Her first rule of thumb was banning shampoo. Completely. Apparently, “’pooing,” as she says, dries the hair. In the back of her salon, she whipped up a nonlathering formula of all-natural products, which she gave me as a gift. (Note: She’s not one of those creepy product pushers who get you to spend a fortune on things . . . and her products barely cost $10 each.) Then she told me that from now on, I was not to rinse my conditioner, but not to use leave-in conditioner because it has chemicals. Use regular conditioner and just leave it in, she said, comparing it to hand lotion. (“You don’t put that on your hands and wash it right off, do you?”) Also, conditioner acts as a weight, which enables the curls to fall downward, not puff out to the side. She gave me an intense hour-long lesson on styling my hair. The routine goes as follows: Scrunch wet hair with the towel or paper towels, which are thinner and, hence, reach the scalp more easily, from the end to the root, squeezing on the way up. Add a curl-friendly gel, and then, the most important part, comes the next step: Take bobby pins and insert them in such a way that they add lift to the hair. Do this where you want the hair to be fuller. Leave in until the hair dries and then remove. That trick gives the hair body. It’s also the only remedy for triangle head I have ever seen work—and last.
Lorraine cut my hair while it was dry and showed me how she cuts the curl in a way that promotes its windy movement, not prevents it. I came home and threw away all of the products that never really worked, including all shampoo. (I haven’t “’pooed” since!) And I have learned to like my hair over time. From that day forward, it grew longitudinally instead of horizontally. And every time I see Lorraine, who is now the only person I will let cut my hair, I pick up new tricks she thinks of. She is something of a mad curl scientist. She even wrote a book about it. I have sent all of my curly-haired friends to her and they have all said she changed their lives. Just like she has changed mine! The moral of the story is: Find a person who really understands your hair, someone who will give you a cut that fits your face, your life, your personality. Otherwise it’s just not worth it. Like a husband, you should never settle for anyone who’s second-rate!
Hair Affair
While a fashionista follows each gloriously fickle trend and turn of fashion, her hair should simply flatter her face, regardless of the fact that short may be in one season, straight another, and long and curly the next. Many fashionistas get caught up in major straightening moments, when they think they must have poker-straight ’dos. This usually results in hair irons, which can ultimately lead to hair frying, burning, and drying, and other atrocious mishaps. Learn to accept the limitations of your locks and appreciate what you have been born with.
A signature hairstyle can be your determining look for decades—just look at Anna Wintour and her famous bob, Ali Mc-Graw and her long brunette locks, Gwen Stefani and her platinum shade. Experiment with a few styles, invest in a relationship with a fabulous hairstylist, and canvas friends and family for their honest opinion.
Below, some tried-and-true fashionista hair tricks.
The two-day blowout—We fashionistas are a vain lot. We spend the grocery budget on perfect blowouts. Make a blowout last for two days by having your stylist spray your hair with a silicone-based lotion or hold. This will help your hair retain its shape for more than one night. At night, sleep in the “sleeping princess” position (on your back, with your hair spread on your pillow) and use a satin pillow that does not absorb moisture, which often leads to waves and curls. Do not toss and turn! Do not attempt to have any nooky! Remember, it’s about making that $50 blowout last! Invest in a shower cap.
The Pucci bandanna—The cure to fashionista bad-hair days is a fabulous printed bandanna or scarf to hide the unruly mess. Oversize sunglasses optional.
Pre-Raphaelite curls—Invigorate your curls by dampening hair with a spray bottle. Take small pieces of hair and wrap around your finger close to your scalp. Pin each curl to the scalp and let it sit while you’re getting ready (fifteen to twenty minutes). Remove pins.
The low ponytail—A Vogue-magazine-girl favorite, this is a sleek, classic, sophisticated look that works well with long, straight, silken hair or hair with subtle waves. A few tendrils outside for wavy-haired girls only.
The SuperSolano hair dryer—A slightly more expensive dryer than the average Conair, this is the Bentley of hot air. After you attain a style you like, give your hair a shot of cold air from the dryer. Hair is moldable like butter—heat will allow you to shape it and the cold air will keep it in place.
THE NETHER REGIONS
I Have Hair There? KAREN
I had no idea what I was in for when I first went to J. Sisters, a bikini-waxing Shangri-la on West Fifty-seventh Street named after the Brazilian sisters—Jocely, Jonice, Joyce, Janea, Juracy, Judseia— who own the place (if you notice, all of their names start with the letter J). It was the fall of 1998. And for four years I had been hearing all about the J. Sisters, how it was the best wax in town and once you got it, you could never go anywhere else. Fashionistas of all kinds—from Christy Turlington and Naomi Campbell to Gwyneth Paltrow and Patti Hansen—swore by them for their bikini-wax expertise, which resulted in a line of hair hardly thicker than a string bean. In fact, Gwyneth signed her photo, which hangs on the spa’s wall, with a note that said, “You changed my life.” I had to admit, a wax that could change your life made me curious. While I had always been a Gillette razor kind of girl, in the name of south-of-the-border chic, I made an appointment.
In the waiting room I spotted Jennifer Grey and patiently read through the J. Sisters’ press clippings from all of the fashion magazines that gave them star-studded reviews. I had never had a wax before, and to be honest, I was kind of scared. But I took Advil beforehand, as I was told it prevents feelings of extreme pain. The salon is pretty bare-bones. No frills. No fancy chairs. Just a highly embellished ceiling with original ornate prewar moldings. I could hear the ripping and tearing noises oozing from the wax rooms, which were barely big enough to hold the table on which you lay for the procedure. A few “ouches” pierced my ears. Just as I was contemplating bailing, Juracy, who is supposed to be the gentlest of them all, beckoned me into the room.
She told me to take my pants—and undies—off. “But I wore my skimpiest panties for the occasion,” I said.
“That’s nice. But they go off.”
I stripped down and got on the table, asking her to go easy on me. “It’s my first time,” I confessed. She rubbed me down with powder and promised to take good care. Then she pushed my knees apart and slathered on the wax. I stared at the swirls of the molding on the ceiling and the gilded finishing touches on the chandeliers to keep my mind occupied on something other than the fact that this woman was getting a close-up of my vulva. She started with the sides and the part that sort of hits the crease of the thighs. It hurt! I grabbed her hand and asked her to warn me next time. She took more off, moving closer and closer to the middle of my sacred area of untouched skin. She took almost everything off. And that was only the beginning.
She had me lift my legs and hold my knees so that she could really take a good look. I was so self-conscious—and so exposed. I wondered, Does this count as a lesbian experience? She continued waxing downward, making her way to my rear end . . . um . . . the opening, if you know what I mean. And there was another rip. I was a bit grossed-out, actually. “I have hair there?” I asked, shocked and embarrassed about my obviously bestial nature. She nodded. Sensing my mortification, she told me it was okay, “Everyone does.” That means you do, too!
She got rid of hairs on the lips and—damn—for a minute there, I was pretty sure she was waxing the little bits that were borderline inside of me. It felt so intimate. I never imagined giving someone this close a view of me. I wasn’t even sure my (then) boyfriend had even taken that good a look! Once she finished the job—ten to fifteen minutes later—I had to admit . . . I looked pretty darn good. And I was smooth as a baby. The fact that the process was—shall we say—in
vasive no longer mattered. The results were that fabulous. I’ve been going back religiously ever since.
Let It Rip: The All-important Bikini Wax
It’s something every fashionista must do, even if the only person to see it is Jean-Claude, her toy poodle. Fashionistas don’t like anything to be messy, even (or especially!) the area south of the border. In the world of hair removal, more is more! Choose a style that’s worthy of your Cosabella thongs.
The Triangle—A seventies throwback.
The Racing Stripe (a.k.a. the Playboy)—A long strip favored by porno stars and sexy soccer moms alike.
The Dictator—A square shape reminiscent of a famous tyrant’s mustache.
The Brazilian—Any of the above shapes with a little extra taken off, such as the area from the pubis to the tush. Worth the pain.
The Logo—When the Gucci ads showed a model with a big G down there, it sparked a trend from Beverly Hills to Madison Avenue. Karen has gotten the letter “T” for her boyfriend, Todd.
Themed Trim—Heart-shaped for Valentine’s Day, a star for Christmas, the addition of Swarovski crystals (just use false eyelash glue), or a little glitter for a wedding. Dye it if you dare or the occasion permits. Green for St. Patrick’s Day.
How to Survive a Brazilian
We’ve all been there, clutching the tissue paper and screaming for mercy. But it doesn’t have to be torture.
Never schedule a wax when you are PMS-ing; the skin is more sensitive during that time of the month.
Take a painkiller an hour before your appointment. Many of us pop Advil before a Brazilian, but some of us save that Vicodin pill the doctor prescribed for our wisdom-teeth removal.
Get a topical anesthetic. Just be careful that it stays on the outside only.
Request the gentle wax for sensitive skin.
Stop shaving between waxes. The more you shave, the harder and more brittle your hair will become—leading to very painful experiences.
Warning: The Brazilian removes hair underneath the vaginal lips as well as on its surface. It is extremely hurtful. If you cannot stand it, just stick with the basic and forget about flying down to Rio.
Suggestion: After the wax, cleanse with an astringent. Yes, it will sting. But it will help prevent unwanted whiteheads and ingrown hairs.
FASHIONISTA FILES: THE COLLECTION BY ORLY
Designing Our Own Nail Polish Line MELISSA AND KAREN
One of our favorite pastimes is getting our nails done together. “Wanna get a mani-pedi?” Karen will ask, which is short for, “Do you want to spend three hours in a salon, get our nails done, and riffle through US Weekly and Vogue together?” It’s a quintessential fashionista bonding moment, combining all of our favorite activities—pampering, virtual shopping, and gossip.
Our only complaint is that we can never find the right nail colors. We always want to be “edgy” and fashion-forward, but the trend for blue (or black, or purple, or gold-dusted) nails seems so . . . adolescent. It’s just not “us” anymore. More often than not, we reach for our perennial red or black-red or pale pink classics. But we can never find just the perfect fashionista red—not too orange, not too blue, not too pale, not too dark. Or the perfect pale pink—not too yellowy, not too white, not too bubblegum.
So when the nice people at Orly asked us to design a line that would appeal to fashionistas, we jumped at the chance. We decided that since fashionistas wear only reds and pinks, our collection would have only six colors, from the darkest, blackest red to the most whisper-soft pink. Plus, each color would be named after the type of fashionista we envisioned wearing it. This way it would be easy to mix and match colors, since most fashionistas do a light manicure with a dark pedicure (except for Karen, who only wears dark red nails).
Follow our chart to figure out your nail polish needs!
So pick up the Fashionista Color Collection from Orly—as a fashionista, you’ll find all the basic hues you’ll ever need for your fingers and toes!
Designing the collection with Stel and Carole from Orly
Nailed
A fashionista’s most relaxing moment is at the nail salon. Fashionistas never go out without a proper polish job (although short, bitten nails with chipped red polish does work for tough girls who cultivate the sexy, punk Pat Benetar vibe). Fashionista nails are square in shape (round is too matronly). And they often like to curl up at home with a good book and thick layers of cream on their feet (covered by plastic wrap and cotton socks) to ensure soft soles.
PUTTING ON THE RITZ
Botox for All! KAREN
Warning: Botox is a controversial procedure, and although it’s FDA approved, just because some fashionistas are sick in the head and get it the second they see a furrow in their skin doesn’t mean you should, too! If you do want it, however, host a Botox party. It’s all the rage!
For a fashionista, a dermatologist friend is as golden an accessory as a Birkin. Mine is Dr. Steven Victor, a silver-haired, stately-looking man who has a prestigious client list of the city’s biggest fashionistas, socialites, and celebs. As a doctor, he is precise, scrupulous, and cutting-edge, offering a menu of the most experimental procedures from Europe. This is the man who melts fat with ultrasound. And he’s also totally cool, the type who frequents trendy, hip restaurants, keeps up on the scandalous gossip, and gets invitations to all the A-list parties. All of my friends see him— and adore him. In order to kill two birds with one stone—get in our necessary procedures from the good MD and hang out—I organized a Botox party for six at his Upper East Side office off of Madison Avenue.
Punch & Judy, a chill tapas and wine bar on the Lower East Side, and one of my favorite haunts, catered the affair with mini smoked-salmon sandwiches, beef carpaccio on toast points, foie gras, and more. Between bites of prosciutto-wrapped asparagus, we all consulted Dr. V about what we needed.
“I just had Botox last week,” one guest said. “But I didn’t get it between my brows and there is a furrow there. Can you fix that?” Of course he could! Beth wanted Botox, too, but she was petrified, as she was super needle-phobic. Marjorie wanted microdermabrasion, a hard-core exfoliation treatment that practically sands off the top layer of dead skin cells and helps to even out the skin tone, as well as a laser to rid her of broken capillaries on her cheek. Stacey had the doctor examine her postbaby stretch marks. Nicole just wanted an overall checkup and someone to deal with a little problem she’d been having. “I know this sounds crazy, because I’m not overweight, but I have . . . I don’t want to call it a double chin . . . but this,” she said, “it’s just extra face.” Dr. Victor hadn’t the heart to tell her that “extra face” was a double chin.
As for me, Dr. V suggested a small hit of Botox (hardly wrinkled, I was open to it in the name of prevention . . . you can never start too young!), a laser to take care of my sunspots (damn them!), and while I was at it, a rosacea facial to combat redness. (I needed more than I bargained for!)
Everyone’s treatments went without a hitch. Until Beth! Her nerves were on edge over her needle fear. While the actual Botox shot, the puncturing of the skin with the toxin that freezes the muscles that cause wrinkles, wasn’t a big deal . . . the thought of it was. Afterward she had a full-on panic attack. She started sweating. She turned pale. Her lips actually got blue. “I need to lie down; I need to lie down,” she said, her limbs shaking.
She wasn’t allowed to. After Botox, you can’t lie down for up to four hours; otherwise the Botox will potentially travel to a different part of the face . . . and the last thing you want is to paralyze (even if it lasts only four to six months), say, your right eye! Dr. V put the chair back a little and held a cold compress on her forehead and neck. “I need sugar. I feel faint,” she went on. “Does anyone have candy or orange juice?” She was woozy.
One guest ran to her bag. “I went to Bergdorf Goodman for lunch and took the petit fours we didn’t eat,” she said, placing a pile of mini cookies and biscotti on Beth’s lap.
Getti
ng shot up while Nicole holds my hand
Doctors and dining! Last dibs on food from Punch & Judy before parting!
“I’m gonna vomit,” Beth said. “No cookies! Just candy.”
The nurse brought out the smelling salts and the scene went on for about fifteen minutes. We banned the photographer from the room! What’s a fashionista party without the drama? Soon after, everything was fine—and the girls were all booking appointments for six months down the line.
If you’re visiting NYC, you must see Dr. Victor. He rocks, and his office is at 30 East Seventy-sixth Street, off Madison Avenue.
The Luxe Life
Fashionistas have very stressful lives, all that running in heels, trying to get ahead of the credit card bills. A day or a weekend at a spa—and a quick trip to the dermatologist—rejuvenates our senses (and skin). Below is a list of remedies for the fatigued fashionista.
Hot-stone massage—Hot lava rocks are massaged into your body for a grounding, relaxing, soothing effect.
Oxygenating facial—A normal facial with huge boosts of oxygen, through products, to the skin in order to make it appear younger. Apparently skin loses oxygen every year of your life after puberty.
Reflexology—The practice of stimulating certain nerve points in the foot in order to affect other parts of the body, from back injuries to the digestive system. Also, it just feels good after a day in stilettos. Don’t wear heels for the rest of the day after. In fact, you should even get someone to carry you home.
The Fashionista Files Page 18