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· September 8, 2007 7:54 AM by
Lucy
· September 10, 2007 12:40 AM by
Dain
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Beauty Notebook SEPTEMBER 2007: The Ineffable Aesthetic
Beauty Notebook SEPTEMBER 2007: The Ineffable Aesthetic
Posted by Dain, Wednesday, September 05, 2007 4:39 AM (Eastern)
Above: My best friend Ryan, whose breadth of music knowledge I have yet to see matched, told me, "When I was in middle school, I was unhappy with myself, ("That's the way of middle school," I demurred) and sometimes John Lennon would be the only thing that'd make me feel better. I thought he was God. I still think he is."
The most desirable properties in this world—"beauty", for example—are instantly recognizable as such but absolutely impossible to describe. Actually, beauty is easier than most: the golden proportion, Φ; any face with symmetry and good skin is beautiful. Much less exact is "cool". What the hell is cool? How does one become it, do it, what is it? It's something indescrible and inimitable, unlike beauty, which is easily poeticized and often aped, in spite of what those flippin' Modernists* say. Hence, the ineffable aethetic. A real-world example? Kate Moss. Much copied, and yet a copy looks really awful. I look at skinny jeans these days, and I don't think, "80s punk", I think, "you who are pretending to be Kate Moss, STOP."
So, for this month, I've chosen the rarest creature of all: the cult classic that has yet to be ruined by hype.
 Beyond plastic surgery, symmetry can't be helped. Cool girls embrace quirks (gap teeth, bushy brows, etc.), gaping flaws (bad acne), never. Favored by such offbeat celebrities such as Sophia Coppola and John Cusack is Biologique Recherche Lotion P50W ($45), which has virtually nothing to recommend it (it smells like acridly of paint, the expense is absurd though it's surprisingly cost-effective, so potent only a drop of two patted on and then rinsed is recommended, a nasty two-week purge is likely), possesses on single shining virtue: it works. Two days, and clogged pores are diminishing, which is astounding, clogged pores are notoriously difficult to get rid of. Such a thing I've never heard of. I was terrified that my skin would freak out, especially given my colorful past with exfoliants, so I opted for the weakest formulation, P50W (the original P50, the sensitive-skin strength P50V, and the stuff for people with rosacea, P50W). Slight tingling the first time I used it, but no irritation whatsoever. I am absolutely floored. I need to get this, this is the exfoliant of my dreams; it's so effective that I can feel the dead skin coming off. I will try P50V and see if it suits me better, but will purchase only once my Primavera exfoliant runs out. Walk softly with samples, please. It seems a most temperamental product; this is no toner of the "fancy scented water" type, but truly a fullblown exfoliating/anti-acne treatment that leaves skin pristine. You heard me: pristine. |
 To continue on this skincare vein, a perfect moisturizer is just as rare as an effective pore refiner. You might not think so, being such a simple product. Indeed, the perfect moisturizer is remarkably no-frills, from packaging to price to formula, which apparently hasn't changed for 55 years: Embryolisse Lait-Crème Concentré ($20). Velvety as fresh whipped cream, and as rich, and yet absorbs almost instantly, making it the perfect base for makeup, with a cold, creamy scent so faint it's virtually imperceptible (though pleasant). It's a product that can only be found in French pharmacies (which actually just makes it cooler), except for the rare vendor such as beautyhabit.com, and is beloved of models (ditto, after starvation and terrible social habits, skincare is a model's most important duty). I was so disappointed over Jurlique Calendula Cream, which was lovely in every way except for the raging allergic itch, but this heals all wounds as only a holy grail can. This blows Sisley Crème Reparatrice ($160) and La Prairie Cellular Day Cream ($120) out of the water, though as ever, skincare raves are premature until tested under dire conditions, when the ogre of winter raw skin menaces its ugly head. |
 A true perfume aficionado knows to invest in the parfum concentration. In spite of the vicious expense, a single drop is all that is required for the perfume to unfold in its deep, precious glory. Even an EDP is just a watered down version. I find the atomizer of the EDP godawful-embarrassin'-tacky, but I am rather taken by the dropper bottle of Fifi Chachnil Parfum ($125). It's quite fetching, just the sort of exotic, feminine perfume to grace your vanity. O, and the scent itself? In spite of the flashy bottle, it's surprisingly sophisticated, with just a bit of vulgarity to give its some spice. It reminds me, of all things, of a non-fusty modernized Guerlinade, but the stated notes are: mandarin, coriander, rose powder, amber, tobacco. I smell an exquisitely soft leather, too. The juxtaposition (an overused word, but just here) of dry coriander and fussy rose-scented powder is really quite perfection. This has "sex kitten" written all over it, purr. |
 In some universe where price is no object and daydreams have no limit, my bathroom would be modeled loosely on a forest (burnished teak countertops, bronze hardware, a sheer curtain the color of leaves when the sun shines through them, a small hit of some exotic floral shade somewhere, a giant bathtub in a pleasing sky blue). But it would be sparsely stocked: Korres shower gels, skincare, Botot toothpaste plus toothbrush and floss, Molton Brown hand wash, a comb, a small carved wooden box with manicure essentials, bath oil, Palmer's Cocoa Butter lotion, and one lone hair product, Opalis La Crème ($68). This handsome jar of decadent almond-scented conditioner is all I need, as shampoo and conditioner. |
 In that giant bathtub, I'd soak myself in a luxurious amber-hued capful or two of Jo Wood Organics AMKA Organic Bath Oil ($125), a crisp citrusy floral in a gorgeous, bohemian bottle. I prefer baths to showers, for some reason, so in this hypothetical universe where all my dreams come true, I'd have a bath tub big enough for two, but no shower stall. |
To get you in the mood:
WATCH
Stanley Kubrick's Lolita (1962) is one of those rare films that really brings the atmosphere of a book to life, and yet is so dignified it conceals more than it reveals. I am especially fond of how the scene above shows the major characters exactly as they are, Humbert Humbert's unease ("He's just in an ordinary American home," my astute friend Tina pointed out, "but he's so uncomfortable with himself he doesn't feel comfortable anywhere."), Dolores' desperation, and Lolita's uncanny self-possession.
READ
A professor of mine once explained why he had chosen Wallace Stevens as a representative of modern poetry: "The reason why I haven't chosen T.S. Eliot is because I just don't hate myself enough. Stevens is just as much a Modernist as Eliot, without making me want to kill myself." Stevens is the writer I revere above all others. He is abstruse to be sure, but such beauty and peace are in his words: "The imperfect is our paradise./ Note that, in this bitterness, delight,/ Since the imperfect is so hot in us,/ Lies in flawed words and stubborn sounds." The Palm at the End of the Mind is my second favorite book, the first being Watership Down, the third being Paradise Lost.
WEAR
I've talked about A.P.C. before, but I do not think I've done it justice. So, I'm just gonna steal a description from another site, the Brooklyn-based Bird: "A.P.C. (short for Atelier Production Creation) was founded by Jean Touitou in 1987 as a reaction against that decade's sartorial excesses and brand-name mania. Since then, its anonymous moniker has become shorthand for a certain type of offhand, subtle, quintessentially Parisian cool. Often imitated but never duplicated, A.P.C. remains a cult classic for its sturdily constructed, ultra-modern basics and offbeat, yet always understated, accessories."
EAT
If you ever have the luck to be in the Boston area, go to 464 Mass Ave, in Arlington. It is the location of Tango, my favorite restaurant, which features Argentinian cuisine. I discovered it late one night when my friend Amy and I, famished on a Tuesday night, despaired of finding a "place to eat" at 11 p.m. We'd have eaten babies, but we found this instead, and it was the best meal of life. The food is not pretentious, just well-made, with exotic but easily accessible flavors, and the wine list is excellent (my favorite white wine is Torrontes, and I discovered it there). They have an exquisite little ham and cheese empanada, good coffee (with brown sugar, no less, a sign of a restaurant of quality, I think, because it shows they're thinking of the small things), but you must try the beef: I've tried the Milanese a Caballo (a thin, bread-crumbed fried steak with eggs on top) and whatever the ribs are called (juicy, tender, delicious). And it's not terribly expensive, usually $20 for a large plate. And they have really good service, which makes or breaks a restaurant.
*It is a plague, a plague I say, on contemporary literary aesthetics, it's intellectual masturbation. pbbh. I loathe Modernism (capitalized, so a distinct aesthetic movement, not a general cultural one), but feel it cannot be escaped. This has absolutely nothing to do with cosmetics.
Labels: APC, beauty notebook, biologique recherche, embryolisse, fifi chachnil, film, jo wood organics, opalis
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September 8, 2007 7:54 AM,
What an amazing post! The photos and the personal depth of the references are wonderful -- really enjoyed it...
September 10, 2007 12:40 AM,
Thank you kindly. : )
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