The 90s was ace

I've been studiously ignoring the current 90s revival on the basis that I already bought the clothes and lived through the fashion as a teenager – why go through it again?  It kinda ticks me off that I no longer have those clothes any more, and if I did, I probably wouldn’t be able to fit into them.  However, after perusing the clothing racks of Urban Outfitters, digging up old 90s music and reading articles full of wistful nostalgia I have to say I'm kind of onboard with it now.  Nostalgia is such a potent emotion.  It cleans everything up and leaves your memories sparkling with a rosy hue. 

I have hoarder-like tendencies and even though the clothes ended up in charity bags, my boots survived.  I'm now calling them vintage because they totally are according to the 10 years rule:

Being a crafty gal, I keep scraps of paper, card and stickers.  I went through my drawers and found a stash of stickers that used to be given away with magazines like Smash Hits, TV Hits and Just Seventeen.  Looking through them was quite hilarious.  All those forgettable teen idols like… erm… that guy… and… what’s-his-face… along side Keanu Reeves and Brad Pitt.  Take a gander here:

Also this one: 

My favourite sticker is this one though:

Smash Hits is no more sadly (R.I.P) but who couldn't love a magazine that has Hugh Grant's and Divine Brown's mugshot as a sticker? 

A make up sample that unravelled my insecurities

I remember vividly staring at a picture of a girl in a magazine.

As a teenage girl, obsessing over images in a teen magazine is pretty normal behaviour but this particular picture caught my imagination like no other. 

It was a close up shot of a girl splashing water on her face, laughing and gazing at the camera as she did so.  Her youth and radiance dazzled like the sparkling water captured in the image.  I pored over every detail of the picture – her pale white skin, her clear blue eyes, her chestnut hair – but what I liked most about her face was her lips. 

Pale pink, glossy, full lips. 

I was filled with envy and longing.  I wanted lips like hers with the exact shade of glossy pink.  It was a Boots advert and I don’t remember what it was advertising (a face wash I guessing) but the desire for pale pink lips embedded itself into my brain like some insidious worm.   

I was an insecure Asian girl (and still am) and it didn’t compute back then that pale pink lips were outside of my colour wheel.  I identified with white girls just as easily as Asian girls even though my teen mags never seemed to reflect the kind of diversity they had in their readership.  Well, maybe, when they hired the models with the short haircuts who were branded ‘tomboys’ for their style to contrast nicely against the whimsical dream-like waifs with long hair and floaty dresses. 

Against my ‘olive’ skin, my mouth needed a shot of red to stand out clearly.  My brother even advised me that I looked better when I put a bit of lipstick on (my brother knows nothing about make up so for him to notice something like that meant I had to take it seriously).  My ‘natural’ make up routine always included a smear of red lipstick anytime I left the house.  I remembered a work colleague staring at me during Ramadan when I had dared to go lipstick-free.  I dawned on me on how long I had been carrying my insecurities with me. 

My mum recently bought me a copy of Elle and I was flicking through the pages, admiring the shoes and overpriced handbags when I came across a free make up sample for Rimmel foundation.  I eagerly ripped it open and took out my foundation brush, ready to apply a coat to my face so I could look just like Kate Moss. 

Disaster! 

The shade of foundation was at least three shades too light.  I kept applying it hoping maybe if I spread it across my face, the colour would blend in. 

Nope.  I looked like an ashy-faced pale clown. 

I went to the bathroom to wash it off and stood in front of the mirror to take in the full horror of how awful it looked.  I looked terrible but as my initial shock wore off I noticed my features were thrown into contrast against the newly pale skin.  My dull brown eyes looked inky black and mysterious.  My eyebrows brooded like Heathcliff on the moors.  My lips looked… well, they brought no attention to themselves but I remembered my raspberry lip-gloss in my drawer.  It struck me that I could apply my lip-gloss, not as a topcoat to my red lipstick, but on its own and my lips would finally look like the glossy pale lips I dreamed of having all those ears ago.  I applied it satisfaction and the mirror gave a rewarding reflection of glossy lips with a hint of pink.  I rubbed it off and applied my red lipstick.  Now, I saw in the mirror what white women must see everyday.  Beautiful, bright, full red lips that stood out invitingly against pale skin. 

What took me most by surprise was how easily me eyes were adjusting to my new pale skin colour.  It was like witnessing some kind of optical illusion, tricking my eyesight into thinking I looked… okay.  Was it the foundation warming up to my skin?  I could see my familiar rosy cheeks coming through the foundation.  The ashiness melting away a little bit from my ghostly pallor.

But… I thought I had settled into liking myself for who I am?  I wasn’t filled with self-loathing, wishing for paler skin.  I’d grown up.  I’d become better than that.

I had to keep tipping my head back to look at my neck to convince myself how truly absurd the colour contrast was.  I also examined my hairline where there was a gap of true skin colour peeping through like I was a geisha (they wear the white make up in an exaggerated mask-like way with subtle hints of the natural skin colour beneath). 

I want to see if I could darken the colour and make it wearable.  I grabbed my powder concealer, which I’d bought a shade too dark, and applied it over the foundation on one side of my face.  Slowly, my face warmed up to resemble something that looked like me.  One half of my face was white, the other dark. 

My eye was drawn to the lighter side.  Did that mean the light side of my face of beautiful?  Was this conditioning from birth I’ve had to always see light skin tone as beautiful?  Have I really not changed since I was a teenager?  If so, I found this to be both depressing and alarming.  I have no intention to go back to those days of insecurity and self-loathing. 

I scrubbed my face and washed my foundation brush with a religious zeal to make sure it was not contaminated by the Rimmel foundation. 

The make up sample was thrown in the bin.  Its ability to transform my looks was powerful and almost intoxicating.  There was a little voice in my head that wanted to keep it and see myself as the grotesquely pale creation I had seen earlier with perfect glossy pink lips but I had to resist (my bin was full of discarded hair from my hairbrush and pistachio shells so frankly I had no choice in the matter). 

I was back to looking like me.  Flawed, not beautiful, but me.  And I was okay with that. 

***

If you’re in Birmingham, there’s a drama called 'Lite' with educational workshops playing at the MAC on the topic of skin lightening.  More details at link. 

revised opinions and Google Plus says who?

I want to start my post with revised opinion on gel liner.  As you may have read, I wasn’t impressed with Avon’s gel liner.  I thought it sucked.  However, I think I spoke too soon.  I’ve been using my eye pencil recently.  I love the smudgy undereye look – it really helps to open up my squinty little eyes – and I’ve also started to apply a little outward flick on my upper eyelids for a 1960s cat eye look.  A crisp line is needed for the perfect cat eye but my pencil gets rather smudgy after a while, leaving me looking like a Victorian chimney sweep in the eye area.  Not great.

This is where gel liner comes in because that stuff does not budge at all.  In fact, trying to remove it from your eyes with make up remover is a real pain in the butt.  You can use it to create dramatic lines and it stays put so I’ll concede and say yeah, gel liners are okay (but liquid liner is still tops in my book).

In other news, I’m going to be helping out an organisation called ‘women’s networking hub’.  I’m going to help with twitter updates and creating content for the website which sounds pretty fun.  I met the lady who runs it and she’s really cool and has done a lot despite no funding.  2012 is going to be my year inshallah so this is the first of good things to come.

***

It’s come to my attention that my rishta post has been Google plussed.  I have no idea how to use Google+ and I’m not a user so I don’t know the identity of the person who Google plussed it or who they shared it with. 

Who is this enigmatic person?  I’m not trying to start a witch-hunt – I’m genuinely curious!  If the person reading this is you, can you tell me what you liked about it?  Or why you wanted to share it?  You can leave me a comment if you wish.

I wrote that post in a very agitated, angry state of mind.  It was one of those ‘I have to get this off my chest’ moments.  It’s funny how eloquent and articulate you can be when you’re upset and pissed off.  After I wrote it up and posted it, I spoke to my friend over the phone and talked it all out which felt great.  I don’t harbour any ill-will towards the guy. 

However, I’m still waiting on my phone call.  I’ve given up hope that he will phone.  I think his kind words were just hollow, meaningless words – oh, the drama of it all – and that he has no intention to phone me.  Part of me is totally fine with that because I don’t hold a torch for him but on the other hand I could really do with the career advice he could have given me!

Damn it. 

Dear reader, I texted him

I'm an idiot.

A complete and utter moron.

Why did I text him?

Why am I anxious for him to call me back like he said he would?

Okay, so let me tell you what’s been going on in my life.  as you read before, I had a rishta.  He told me over the phone I wasn’t the right one for him.  I accepted it (I have no choice but to accept it).

I got on with my life.  I went to visit my friend who had baby recently.  I must have been in a state of shock because I forgot how much newborn babies freak me out.  They are so tiny!  They eat, sleep and cry.  That’s it.  Just the three settings.  Her baby was crying and I was too freaked out to even try and hold her (I typed ‘it’ before correcting myself, ha! I'm sooo not maternal). 

Anyways, my friend was asking me about how I was.  I need to get my arse in gear and sort out the mess that is my life and I was spurred on to search counselling courses online.  I found a masters course which sounded interesting and suddenly an idea popped into my head. 

Why not text the guy who offered his help to me while refusing marriage?  We both studied the same subject at uni although he has progressed much further in his career than I have. 

It seemed like a good idea.  I rummaged through my bin for his discarded phone number, retching in the process at the thrown away tissues and hair. Ewwwwww!  I composed an apologetic text that basically said ‘I know this is cheeky but can you help me?’

After waiting for an agonising couple of hours and he texted back saying yes, he would like to help.  I was elated (his text totally made rummaging through the bin worth it) and he said he would call the next day.

That was two days ago.

I am in a nervous state waiting on his call. 

When will he call?

What will I say when he calls?

Has he regretted his reply already? 

Does he think I'm a mad stalker?

Isn’t this going to get more awkward the longer he leaves it to contact me?

Oh God, he's waiting it out - he deffo thinks I'm a nutjob...

Ugh.  This is actually going to drive me insane.  If he does call, it will be the first and last phone call I ever make to him.

I AM SO STUPID!

Heartbreak rishta hotel

Soooooooo… 2012 already, huh? 

Is it me or did it come around fast?  It sounds dumb to be taken by surprise but I feel like there was something quite anti-climatic about the end of 2011.  Considering the events that happened throughout the year – Arab Spring, death of OBL, England riots, to name a few – I suppose I expected something more than fireworks and ‘hello 2012’. 

I think I could have done with the distraction of world events.  Home life for me has been really quite difficult and particularly tense this Christmas.  For goodness sake, we don’t even celebrate Christmas and yet I still manage to ruin xmas lunch with a blazing row.  I’m surprised the neighbours didn’t call the police but I can thank the middle class neighbourhood we live in for having a ‘we don’t like to get involved’ attitude.  Or maybe they were enjoying their own particular brand of hell that seems to descend upon the ‘holiday season’.

ding dong! it's the Avon lady

You know that feeling when you think that buying stuff will make you happier and the more you consume the happier you’ll be so you end up with more and more stuff to fill that empty, aching void in your life?

Well, here’s my review of my Avon order!

I have enough make-up, it must be said but I just can’t resist buying more.  It’s my Achilles heel (that’s been buffed and scrubbed and lotioned to perfection). 

First things first.

Gel eyeliner. 

What’s that all about?

Seriously, it’s all over beauty blogs but I simply don’t get it.  I eagerly tried out my Supershock Avon gel eyeliner in blackened metal, hoping for an easy glide on liner that I could draw onto my lids.  I was bitterly disappointed.  The colour is a faded grey, as if you’ve been wearing it out all day rather than freshly applied and it doesn’t glide on easily with one stroke.  The major selling point of gel liners has been application.  Well, I’m sorry but if you can’t use liquid eyeliner you’re an idiot. Oh yeah, I went there!  I’m sticking to my liquid liners and pencils, thank you very much.  I think gel liner will go the same way as mineral make-up.  Nothing more than a fad.

Much better was my Colour Trend lipstick.  It’s the budget, teen range and the colour is a pretty, glittery sheen of red.  I prefer matte colours but it cost like £1.75 which is ridiculously cheap and it’s quite sheer so I can wear it everyday.  Also, the bullet is shaped into a heart which is super cute!

The nail polish is a purplish maroon colour and very glittery.  At £2.00 it’s an absolute bargain. 

Last purchase was a rose-smelling cuticle balm.  My Burt’s Bees lemon one is running out and this Avon one is a nice little buy.  It smells nice and rosy. My nails are in a good condition from regular application of cuticle cream – will Avon’s product keep up the maintenance?  I’ll only know after using it for a while. 

I find Avon very hit and miss with regards to product quality but it's a 3 out of 4 hit rate so I'm pleased.

So those were my products.  I feel so much better but nothing can escape the void... 

my feelings on music: let me show you them

What is it about Bob Dylan? 

I read a homage to Bob on Rookie mag recently (yes, I’m outside the teenage demographic for Rookie mag but, by golly, it’s a fab site with lots of insightful articles and cool fashion) which reminded of Andy Kershaw’s passionate outpourings of love for Bob which began as a teenager. 

I have evidently missed out on a teenage rite of passage which makes me feel kinda sad.  Bob Dylan seems to be the kind of artist that speaks to everyone and spans generations – no matter what decade you live in or age you are - his songs resonate on a personal level.  I guess I just missed the memo on Bob but music has certainly played a part in my life and it’s got me reminiscing on my own love affair with music.

As a muslim, my relationship with music has been… complicated.  It’s a contentious issue within Islam and I’m not going to rehash all the arguments because 1. Its tedious 2. You can find more informed writing elsewhere via Google.

If I could reduce all the differing points into one sentence each they would be:

1. WRONG WRONG WRONG.
2. A voice and drumbeat is only acceptable.
3. It’s okay as long as the lyrics are not filthy or blasphemous. 

I hope this gives a little bit of context. 

My childhood was pure pop.  Sitting in front of the TV watching Top of the Pops every week seeing the Pet Shop Boys, Kylie and Jason, Erasure, Yazz, NKOTB being piped into the living room.  I bought Smash Hits with its printed lyrics and quirky interviews which were conducted by picking questions out of a biscuit tin.  I only gave up on TOTP in 1991.  I was increasingly fed up of the dance music that was turning up.  There was no spectacle or personality to latch onto.  Just a repetitive beat and soulful voice layered on top.  I’m proud to discover that 1991 has been spoken of by music critics as a fallow period for music.  This confirms what I’ve known all along.  I wasn’t just a person who loved music, I had taste!

Actually perhaps that’s not quite true.  There’s no Bob Dylan for me to look back on with nostalgic eyes.  My first CD was Love & Kisses by Dannii Minogue which hasn’t exactly aged well (although the lady herself is an evergreen beauty).

As a 90s teenager, I lived through the golden age of Cool Britannia and Britpop.  The complicated part kicked in as my love for Britpop turned me into a rebellious teen.  Listening to music in my bedroom was okay.  Active participation was not. I learnt that the hard way when my mum cried when I said I wanted to go to my first gig.  It was the first and last concert I went to. 

As Britpop tailed off at the end of the decade, so did my interest.  I was a snooty indie kid – I had no time for Steps, Britney, Billie Piper or Five.  But the music I was into was leaving me cold.  It didn’t reflect me or my circumstances.  I was a British-Bengali girl living in the Midlands.  What did Oasis or Blur have to say about that? 

The next chapter of my life would not involve music.  Britpop was dead and buried.  I went through what I call my ‘Yusuf Islam’ phase of not listening to any music whatsoever.  If I needed to hear something I would open the window and listen to the birds chirping and the wind blowing through the trees.  The sounds of nature were my replacement.  Did I enjoy it?  Kind of.  I began to dislike music but I realised how difficult it is to be away from it.  I couldn’t cut music out of my life.  It was the soundtrack to adverts and programmes on TV, it blared from clothes shops as I walked around town.  Music had an insidious way of creeping back into my life. 

And I craved it.  

My resolve was broken. 

Screw the birds chirping, I wanted to hear Coldplay’s latest. 

And I knew then I couldn’t give up music entirely.  That teenage passion for music hasn’t left me.  There’s still that part of me that wants to say ‘Hey, have you listened to this?’  I recognise that passion when others write about how they feel about Bob Dylan.    

The majority of my IRL friends are muslim and they don’t listen to music.  They prefer nasheeds (religious music) so music is a solitary affair.  I love listening to 6 music and discovering new tunes or songs from the past.  I have my youtube playlist which I update regularly.  I enjoy nattering away on twitter about the latest tunes I've heard (and you're welcome to join!).  It isn’t the be-all and end-all to my life but it’s there.  A voice, a beat, a melody. 

Bob, I’ll be coming for you soon.