Tantrum Warehouse
Tact Free Since 2003

No Man's Land

So there is something happening on the beauty floors of major department stores that doesn't really work for me. Men working at skin care counters.

Its not that I don't like men. I like men fine. I have even purchased cosmetics from them before. Because I use MAC and they have tons of men working for MAC. I imagine this is because of their funky colors, ad campaigns featuring drag queens and the foundation that they sell that is thick enough to cover up stubble. They are the official make up of the gay community.

Which is fabulous. I will absolutely let a gay man help me pick out my new red lipstick. He will tell me the truth about whether it makes my teeth look terribly yellow or not. (Don't send me nasty emails about assuming these guys are gay, I cannot for the life of me think of a straight man that would be caught dead working at a beauty counter). Gay men seem to me the ideal people to consult with on cosmetics, if they can cover up their Adam's Apples with creative contouring they can figure out how to even my skin tone.

That being said there is no way in HELL that I am letting a gay man help me with skin care. Not because he wouldn't do an admirable job, I am sure he would be excellent. But I do not want a gay man telling me the truth about my pores.

Or worse. A man that works as a drag queen on weekends. I can hear it now, "BITCH I wear ten pounds of makeup from Friday to Sunday and I STILL manage to keep my pores cleaner than this. What the hell is wrong with you?!"

There is such a thing as too much honestly. I know that my skin is not fabulous. Help me make it better. But please GOD please, do not make me face how bad it is.

At least the fucking women will lie to you.

So, I am sorry, very nice man at the Kiehl's counter. But I will just come back later. I don't need you telling me how much I need wrinkle control while I am looking for an oil control product.

One ego bash at a time.

9:09 a.m. :: comment ::
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