Welcome to the Vintage Valentino catwalk in L.A.! I promised you if I could take pics I would and so I'm here to deliver. I'm usually under a tight-lipped contract so I can't share anything glam with you guys, but because I went as a civilian and not a reporter, I could spill all. Enjoy the show

Dear Ethers,

When I go to any ritzy event it always has a catch—I have to work.  I hope one day to be able to attend a glam party or a wonderful opening based on the generosity of creative friends or because I have the money to afford to buy a ticket.  But as it stands, the only way I get into things is by covering them as a journalist.  It was much better in London when I was a beauty writer.  I didn’t have to deal with celebs at parties ever and when there was an actual party, not just a small tea, it was really contained and lovely. In L.A. it’s not like that.  The events I go to are like mad, “Girls Gone Wild” parties.  Often there can be sweaty, drunk dancing involved and celeb groupies.

On Thursday evening I was given a VIP front row seat to the Vintage Valentino show that was being held at Downtown Los Angeles Fashion Week.  Here in the States, L.A. Fashion Week is considered a joke (sad).  So I wasn’t asked to cover anything anyway.  But this lovely person had bought this ticket and at the last minute couldn’t go and I was the lucky tush that got her seat.  I love Valentino.  I own “The Last Emperor” on DVD and haven’t watched it yet.  But I think his clothes are spectacular and I felt honored to attend.  It was also going to be great seeing the red carpet from afar and lovely not to have to rush home and be up until 5am transcribing my interviews.

I didn’t have anything even close to couture, let alone Valentino couture, and I was sitting in the front row!  But, I had a hunch that this being L.A. and not the hottest of fashion meccas, that if I looked snazzy enough, I’d be okay.  So, I put on a really fab All Saints top that is very Westwood, did my eyes up in fab colors going with my Russian Revolution trend (Read Russian Revolution post for the hottest beauty trend this fall!) and did my hair so I could put in a peacock feather headband that went with my trend alert for hair adornments (Read “Tress-Chic” post for the hottest trends for hair this fall!).  This old set of digits didn’t look half bad

I’m not in the best state at the moment due to work anxiety and was really nervous about showing up to a party without anyone.  A lot of these folks knew each other or were in the biz and so I sort of wandered around aimlessly (though some people were very kind and stopped to chat with me about my top!).  L.A. is such a weird place when it comes to getting dressed.  I arrived looking very London I suppose, and they came looking like—I dunno—I hate to say it—but very…errrmmm…seductive.  The girls were either really blinged out or wearing skin-tight, short dresses with their business hanging out.  And the make-up—oh my god!  Talk about caked on!  It’s just a different beast out here.

Anyway, I was led to my seat which was in a prime location, and it had a goodie bag sitting on it (always fun).  There were Coca-Cola girls in red-sequined dresses walking around with trays of soda for our comfort and it was really laid back.  The opening act for the show was a Brit named Matt Goss.  He has a show in Vegas and he is like a funky Frank Sinatra.  He was amazing!  His music rocked and he had showgirls that danced around him—he gave 100% and it was brilliant.

Our lovely Coke girl and you can see the front row and the goodie bags!!!

I have never heard of him, but evidently he's #13 in the UK charts and has a big show at the Palms in Las Vegas. Anyway, the guy was great and his dancers were very sexy!

Then the catwalk show began.  I was so let down.  You’ll see by the pics what I mean.  Valentino must have a conservatory of clothes that would make any fashionista’s heart stop.  The woman who threw the fashion show actually had collected and owned all the pieces so I understand that Valentino hadn’t leant or chosen the clothes himself.  But my god, the choices were atrocious.  The theme was red and black (never a good move) and the era’s were a mess.  Some of the dresses looked like bad 80’s disasters that I’m sure Maestro Valentino wished never resurfaced.  And the way they were styled!  The girls looked like they were Christmas tress with ornaments on them. The models were so second rate.  They had bad skin, they walked poorly, their faces were “whatever.”  And whoever did their make-up—I could have done better!  It looked like they had grease paint smeared on as foundation with heavy red lips and heavy black eyes.  That’s so dated! The hair looked oily and matted—it was bad.  I saw all of the faces in the front row and everyone was in shock!!!   The show had 2 dresses that I would have liked—but not pined for—and in a fashion show—you should be drooling.  I’ll show you the dresses that burnt my eyeballs out of their sockets they were so ugly first and at the end of my post, I’ll show you the two dresses I liked.  Here goes:

I wouldn't have been caught dead in this when it was created! And the model--seriously?

I don't know if this was Valentino's take on a Spanish-style dress gone-80's but OMG! It looks like it is a costume. And so tacky!!!

I think if they threw some tinsel and some candy canes on her it would have been perfect! Ugh and look at her make-up.

I had to include this because I was wondering if Valentino was even trying when he created this and also whomever picked the model to wear this---did they not see it didn't fit her well? Oh, and I'm sorry again to be cruel, but does SHE have the face of a model to you?

The end of the show--thank god! Look how Goth and scary they look. This would have Valentino crying off all of that orange paint he has on his face!

Afterwards, I had a cocktail, spoke to a few people, had a person I knew from the media take a photo of ME on the red carpet with my camera (very funny) and I drove home pleased as punch that I got out and could kick off my heels—but gave the night a fair go.  I wish evenings like that were more common for me…just nice and chilled out.

If you’re wondering what was in the goodie bag, it was very disappointing.  The goodie bags in L.A. are so second rate compared to Blighty! Let’s see, there was a brand of skincare I never heard of that gave a night serum, wipes for your pet, a sample size of Paul Mitchell hair cream, foot petals for your heels and a CD from Matt Goss that I got him to sign for my brother.  I think they could have AT LEAST put SOMETHING Valentino in there!

Anywhooo….I’m thrilled to be able to actually share what a night out for me is like in L.A.  Leave me a comment to let me know what you thought about the show and that you agree the models are DIRE!  Enjoy and I’ll see you tomorrow with my own bit of fashion with a brand new “Wish List.”

PS: Here are the 2 dresses I liked:

I really liked this because of the layering, the material and the adorable cape. Do I think it is pure genius? No. But it is pretty damned cute and I'd dig it if someone bought it for me But really, it's the cape that makes it.

This is the only dress that said "Valentino" to me. It was his classic red. It was perfectly cut. It was feminine and elegant and wait till you see the back. This is a dress that would blow a man away when he opened the front door to pick you up for a black-tie affair.

You make a great entrance, but man, look at that exit. Your ass looks like heaven and your shoulders and back are stellar. This is an A+ and I'm not surprised they ended the show with this. Perfection.

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365

A woman scorned...tsk tsk. But there is a first for everything. And my short, little tale will tell you the time that I SHOULD have looked more like the girl in this picture, but in my timid youth I allowed myself to be stood upon. No longer. My big mouth might get me into trouble sometimes. And things may be rocky with English gent. But every day I aim to NOT be a woman scorned ever again (fuck you Mr. X).

Dear Ethers,

When I was in College in the States (which I HATED and subsequently made me move to England) I was invited to a dance.  I was really young when I think about it now.  I had just turned 18, I had never had a boyfriend.  I mean, this was BIG.  The school I went to was old for American standards, being from the early 1800’s (it even had a slave tunnel that ran underneath it for underground escapees!) and it was done up in a beautiful gothic style.  Trust me, it was THE ONLY endearing thing about the place.  The dance was black tie and was to take place in one of the old halls that had probably seen balls and banquets where ladies and gents had gotten their tails and hoop skirts out before there was TV, an iPod or the Polio vaccine.  

I wasn’t particularly keen on the boy who asked me.  He was about 2 years my senior and I barely knew him.  He was the older brother of a girl who was in my dorm and since I really was very inexperienced with guys, I felt very anxious.  But, I was committed to the fact that this was part of what college was about and I had to go for it.  I’ve always had a very slim frame and a nice height, especially in heels.  I probably weighed about 110lbs and in my lovely red Betsey Johnson wedges (very 1940’s, Rita Hayworth) I was about 5’9.  I wore a black strapless LBD.  I had gone and had my hair done and went to Stila for my face to be made up.  I really went all out.  For a girl who had never had her dance card even penciled in, I felt it might be a full night with names marked in lead on my sheet. 

The arrangement was to meet outside of the Dance Hall at 8pm.  This was before cell phones were really popular so neither of us had one.  Lickety-split, I sprayed some special perfume my mom gave me, gave a last look in the mirror, took a deep inhale, and walked alone to see him.  I could see girls were looking at me and other guys were admiring me.  It made me feel shy.  Again, I hadn’t yet embraced being an adult yet and many of these kids were from Manhattan or Seniors in college and had come into their own—I felt like a kid.

8:15.  8:30. 9pm.

He never showed.  

I stood outside watching other couples happily enter the building where you needed a ticket to get in (he was in possession of those). I heard the music playing from inside and the loud chatting over it.  Glasses clinking.  Why did I wait a full hour? 

I had a red pashmina that I wrapped around my shoulders and walked home humiliated.  I didn’t want to be seen by anyone in the dorms because I didn’t want to tell anyone what happened.  Nowadays, oh, if I could step back into that One of 365 body and tell her what to do, that night would be SO different, but Ethers, I was crushed. 

I remember staring in the mirror at my beautifully made up face and seeing my eyes well with tears and thinking, “What a shame, my make-up will be ruined.”  But then I realized there was no occasion for it to look nice.  I slowly unzipped my dress, sat on my bed and undid the ankle-straps on my shoes.  I took the pins out of my hair, each wound up piece unraveling onto my shoulders.  I could have called home that night or spoke to a friend, but I think this was a right of passage for me.  Being stood up.  No one could console me anyway from 3,000 miles away. 

I got into bed and thought of those couples still in that old Hall dancing away.  I wondered why he didn’t show or leave a note?  Door locked, side light table on, I picked up a book and read until drowsiness stole me away and my alarm woke me for classes.  I wasn’t very popular so no one really asked how it went.  But then I saw him (it was a VERY small school).  I sort of cocked my head in wonderment with a quizzical look on my face.  He was sitting in the café with a group of friends.  I know he saw me, and he chose to ignore me. And I didn’t even know what I did wrong.  And to my dying day, I’ll NEVER know.

It was the first time in my life that a boy had hurt me.  And though he really had no deep meaning because I didn’t care about HIM, per se, it was the feeling of being jilted by the opposite sex.  We all remember our first kiss, our first “time,” our wedding and so on.   But do we all remember the first time we got stood-up?  I still have those Betsey Johnson wedges and still wear that strapless LBD.  And you know what, another guy eventually came and dipped me and put his hand on the small of my back in that outfit and I DID get my dance.  It all worked out in the end.  But I do wonder………..what WAS that boy thinking leaving an 18 year old girl standing out in the cold on that October evening?  And, 10+ years later, I wonder, has he ever thought about me?  Funny how someone can be an influence on your life, but you can make no impact on theirs.  And do you know what’s even crazier?  Even though it’s been a decade, I can still close my eyes and see myself in that mirror with fewer lines on my forehead, features less sharp—and yes—still a virgin (oh boy, sooner or later I suppose I’ll have to reveal that tale to you guys–I mean, do you even want to hear it?) thinking that 30 seemed dreadfully old.  And hearing my now 93-year old grandmother say, “It all goes by in a flash.”  My god, what a simple memory can conjure.

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365

Merde! Why is it when you love something, they always discontinue it? Sigh, you're looking at a relic, a creation of genius in the beauty world that now is just a memory. But I will not let it go down without its story being told--and maybe it will come back someday (brands have been known to re-stock items if enough desire is out there for them...). And when it does, you'll know all about its "magic."

Dear Ether,

Because I wrote such a damning report on YSL Touche Éclat (http://www.oneof365.com/category/ysl-touch-eclat/ysl-touche-eclat/), I wanted to give you guys a product that would be its foil.  An item I KNEW was fail-safe and amazing for your eyes.  BUT, as if the YSL gods had damned me, the product that I loved most (seriously, it was like my beauty secret weapon) HAS BEEN DISCONTINUED.  Yes, it’s true.  Sniffle.

It is…….

L’OCCITANE Magic Eye Balm.

So now this post has become an obituary rather than a plug for one of my favorite beauty products.  But MAYBE, just MAYBE,  if I write a wonderful review about it and you guys get excited and e-mail L’OCCITANE, they’ll revive it from the dead.  It deserves resurrection really.  It did so for me many mornings!

So, I look online to write about my piece and can’t find Magic Eye Balm on the L’OCCITANE website.  I call the store and the woman tells me that the product has been DISCONTNUED in the United States for 3 years!  IMPOSSIBLE!  She tries calming me (I’m sure if I was in the shop it would have been through a lavender bottle of smelling salts) and tells me that it was hugely successful and has NO idea why they pulled the plug.  I tell her I’m still using the one from the UK I got 4 years ago (yep, that’s how long this 15ml $20 puppy lasts)—and yes, of all people I know I shouldn’t be using make-up that is older than a kitten.  However, Magic Eye Balm has no expiry date and after asking the lovely manager at L’OCCITANE if this was kosher (a pro member of the team for 4 years) she said because of the nature of the packaging, you could continue use until the product emits a strong odor or becomes lumpy.

So, here is my little spiel about my French “ami”.  This little metal tube contained the elixir of perfection.  L’OCCITANE is famous for its heavenly shea butter.  Magic Eye Balm contained a 5% dollop, just enough to soften skin and gently moisturize the delicate under-eye area. And even though the product used silicones to help with the appearance of smoothing fine lines, there was never greasy residue.  The balm meshed beautifully with skin and sat gently under a delicate dusting of powder.  Illuminating those lovely eyes came from a mixture of titanium dioxide (a whitening enhancer) and mica, but there was never any glimmering or frosting that was caught shimmering in any light (natural or faux).  Being L’OCCITANE, it also had lovely natural ingredients like calendula, ruscus and centella asiatica to help increase microcirculation (and naturally help in combating dark circles).  It also contained sunflower and ivy extracts to fight pollutants.

Its downfalls: it only came in one shade—which was a natural neutral (truthfully it was only created for Caucasian skin) and it didn’t come with a brush built in (though that never mattered to me because I used my own concealer brush which I could clean deeper—also better to let friends borrow—more hygienic).  Magic Eye Balm did everything YSL Touche Éclat promised it would, but never could provide.

What’s my next step?  I’ll go through my beauty cupboard, make some phone calls and chat with some PR’s.  I’ll sample some new product (I, too, am going to have to eventually make the change) but will have to really trust the product before I can give it my “wink” and a glowing review.  I wish I could give you an alternative, but I refuse to just tell you to go out and buy the newest thing a PR sent me or that I read about without really trying it myself.

For now…………

Au Revoir Baume Regard Magique!  R.I.P.

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365

The "Minus" Touch. Don't let this PR phenomenon fool you. It's not all it's cracked up to be---well, actually it is, if you like skin that looks like you have scabies. Are you shocked. Read on, I have a good explanation...don't get angry with me yet

Dear Ether,

So, you know by now that I’m a magazine writer.  But I don’t know if I’ve made it absolutely clear that my forte is beauty.  I can write a tear-jerking features piece, a cracking fashion story, but when it comes to all things beauty, I shine (never my nose of course, that I always powder). 

Today I’m going to share with you the deadliest beauty weapon on the planet.  I’m sure that I’m going to receive hate mail, be banned from France and all YSL beauty counters (actually, I’m an anonymous blogger, phew, so I’m still in the good books with Sarkozy, PR’s and Barney’s). No, but seriously, I’m lucky I can finally speak out against this product because people need to be aware of how dangerous it can be. 

Are you ready for the shocker of your life? 

It’s……….YSL Touche Éclat.  

What!! Gasps!  I know, it’s appalling since it’s a worldwide best seller and put YSL on the map for being numero uno in the world of highlighters and concealers.  

I remember the day I obtained my golden wand in the post years ago and was so keen to try this marvel everyone had been raving about.  I received #2 “Luminous Ivory” (the most universal for the majority of skin colors—the product comes in four shades—#1 Luminous Radiance for very pale skin, #2 as mentioned above, #3 “Light Peach” for medium skin and #4 “Luminous Toffee” for darker skin tones) and took out my glistening pen, ready to start clicking.  I stared at the white brush as the nude colored pigment filled its bristles.  I was eager and geared up to apply.  

Now, as a girl in her twenties who has terrible insomnia (which causes serious panda eyes) this product was tremendously appealing. In fact, after reading the reviews and hearing the PR spiel, it sounded like the answer to my prayers.  Gleefully, I took my magnified mirror (whoa, those are scary—have you ever really looked at yourself in one of those—you can actually count your pores—let’s not get into that in this entry—too depressing) and painted the magical fluid on my face expecting to look like a “revived” me.  At first I looked like a ghost.  Nothing to fear yet. I’ve worked with worse before.  If I add powder on top and then a bit of bronzer, a touch of eye-makeup—it usually all blends beautifully.  But my usually flawless formula didn’t work.   Touche Éclat made my very warm brown eyes look tres vacant.  I looked expressionless.  Not a good sign. 

I could have put Touche Éclat aside and said, “meh” and never thought about it again.  But….what happened next, well, THIS is why I’m writing this warning entry.  THIS is why Touche Éclat is a weapon of mass destruction.  

3 hrs later I started feeling hideous burning under my eyes.  I looked in the mirror and saw that my skin had started to flake and peel and my peepers were bloodshot.  Holy shit!  This stuff of “dreams” had become my nightmare.  Using the most gentle make-up remover I could find (we’re talking calendula infused with aloe and chamomile), I applied the liquid to my face but it had the effect of battery acid.  The searing of my sockets when the remover touched my skin was so hideous I actually started to cry. 

Flash forward 4 days.  I can’t wear any cover-up, I look like I have hideous eczema, and I’m going to PR parties looking like a monster.  I’m donning eyeglasses so big Ray Charles would be shocked (if he could see).  When I tell my story to everyone I know because I’m forced to explain that I don’t have contagious conjunctivitis, they say they TOO have had this happen.  Huh!?  We’re all shocked at this revelation.  This best-selling product that people swear-by has wreaked havoc on so many of us Beauty Editor’s….why has no one written about it?  Why have we let this happen to our fellow woman!?

I launch into a full-fledged research project about this product, and little by little I start seeing reviews about Touche Éclat and how others have had the same horrible reaction that mimicked mine.  There are tons of us—this magic wand can be a witch’s stick!

So, my word of advice.  Before you lay down 40 bucks (before tax) and put the goop on with confidence before a hot date, and then 3 hrs later end up looking like you have pink eye, get a patch test done at the YSL counter.  Have the woman give you a sample of the product or have her apply it to your eye area and wait 24 hours.  If you like it, and you don’t have a breakout, then you’re one of the many lucky ones who can use this product.  But, if you’re like one of the underground Touche Éclat lepers like myself, don’t risk something like your wedding day to try out this product and end up with photos where you look like a wildebeest whose been crying all day.  Radiant Touch…humph….more like Touch of Evil. 

Leave me a comment if you have suffered from a Touche Éclat moment. Or, if you think I’m totally bonkers and you love the stuff (I have a feeling I’ll be hearing a lot more from you guys….we lepers tend to stay closeted). 

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365

PS: Don’t forget!  Tomorrow is “Fashion Friday!”  This is installment number two.  Last week was a vintage vibe.  This week is something totally different—well, the type of clothing is, but maybe not the actual items.  Cryptic?  Stay tuned to find out and check in tomorrow.  This time please VOTE!