Whenever people ask me why, on embarking in a career in journalism, I choose to home in on beauty, I give the same answer: beauty products make me feel something, direct my mood, help me to engineer the sort of day or night I’d like to have. A perfect red lip equals power. A big, complex scent with perfect sillage equals sexy. Foundation that covers my spots adequately equals freedom.
And then there are the characters beauty evokes. When my hair is hanging down my back in rivers, I am immediately a 19th century heroine. If I’ve gone for it on the make-up front, I am Alexis Carrington Colby (and despite being largely teetotal and a non-smoker, my hands long for a champagne glass and cigarette holder). Add a smoky eye and I instantly, deludedly, feel very Brigitte Bardot.
