You’ll be miffed to hear that in the beauty industry, this most evil of machines whirring away to sell us our own insecurities, a lady is classed as “mature” once she’s 27. LOL!
As such, throughout this flog post, the word “mature” will be appearing in sarcastic quotey marks.
“Mature” makeup is one of the looks we cover in basic makeup (along with basic bridal, Asian bridal, basic female and male makeup, and evening makeup). As with any makeup you’re doing on anyone, you start by (gasp) asking your client/model/Chloe what they want, what they usually wear, what kind of look they’re going for etc etc. Then you moisturise their mug and get busy.
Tutor Caroline did the demonstration on the lovely, remarkably good-skinned Mum-of-Rachel, Elaine.
like mother, like daughter – gorgeous!
So what’s different about makeup on the more “mature” skin, then?
Basically, matte powders – rather than shimmery cremes – are more flattering around the eye area as they sink less obviously into fine lines. Also, you apply all the makeup about an inch higher than you would on an “immature” face, so that when the skin is relaxed (ie not being stretched hither and thither for the makeup artist to be grinding their powders and potions in), it’s where you want it. On a less-elastic lid, for example, your lovely liner might disappear under a fold of skin when your model’s eye doesn’t have your finger propping it open.
owww
And that’s basically it.
Angela (27) and I did our “mature” assessments on each other’s dewy skinned faces.
Nubile as.
So that’s that, kittycats. Here are some other “mature” faces for you to admire before tonight’s singalong.
Dame Edna Everage: Australian superhero
My bosom buddy, my wig hero, Dolly Parton I LOVE YOU
And now, a song. Here’s someone’s hillwalking video I weirdly stole from YouTube. Soundtrack is In a Big Country, by our friends… Big Country. Band and scenery are Scottish.
Happy bonfire night, flogstars. Hope you’re not scared of fireworks.
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
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.
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.
Today was the final day for wig assessments, and while I had already completed both of mine, my services as a short-haired model were required. Today I was Freyja’s model, and she turned me into a haunted Alice in Wonderland. I don’t have copies of the pics from the college camera (yet) but here are a few from my phone.
sans wig
a wee cheeky green one with halloween stickers, because why not
completed look
with the pin curls taken out
bus home. There are no other passengers BECAUSE I ATE THEM ALL!!!
and now I’m sitting in the kitchen writing this flog post. Not taking my makeup off, no sir.
The contacts are “Berzerker” from MesmerEyez.
So here’s 80s German power-metallers Helloween, with I Want Out. Parental Advisory: Contains exactly as many fluffy blond Euro-mullets, denim jackets, leather, skin tight jeans that show EVERYTHING, and dodgy special effects as you would expect from a video endorsed on imogenmaxwell.com
Oh hi flogstars. This week I was the model for two of the Belfast Babes’ wig assessments.
Here’s wee Saoirse (hi, Saoirse’s Mummy! I can totally spell your daughter’s name without looking, now. Hope you have a nice weekend!) making me in to a geek:
no mullets were harmed in the application of this wig
my view
Saoirse’s view
braces weren’t really designed with the larger-busted lady in mind, but I did my best to work it
And then it was Sinéad’s turn:
Terrified Mum’s going to see these and march over here all the way from Australia to slap the cigarette out of my paw
I’m going to sneak in a wee mid-post video for you, flogstars, cos it’s Friday and I feel like we all deserve a treat. It’s the legendary burping contest at the end of Revenge of the Nerds. Youtube won’t let me embed this one for some gimpy reason, but I highly recommend you click through and watch it. I used to have that burp as my answering machine message. Classy lassy right here.
The LOL-fest continued at home with the Mhairis (yes, 2/3 of my housemates are called Mhairi). Inspired by some Promise Tamang videos I’d made them watch last night, the brown powder eyeshadow and brown eyeliner came out and we bearded up.
Mhairi doesn’t normally wear a towel-cape and plastic bag on her head; it’s a hairdye thing
beard LOLz
you would, admit it
It was decided that I looked like somebody’s hot visiting Eurotrash cousin, or a surfer dude from Home and Away, or Gannicus from Spartacus (who is Australian actor Dustin Clare, who was on Home and Away apparently, so once again we’ve come full circle).
Yeah, I can live with that comparison
mmmm
I love you too, Gannicus
Before we go on, can I just say that I have only ever seen a fraction of one episode of Spartacus, and only because Chloe was basically making me and one of the Mhairis watch it. It’s dismal beyond description, but I really did enjoy making fun of it.
Moving on, Mhairi then compared me to the angel from Barbarella:
The angel was not very happy to be compared to beardy me, and while I am flattered that my facial hair brought to mind the overall impression of a bronzed, buff god, I’m not loving his special-ed fringe. Not at all.
Right you lot, it’s after midnight and I’m sitting in the kitchen Googling “collective noun for bronzed buff gods” – still with my beard on. This madness must come to an end.
Speaking of beards. Watch this magical video from Beardyman, a beatboxing legend (stay with me) recording and looping his own voice to build up a pretty incredible rendition of Massive Attack’s Tear Drop.
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?
First things first.
On Thursday I partied with these sexy mofos up in Oban.
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.
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:
… 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
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.
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)
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
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.
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…
… 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
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.
That Will Smith song has been in my head for days, and now we must all suffer. Let’s get it out the way at the beginning of the post so we can put it behind us, move on and never speak of it again.
So Thursday was a big day – a visit from the one and only Carissa (remember when I painted her boobs green?) in town for one night only, and two magnificent reasons. Firstly, to model for my first wig assessment – and oh boy, model she did. That girl knows how to throw a pose.
me emptying a can of hairspray onto her dome to hold everything in place
Carissa’s hair wrapped, pin-curled and sprayed, ready for the sexy head-sock
me looking a normal height for once
backstage madness
even more backstage madness
…and here are some of the snaps from our library photoshoot. What you can’t hear is the tapping on the glass and wolf-whistling from the big group of lads sitting outside the library. They were quite overwhelmed.
Tutor Janet seemed happy with the way they turned out, so once they’re edited etc I’m pretty sure they’ll be good enough for assessment.
Carissa’s hair once the pincurls were taken out, heehee
So then we went out to celebrate at the Cathouse (I’m not proud), with our Finnish friends Reckless Love. We turned up at the venue at about 9pm to find them coming back out on stage for their encore. The whole thing was over by 9:30pm. Can you believe it?
We had fun even though we missed probably more than half the show. Oh well.
In other news, I earned and spent my first Amazon voucher from doing online surveys. Guilt free shopping cos technically it’s free! Win! Amongst other essentials (I got a copy of Aerosmith’s Pump for 1p!) I procured some Halloween accessories, black-out contacts and vampire fangs. I don’t actually have any costume ideas, but it’s good to be prepared. Not that I’ve been invited to any Halloween parties or anything… but it’s good to be prepared. I’ll have to work out how to attach the fangs better… couldn’t get the dental adhesive to work properly, and it coated my mouth with its nastiness. Bleugh.
Give us a kiss.
Speaking of Aerosmith’s Pump album, here they are with Love in an Elevator. Two songs in one flog post? I break all the rules.
My original concept was actually quite demure. It was inspired by a steel-grey bob wig, possibly the most unsexual thing you might imagine. When Sinead tried it on, teamed with her catseye glasses it somehow came alive and my idea was born; I’d use her as my model for my first wig assessment, headmistress-inspired shoot in the library, keep the makeup very simple, have her holding a book and a coffee mug, take a nice classy photo and be done with it.
I pitched this idea to my tutor and within moments it had escalated to something rather more hardcore, including a suggestion that perhaps we could (and I quote) ‘lure a young man in from the corridor’ and get a photo of him bent over Sinead’s knee while she wields a ruler ‘or other spanking device such as a hardcover book’ about his rear end. Well I never!
hopefully not.
The idea has (d)evolved further and now bears absolutely no resemblance to its original form. Even the wig may be different. Carissa is now my model. I just had to message Chloe asking where the skin-tight pink power suit is (in the same bag as the Boy George shirt and the kimono). Things have taken a sharp turn towards… sexy secretary who just happens to be in the library.
“Amateurs.”
So that’s all happening tomorrow. After the wigwork, Carissa and I will be heading out on the town, off to rock you like a hurricane, Glasgow. Only one more decision to make today – do I wear the gold foil leopard print trousers, the blue foil snakeskin, the pink leopards, or the green snakeskin?
Here’s Reckless Love to ring in the weekend early, relevant because that’s who Carissa and I are seeing tomorrow, and because there’s some rather spectacular wigwork in this video. Enjoy, and happy weekend lovers!
The reason I have opened today’s post with an old photo of Bon Scott smiling through the agony of a badly infected testicle that you can practically hear straining against the seam of those skin-tight grey jeans is…. sorry, I’ve completely lost my train of thought.
well hello
Oh yeah. Something to do with an idea I had for one of my wig assessments. Any man out there willing to let me apply mascara to his chest hair to achieve the look? Get in touch via my contact page. I’ll make you look cool, promise.
This being-in-a-new-city-and-not-knowing-many-locals-well-enough-to-ask-if-they’ll-let-me-paint-their-bare-bodies situation is going to quickly become a problem for me at college. All I ever had to do in Oban was pull a ‘having a creative idea’ face and BAM, everyone’s volunteering to get naked, painted and photographed. Where are you, Glasgow exhibitionists?
Perhaps I should be careful what I wish for. Remember what happened when I put an ad on Gumtree looking for a flat-share? Yeah.
Anyhoo. Here are some other rock-god chests I wouldn’t mind painting, since I’m feeling particularly self indulgent today.
Reckless Love, who I shall be seeing next Thursday with Carissa – we are returning to the scene of last year’s crime…
Jettblack. When you google images of them, two pictures of me come up, which pleases me immensely. Lick lick.
Alright, that’s enough of that. We’ve got a lot to cover today.
Autumn’s here. Next week it will be October. I’m a little shit-scared of how fast time is galloping by.
I feel both settled and still very new in Glasgow. The very first time I arrived here in March 2008, I had a budget of £15 per day – £2 for food (Subway 6-inch of the day), £13 for my hostel bed which included breakfast, and dinner was a row of chocolate from the enormous stockpile I had bought in Belgium.
There is something about having absolutely no money that is kind of liberating. I mean, it fucking sucks, but it simplifies things. I walked and walked and walked around, day and night. I ‘saved’ all the free museums and art galleries for shit-weather days, and just walked the rest of the time. I would sleep in until right before free breakfast ended, so I wouldn’t be awake for too long burning calories and getting hungry. Late at night I would sit in my bunk writing, watching the others in my 14-bed dorm, wishing I was travelling with a big group of friends like they all seemed to be, wishing I knew where to go and what to do.
Everyone I spoke to raved about Edinburgh. Nobody seemed to think that Glasgow was up to much. I didn’t necessarily agree but after nearly 2 weeks walking and walking and walking around, I thought I could probably justify forking out for a bus to Edinburgh to see what all the fuss was about. There began a chain of events that lead me to running the backpackers’ hostel in Oban for 5 years, but that’s another story for another time.
What I didn’t immediately realise was that I’d developed quite a good relationship with Glasgow in this formative period of my early backpacking days. I didn’t have a head full of shit about how dangerous Glasgow was, so it didn’t occur to me to feel unsafe cruising the mean streets on my own in the middle of the night. I think I have always been reasonably sensible so I wasn’t going anywhere actually dodgy at night, but in retrospect I think the whole experience would have been different, and ruined, if I had been scared.
Instead, I felt Glasgow’s friendliness, I felt like it was a good place to be if you weren’t from here. People heard my accent and were interested. I was a young woman travelling alone so people went out of their way to make sure I was ok. I got invited into people’s homes for cups of tea and to look in their old family photo albums. They wrote down their addresses so I could send them postcards from wherever I went next. No one stabbed me, and I was never even offered heroin.
Glasgow is my Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. Glasgow is my hooker with a heart of gold, my rough diamond. Glasgow’s reputation might not be the best, but you have to cop a feel for yourself, make your own mind up.
And do you think I can get the effing gif of Julia Roberts and Richard Gere in The Diamond Necklace Scene to work? Gah!
Anyway, here I am again, back where I first started my Scottish adventure five and a half years ago. My budget is about the same again, but the new job I start tomorrow will hopefully have LOTS of overtime and put an end to all this being-broke bullshit. It’s really cramping my style.
Are you still reading? Good for you. This week at college!
Kim Kardashian-style kontouring!
Saoirse kontoured to within an inch of her life
and just to think, most people try to get their makeup to match their skin tone and NOT leave a streaky brown tide mark around their jaw.
Wig work!
Ashleigh rocking the 90s-kids-TV-presenter look
She would have been the coolest girl at my high school in 1998
not pubes, just another wig sitting in front of the mirror
… and posing, bitches.
So here’s AC/DC with their 1980 hit, You Shook Me All Night Long, because it’s Friday. I know this flog has attracted the attention of many classic rock puritans internationally who are going to light up the whole internet with bitter posts about how you can’t have a photo of Bon Scott’s crotch one minute, and be signing off with a Brian Johnson hit the next, but all I can say is bite me. Also, AC/DC are Australian*. Ha!
Why so sad, Alice-Grant? Is it because my plan to see your performance in Edinburgh on Halloween last year fell through, and you’re all bummed out because one of your fans never got to see you live on stage? I was disappointed, too – Chloe and I were going to go as Wayne and Garth. But it was not to be.
I didn’t think tickets would sell out as fast as they did, then BOOM all of a sudden they were £140. Damn the scalpers, damn them all to hell (but not the good part of hell where I will be roasting marshmallows with all my friends in due course – the bad part, for bad people who rip music fans off. Hisss)
Well. As I always say, if you want something done, you’ve got to do it yourself. Didn’t get to meet Alice Cooper? Just paint someone else up to look like him and voila. We are the masters of our own destinies, the architects of our own fortunes, the creators of our own fan-girl photo opportunities, are we not?
What we have here, for those curious about the technicalities, is MAC Paintpot in Blackground (that bad-boy’s been getting quite the workout lately, but it really is good stuff), just painted on with a concealer brush.
Add a black wig – I found this one under the reception desk – and fingerless stud faux leather gloves. Borrow a leather jacket from a Spanish guy called Sergio (if you can find one), and Bob’s your uncle. Or Grant’s your Alice. Or whatever.
That Will Smith song has been in my head for days, and now we must all suffer. Let’s get it out the way at the beginning of the post so we can put it behind us, move on and never speak of it again. So Thursday was a big day – a visit from […]
I strongly dislike airbrushing. It’s frustrating. The guns we use at college aren’t the best, and it’s impossible to clean them properly. That, and our class is 20-odd chicas, so we all have to share. Everything. All the time. There’s one of each thing we need, and 20 people wanting to use it at the […]
Which is why I find myself covered in aspirin and honey, and a head full o’ bleach on a Sunday night. I went to visit Melissa and Che in Edinburgh last night, cos I’m spontaneous like that. We watched Pretty Woman, Che and I got drunk and Melissa didn’t because she’s pregnant, and I made […]
Only my second week at makeup school and I’ve shaved my eyebrows off. Remember kids, if you DO shave your eyebrows off, you’ll need to learn how to quick-draw your emotions. This week, I have also been learning AIRBRUSHING! In the chair is my college, carpool, Facebook, and real life friend Sinead. We spray-painted each […]
If you’re an avid Imogen Maxwell fan, you’ll have noticed an unusual amount of activity on my Instagram recently. That’s because I am unemployed and have no friends. But considering I am unemployed and have no friends, I’ve been keeping quite busy. Let me tell you about my first week at college. The journey there […]
digital imologue 