the best things about spending time in Seattle is getting to visit my younger sister, Hayley.

Being a mere two years apart, Hayley and I are extremely close, despite the fact that we are essentially polar opposites. While I spend my mornings applying Crest White Strips and a set of false eyelashes, she’s brushing her teeth with organic toothpaste that tastes like clay and slathering her lashes with an all-natural eyelash tint made from edible dye.Yet in spite of our striking differences, we share a bond stronger than the pungent taste of her terrible–yet apparently effective–toothpaste.

I hadn’t seen Hayley in person since December. When I arrived at her doorstep last week, I instantly knew something was different.

“Whoa…turn around!” I exclaimed. She slowly circled once as I took in her recent update in all of its stunning glory. ”Oh my gosh,” I cooed, “It’s amazing!”

“Thanks! I just cut it a few weeks ago.” she chirped. Suddenly, I realized my sister had lost approximately eight inches of length from her hair. It looked adorable, but that hadn’t been the change I was referring to.

“It’s totally cute! But…uh…I wasn’t talking about your hair. I was talking about your booty.”

Somebody had to say it. There was no denying the voluptuous bubble butt that was clearly the focal point of her floral print leggings. (And honestly, her entire appearance. Let’s just say homegirl is giving Beyoncé a serious run for her money.)

“You noticed!” she exclaimed with glee. “I’ve gained twenty pounds since you saw me last!”

Hayley’s recent weight gain certainly isn’t something she’s ashamed of. The first thing you should know is that my sister is an elite athlete. Not only is she a competitive rower who logs nearly two hours on the lake most mornings, she’s also very involved in a local running club, and is an up and comer on the Seattle triathlon scene. And Hayley doesn’t just compete in triathalons…she actually wins them. Needless to say, my little sis hadn’t gained twenty pounds as a result of too many hot mess burgers or lack of activity. She’s a physical specimen, gaining muscle and power as a result of some seriously intense training.

My sister’s rigorous physical activity requires that she eats several calories a day to maintain her energy level and fuel her metabolism. Basically, she’s one of those people who can eat whatever she wants and still be cellulite-free. Clearly, I hate her for this. (In the most loving way possible, of course.)

Take last Thursday for example. The weather in Seattle was absolutely gorgeous. We decided to meet my brother and his girlfriend for a sunset picnic at one of our favorite spots in the city, Gasworks Park. We stopped at Subway where I picked up a six-inch turkey breast on wheat. No mayo, no cheese, just lots of vegetables. I have a pair of lace shorts to fit in to, after all.

Naturally, Hayley ordered a foot-long sub filled with bacon, cheese, mayo, and all the good stuff I chose to deny my taste buds. She also topped it with every single vegetable offered…but all I could think about was that tasty, melty cheese. As we sat at the park, enjoying our meal, she noticed the longing gazes I kept directing towards her calorie-laden sandwich.

“Jealous?” she asked with a smirk.

“A little.” I confessed. “But some of us don’t work out three hours a day, and have to watch our diet as a result.”

“Sorry,” she shrugged, “I can’t help it if I have to feed the beast.”

“Please tell me you have not named your butt ‘the beast’?” I pleaded.

“You got a better suggestion?” she asked between bites of bacon-infused goodness.

“Umm…Brunhilda?”

And that’s how my sister’s arse got its name.

The following day, Brunhilda was on display for all to see as Hayley and I spend the day at my very favorite naked spa. (More on this tomorrow.) I stood in awe, watching her parade around the facilities with a rump that appeared to be sculpted out of smooth, white marble. And no…I don’t think it’s strange to write publicly about my sister’s behind in such a manner — if you’d been there you’d also recognize that it’s a freaking work of art.

Meanwhile, I kept my self-conscious saddlebags safely concealed in the whirlpool. (And how come I’m the one with saddlebags? I didn’t even EAT any of that bacon sub sandwich!)

While I’m certainly envious of the mighty Brunhilda, the thing I admire most about my sister is her confidence and self-love. Sure, it’s easy to feel comfortable in your body when you’re in pristine physical condition and in the midst of your athletic peak. But Hayley’s had her fair share of awkward phases, and certainly won’t be rocking the white marble booty forever. I’m certain that one day, when those foot-long sandwiches finally catch up to her, she’ll love herself just as much as she did last weekend at the spa. Hayley’s realized that it’s more important to focus on health and happiness as opposed to jean-size or an inner-thigh gap. She sees food as a source of joy and nourishment, not as a dangerous temptation or something she needs to restrict. My sister doesn’t have time to worry about counting calories or calculating the fat count in a strip of bacon — she’s too busy having fun and living her life to the fullest.

She enjoys the moment.

And the bacon sandwich.

I think we (and by we, I mean I) certainly have a lot to learn from Hayley.

And Brunhilda.