Tag Archives: Glasgow

Show Me Your Lizard

8 May

I’m not being rude, that’s the name of the last Insane Championship Wrestling show that Angie and I did.  Get your mind out of the gutter, you dirty depraved flogstars!

Or at least, if you’re in the gutter, I hope you’re looking up at the stars.  Free makeover for whoever gets that reference first.

Anyhoo, today’s flog post brings a rare how-to.  I guess I shouldn’t even be calling this a beauty blog in the first place, since how-tos and product reviews are so few and far between.  WHATEVS, my flog, my rules 😛

So, Show Me Your Lizard.  We did a bit of touching up and other misc makeup backstage, but the real action began when we had the bright (vodka-induced) idea to get in amongst the audience and offer our facepainting skillz.

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we practiced on our arms first 🙂 photo by Chelsea Cochrane

That involved yelling “facepainting!  Get your face painted!  Show me your LIZARD!” at the punters as they entered the venue.  Which for some reason, was extra-hilarious in an Australian accent.  Here are some shots of what we did:

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… and now for the how-to part.  You will need green cream makeup and a paintbrush or foundation brush to apply it with (don’t use anything precious as it’s a pain in the ass to clean off a nice brush), an orange bag…

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yep

…yellow facepaint and a sponge to stipple it on with.

Whack the green on first, give it a moment to dry, place the orange bag over the top (take the oranges out first dummy) then carefully stipple the yellow paint over the top.  Lift the orange bag away, and voila, scales!  Easy.

Here are some more backstage pics for your amusement.  Commentary from me not required.  Until next time, flogstars! xX

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insane championship wrestling

31 Mar

On Sunday night, Angie and I had our first shot as official makeup artistes for Glasgow’s Insane Championship Wrestling. It took place in the ABC…

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… and the show was sold out.

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We didn’t end up doing that much makeup to be honest (hopefully for future shows, once people realise that’s what we’re there to do, we will be put to work a bit more), and as you well know, flogstars…  the devil makes work for idle hands.

Which means we had plenty of time to gawp at lots of fit, oiled-up bodies and take billions of selfies.

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We arrived around 4pm and had a bit of time to kill while everything was set up.  So we sniffed around.  Access All Areas means precisely that.

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the only thing stopping me from trying the belt on was the fear that I would be thrown in the ring if I did

We saw lots of stretching, massaging, greasing-up and rehearsing…

complimentary ass-massage by Leah Owens

complimentary ass-massage by Leah Owens

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… and seam-reinforcement.

There were lots of opportunities to meet-and-greet…

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flanked by Leah Owens and Carmel Jacob. Grr!

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Michelle McManus and me. My tooth isn’t actually missing, it’s just a shadow.

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… and even more time for crazy japes.

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As the venue filled up, it was time for the performers to get in the zone.  This involves a lot of pacing, pumping up of muscles by dropping suddenly to the ground and doing really fast push-ups, and muttering while mentally rehearsing signature moves.  Last-minute application of extra oil is optional.

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… And then, it’s SHOWTIME!

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It’s not pretty, but it is spectacular.  Already counting the seconds til the next one at the end of April.  Giddy up!

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Time for some AC/DC, don’t you think?

 

 

 

patience is a virtue…

9 Mar

… unfortunately not one of mine.

I must thank YOU, dear flogstars, for your patience while I just don’t post.  I hope you are getting your fix/keeping abreast of all things Imogen Maxwell over on my Instagram and Facebook, which have been more requently updated than this poor neglected flog.

I have been busy doing lots of exciting things, so I have lots to show and tell you – sadly I have also been very busy doing lots of shitey boring things like working, doing homework etc so I haven’t had much time to flog it all up for your reading pleaure.

This week just gone was the Glasgow School of Art Fashion and Textile show, held in the new Reid building.

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Myself and classmate Angie were the ones liaising with the organisers at the art school on behalf of our class, and if anyone ever asks YOU to take that task on, I highly recommend you scream “NO” in their face and run far and fast in the opposite direction.  My grievances are college-related and shall be detailed in GREAT detail in my evaluation of the whole experience, which is the final part of this assessment, so you shall be spared, flogstars.

Anyway.  Despite all that, the end result – the actual catwalk show itself – was a resounding success, very professional-looking, and received national media coverage for days.  The fashion and textile designs were stunning, and everyone behind the scenes (the fashion students, models, organisers, hairdressers) was a pleasure to work with.

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Everything was alright on the night, as they say – and that’s all that actually matters.  And ON the night, it must be said, I really enjoyed the work, the backstage atmosphere, and being part of such an interesting and creative production.

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So here are some photos for ye.  Annoyingly I don’t have the designers’ names etc so I’m not sure who did what, but these are just to show the overall feel of the show anyway.  If you’ve come across this and know who I can credit for any of it, drop me a line!

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space was at a premium so we ended up doing makeup in the corridors

space was at a premium so we ended up doing makeup in the corridors

 

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walk-through to check timing

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Angie doing between-show touch-ups

Angie doing between-show touch-ups

waiting to go on

waiting to go on

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view from the makeup room upstairs above the catwalk

view from the makeup room upstairs above the catwalk

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Ciao for now, flogstars – I’ve got so much homework to do I think I might go and have a little cry and eat some chocolate.

 

a journey through space and time

9 Jan

It was weird being back.  People who have lived away from home for more than a year or two will know what that’s like.  But while a lot of people have travelled, not many have stayed away.

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I didn’t mean to stay away, it just kind of happened.

Leaving, and then being away, were really hard at first, then ‘travelling’ turned somehow into ‘working’ and ‘routine normal life’, and I made real friends, and put down tentative roots, and being here was easier than going back.

On my first visit back to Adelaide, after a year away, I brought my makeup kit back to Scotland, so you might say things got kind of serious at that stage.  However, now at the 6-years-away mark, I’m still on PAYG mobile.

It’s a surprisingly complicated thing to talk about; every time in the last six years, when I’ve been asked by an Adelaide friend or relative when I’m coming home, I have to pick my words so carefully.  I like it here, in Scotland.  Which is not to say that I don’t like Adelaide, and that I don’t want to be there, or even that I like Scotland more than Adelaide.  Shock!

What it feels like I am being asked, really, is why we – Adelaide, your friends, your family – aren’t enough to keep you here?  What’s so good about Scotland, with its shitty weather and tiny wages and the fact that it’s not Australia?  It feels like people take it personally, and are offended, that I choose to live in a damp, malnourished bog instead of in their golden land of milk and honey.

As you can see, I also find it impossible to talk about this without slagging both Scotland and Australia off.

It’s not that Scotland is better than Australia or Australia is better than Scotland… it’s all about me, flogstars.  I’m better in Scotland.  I love it here, and I love it in Australia as well, in fact I am very jealous of everyone who lives in Australia, casually BBQing on the beach without a care in the world apart from the poisonous wildlife winding around their ankles.

Here in Scotland I am regarded as a brave but foolhardy soul, choosing to live thousands of miles away from all that is familiar, braced against year-round 90mph winds and driving rain.  The Scots think that if I can put up with all of that, then I must really love them and their country, and right there’s an easy brownie point.  People like to be liked.

There’s something about living somewhere you’re not from.  That concept is plenty of people’s idea of hell, from what I understand.  But it’s great.  As I’m not from here, I can excuse myself from all that is wrong with the place (wasn’t me!), and equally enjoy all that is right with it.  That line of argument weakens with every election that comes and goes, and I think will be completely void after September’s independence referendum.  But anyway, because I have (for now) passed up my right to live and work in Australia, land of sunshine and reliable yearly dominance of World’s Most Liveable Cities lists, my decision to live in Scotland is conscious, deliberate, and dedicated.

So in that way, when a Scottish person asks me, goggle-eyed with disbelief, why I choose to live in Glasgow instead of Adelaide, it’s easier to answer than when I’m asked the same question by an Adelaide friend or relative.  I’m complimenting them and their country, and covertly insulting my own, aren’t I?

Visits back are like re-entering a house that was abandonned mid-morning, years ago.  Evidence of who I was and what I was doing are everywhere, cluttered in boxes at my parents’ house, spoken in questions from loosely-in-touch friends.

While my Australian life has laid dormant for six years now, life in Australia has obviously not.  People have children, different jobs, different relationships with me and each other, different priorities.  When I am plopped right into the middle of it, it is a perhaps eerie reminder for all of us, what it was like – what we were like, what life was like – six years ago when I was still there.  Evidence of the passage of time is often unsettling and seldom welcome, I find.  Maybe I am imagining it, but I can’t be the only one who is terrified at how fast six years can just … go.

It is easy enough, in essence, to pick up where you leave off with most people.  Some (MUM) might say that I am rubbish at keeping in touch.  Most of you reading this are probably real life friends/relatives/acquaintances, and got here through a link on my Facebook.  If we do know each other, maybe we chat online from time to time, maybe you’re one of the tiny handful that I email or post things to or text when I’m pissed.

Maybe you just watch me and we don’t really talk.  The Imogen Maxwell Experience has become quite the multi-media spectacular.  If Facebook, Instagram or this flog are the main picture you have of me, the jetlagged, disorientated, short-tempered, teary and easily startled version before you during my visit to Adelaide must have been somewhat of a letdown.

So how was my Christmas, did I have a good time back home?  What are visits to Adelaide like for me, after 6 years away?  At risk of sounding even more defensive and self-pitying than I already do, they’re bloody hard going.  I’m too jetlagged to try and think of another way to say ’emotional rollercoaster’.

Seeing my friends and family, the perfect weather, the foooooood… it was all wonderful.  Overwhelmingly so.  Yet I felt under a huge amount of pressure.  I felt guilty, and resentful of that guilt.  I had nowhere near as much time or energy as I would have liked.  Feeling these simultaneous extreme highs and lows is exhausting, travelling to the other side of the world to jump straight into almost constant socialising is exhausting, especially after months without a day off.  Being plucked from the comfort of routine and dropped blinking into an opposite climate and schedule, waking up starving hungry at 4am unable to get back to sleep, ready to lie down on the ground and die from fatigue by 3pm, trying hard to slap on your game face while your nearest and dearest just don’t understand why you can’t just smile and enjoy yourself and be grateful.  Feeling misunderstood.  All the tiny details of your former daily life that are familiar and unrecogniseable at the same time.

I started this post to try and articulate what it’s like, these visits home.  I thought writing this post would sort out in my own mind, and help me to explain better to people who don’t know what jetlag feels like, who can’t understand why – when they ask me if I enjoyed my 2 weeks back home – my answer is “…yes?…”  The same people who don’t understand how it is I can be away from my friends and family for so long.

Although I now think it’s really me who needs those answers.

Happy birthday, David Bowie

8 Jan

Just over two weeks ago, I flew out of Glasgow, this dear green place.  After what felt like one million hours in transit, I arrived in Adelaide and spent the festive season eating real fruit and vegetables (none of your painted rocks that you call ‘avocado’, ‘cherry’ and ‘mango’, Scotland), marvelling at the healthy and attractive Australians just wandering about the place all tall and tanned, and running around like a blue-arsed fly trying to catch up with every single person that I have ever met.

It was a pretty big two weeks, flogstars.  I arrived back in Glasgow less than 24 hours ago.  What would be hilarious, is if I tried RIGHT NOW to write a post that made sense.

It’s been an impressively productive 24 hours, mind you – I’ve done a load of washing, had my tranny-nails removed and replaced with a dark shimmery purple Shellac job…

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real reason I didn’t flog while away – I couldn’t type

…attended to some overdue facial threading (everything really DOES grow faster in the warm weather), been to the supermarket twice, went for a hour-long walk, done a shift at the Qwik-E-Mart, and slept for 10 hours uninterrupted.  I’ve also already made serious inroads into plans for my next holiday.

Australia feels like a distant dream already.  Luckily I took a billion pictures so I know it did actually happen.

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so trusting!

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So, January…  2014!  This bleakest of months, where we are encouraged to take a good, hard, critical look at our lives, dwell on our various failures and inadequacies, and make vague/unrealistic resolutions to BE MORE BETTER.  I’ve been asked a few times what my new year’s resolutions are, but as I’ve never really been into deadlines, I haven’t come up with any yet.

Also, why mess with perfection?  I’m still basking in the glory of successfully adhering to last year’s, which were “spend more time and money on makeup”, “buy (minimum) 1 x CD per payday” and “take every possible opportunity to see a live band.”

I slipped up on that last one when I didn’t go see The Who, but as I am so good at buying 79p classic rock albums second hand on Amazon, this wasn’t such a huge problem.  Sometimes – if seeing The Who involves spending money you don’t have – you have to let it slide, flip through your millions of CDs, and listen at home instead.  Ah, home.  Where Keith Moon is still alive, beer doesn’t cost £6/pint, and there’s no queue for the toilet.  Rock n’ roll.

There are important life-improvement lessons for all of us in that anecdote, flogstars.  Know what you want!  Be specific!  Be realistic!  Cultivate and nurture interests that make you happy!  Be #YOLO, but not so YOLO that you can’t pay the rent!  Be prepared!  I’ve got it all SO figured out.  Have a read of this Vice article about how to be less broke in 2014 – while I suspect that the guy who wrote it probably wouldn’t like me much, he does make some constructive points.

Despite being on an extremely winning life formula, I can admit that I need to be better at keeping in touch with friends and family back in the land of Oz.  I have no intention of swearing less, drinking less, eating less, playing with my smartphone less, or partaking in any of the other most popular ways to be miserable, so “install Skype” it is.Here’s Har Mar Superstar, that’s right, TWO songs in one flog post.  Lose control with me.

See you on the other side of jetlag, lovers!  xX

baby you’re a firework

5 Nov
me for vendetta

me for vendetta

Happy bonfire night, flogstars.  Hope you’re not scared of fireworks.

be cool, be cool

be cool, be cool

Today is my bodypainting assessment; I’m as prepared as I can be, and ready for ACTION!

what my tiger bodypainting will not look like

what my tiger bodypainting will not look like

 

WTF?  They're cheap red pointy false nails, blue-tacked on to the end of makeup brushes, so I could paint them black.  They will be Chloe's claws.

WTF? They’re cheap red pointy false nails, blue-tacked on to the end of makeup brushes, so I could paint them black. They will be Chloe’s claws.

Here are some more halloween photos from the weekend to tide you over until I have new material.  These are just pub randoms, not my work.

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Alright, night night now.  Big day tomorrow… IT’S TIME TO PLAY THE GAME!  So here’s Motorhead to sing you to sleep, which they won’t be doing in Glasgow in November because the tour’s been postponed.  Gah.  That’s THREE TIMES now that I’ve NOT seen Motorhead.  Anyway, sweet dreams.

 

das Wochenende

19 Oct

Today’s post is about two German things.  One of them is Agi, the other is the Glasgow Oktoberfest.

remember when I went to Germany in May?  https://imogenmaxwell.com/2013/05/10/life-is-a-biergarten/

remember when I went to Germany in May?

First things first.

On Thursday I partied with these sexy mofos up in Oban.

United nations.

United nations.

It was also attempt #2 at my second wig assessment with Agi as my model.  Regular readers will remember LAST Thursday’s disaster when the assessment during class time had to be abandonned.  It went much better this time around!

Here’s the step-by-step in pictures.

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OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

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I used… Ben Nye eyeshadows in Green As Fuck and Golden Shower (not real eyeshadow names, I just can’t be bothered going to check) mixed with Illamasqua sealing gel.  The black outline is a Barry M liquid liner, the white is that white cream makeup I’ve mentioned a million times.  I don’t think it has a brand.  Get on eBay and search for “white cream makeup”, the one I use looks like this:

white cream makeup

… but I think they’re all pretty similar.  What is not similar is the price.  If you buy that ish in a costume shop, you’re looking at about £12.  Online it’s £1.75.  Sorry local business, but I just can’t.  When I start earning proper money I will support you again, but for now, it’s online all the way.

Anyway, the foundation is Illamasqua Rich Liquid and the blush is a MAC Mineralize one that I am quite fond of.  The wig is a cheapy from eBay as well.  It’s actually got a long side-fringe but it was pinned out the way to show the anime eyes.

Hopefully this will fly with the college.  They weren’t too in love with the idea of me doing the assessment not-at-college, but you know me, flogstars.  I like to just go for it anyway.

So that was Thursday.  On Friday Chloe and I returned to Glasgow, I quickly threw on my dirndl and we were out the door sharpish for the Glasgow Oktoberfest with a handful of our other pals from Oban.

"Squeezy" Lou and Chloe

“Squeezy” Lou and Chloe

As a beer-festival expert, I noticed a few things about Scotland’s attempt at this greatest of all occasions that were a bit… different to how they do it in Germany.  Firstly, PLASTIC mass glasses and wine carafes.  PLASTIC!  And there were also two security guards and one cop per person.  I suppose both of these details are a necessary evil in these parts.

It was only £2.50 to get in to the beer tent (good) and there wasn’t any allocated seating (also good, although if it had been full it would have been a problem).

The two biggest heartbreaks were the beer and the food.  We had tickets for a meal and ordering it was quite the comedy of errors.  After the third delivery of wrong food, the waiter actually had a tantrum and walked off.  I had to chase after him and dry his tears and coax him into doing his damn job properly.  Lucky I am so persuasive.  This was at about 7pm, when the tent was still half empty and everyone was still sober.  That little bitch would have had one of the longest nights of his life if he couldn’t cope with our table.

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The one on the right is either a plate of sauce or sauerkraut mixed with mashed potato (two of the things we didn’t order but received anyway)

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No.

My problem with the beer is also two-part; the fact that it was MID-STRENGTH, and also £8.50 for a big one – which wasn’t even a litre!  You should see the look on my face as I am typing this.  Chloe and I had one ‘mass’ each and realised that we could sit there drinking that watered down, not-even-German shit all night and walk out of there not even the tinest bit wobbly.

I panicked and bought two bottles of wine, hoping that it, at least, would have alcohol in it.  I was disappointed, of course, as they had watered it down too.  WITH WATER.  I wish I was joking.  And I know what you must be thinking; pissed bitch yells at bar staff because she is so drunk she can’t taste the alcohol in her beverage.  No, dear reader.  I was as sober as a judge, and so was Chloe.

We had started to lose our sense of humour at this stage.  We had paid good money – far too much good money – for this watered-down crap, so good ole Chlo went and complained to the arse behind the bar and made him open two new bottles and tip them into a carafe in front of us.  Ha.

my hero

my hero

I look at this photo and want to travel back in time and stop myself from drinking it.

I look at this photo and want to travel back in time and stop myself from drinking it.

But time travel hasn't been invented yet.

But time travel hasn’t been invented yet.

Stop, stop, stop, you don't have to drink the whole thing!

Stop, stop, stop, you don’t have to drink the whole thing!

And another thing.  Wearing a dirndl has never before put me at a disadvantage…

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… but at Glasgow’s Oktoberfest, it was a huge mistake – everybody thought I worked there.  Worse, because my dirndl was different to the actual staff (mine was blue and covers my ass, theirs were pink and didn’t) I was mistaken for some sort of authority figure, so people were coming to me with their problems all night.  “Where’s our food”, “we ordered 6 beers but only got 5”, etc etc etc.  Gah!

Jenny gets the money shot

Jenny gets the money shot

So, for any of you thinking of attending the Glasgow Green Oktoberfest this or next weekend, here are my hints.  Arrive drunk, and find or win a lot of money that you don’t mind wasting on non-alcoholic beer and wine before you go.  Also, don’t be awesome and wear a dirndl, and wear wellington boots because they erected the tent on a bog.

Oh, and don’t use the Groupon £15 for two tickets offer – it’s the worst value for money ever.  The allocated seating doesn’t exist, you only get a half-pint of MID-STRENGTH beer, you have no choice with the food they give you (which is two nasty little Farmfoods sausages on a plate of chips) and all that shit bought separately would come in cheaper.

Humph.  I’m all annoyed now.  I am actually most pissed off with myself for panic-drinking that wine.  A huge rip off that ended the night early.  What a waste!  Oh well, there will be plenty more opportunities to unleash my inner German beast.

Until such a time, here’s Scorpions.  They’re German, and awesome.

xX happy Saturday, tiny dancers

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