beauty home

I've been planning a full makeover for months and finally, last Friday, I got myself pampered before a night out.
A complete makeover takes between 40 minutes and an hour and the time can be very slow if you don't find a nice topic to share with your make-up artist.
I showed up to Lauren's Lancome counter without an appointment but, maybe moved to pity by my make-up status, she immediately agreed to do the job. "It's not very busy so I can do it, but if a customer comes in I'll have to serve her", she explains.
I watch her setting up the right tools with the best nonchalance I can muster but when she starts teaching me names and ways of the different brushes I feel like Julia Roberts in "Pretty Woman" when she tackles the cutlery etiquette.
The ritual begins with the cleansing routine and after the moisturizer I'm ready for the proper makeover.
Between concealer and foundation, a winsome smile spread over Lauren's face when I ask her for how long she's been working with Lancome: "For six years. It's a long time, isn't it?" With the guilty relief that I'm not her first "patient", I keep on with my questions: "Do you still enjoy it or have you ever thought of a change?"
Now I have my eyes closed for eyeshadow reasons so I don't get to see her face, but I understand she's not getting distracted by my questions: "For your skin tone I would try to match this new green on the corner and the purple on top". I have no objections: "You are the expert, I'm totally in your hands".
Proudly, she keeps talking: "I love my job, I'm proud when a customer leaves the counter satisfied and comes back for help with a skin problem. But, you know, working in a cosmetics counter doesn't involve only dealing with customers. The creative aspect goes along with paperworks, targets and pressure. And sometimes it's difficult to keep smiling no matter what."
After a peachy shimmering blusher, I see her concentrated trying to pick up the best lip gloss for me. She somehow gained my trust and I agree not to peep at the mirror until the end.
As soon as I tell her I'm a journalist and I come from Italy, she asks me amused how I find life in London. "I think it's great", I reply. "Don't you?"
The lip gloss is from the wide range of juicy tubes and the colour is a very light sparkling marshmallow. The makeover is now complete but Lauren seems enjoying the turn the conversation took: "Yes, I love London. I just moved in my own place and I'm very excited. Just, you know, it keeps me very busy. Plus, I have a full time job where, by its nature, is very difficult to meet men and at the age of 24 years old I'm still single." "I know exactly what you mean, I think nowadays is harder than before to meet the right person".
I cast a guilty glance at the mirror and I understand what she meant by making customers happy.
To the extent of buying foundation, eyeshadows and lip gloss and being entitled to a generous sampling gift.
Proud of her masterpiece, Lauren gives me the last advices on how to use properly the treasure in my hands and with sweet eyes she pointedly invites me to come back whenever I need cosmetic help. I know she noticed my naïvety but she's very professional and I don't feel completely like a fish out of water.
Walking through the front door I turn once again to wave at her and she says: "Now you can write an article about me and the life of singles in London!"
I was born in Ghilarza, a small village in Sardinia. Small enough to be a pleasant corner of peace and big enough to be the place where Antonio Gramsci lived and used to come to get round the dark days of Italy ruled by the Fascism.
Maybe because part of a migrant family, at the age of nineteen I left Ghilarza for Rome, where I graduated as a journalist and published some work.