The real American Idol.

I mean, her lie about tripping over her dog and breaking her (already misshapen) nose even though the entire free world knows she cracked that honker during a glass-throwing rant was admittedly delicious, but audio tapes featuring famous people acting totally insane trumps anything.
Duh.
Vapid voyeurs click HERE.
ps: Even though her makeup artist lines P. Abs' lips into her filtrum and on particularly carb-faced days, into the base of her nostrils, I'm always loving the gloss color choices. I recommend mixing Mac's Viva Glam V and clear lipglass for a super-glossy, mirror-shine mouth.

DARK ROOTS

She was born in Texas as Vickie Lynn Hogan and died yesterday in Florida as Anna Nicole Smith.
Vickie Lynn grew up a poor girl who was married at seventeen, a mother at eighteen and supported herself by serving Jim's Fried Chicken and taking her clothes off for patrons of a Houston strip club. Anna Nicole was the quintessential pin-up girl who rocketed to international fame, and supported herself by marrying a billionaire, and taking her clothes off--this time for Hugh Hefner.
Anna Nicole is, in part, why we love blondes, why we love breasts, and in a way, why we love beauty. Really the only thing she gave to the world was a big, neon-lit package of almost unattainable gorgeousness. But being that gorgeous proved difficult, even for her. Her slurring, overweight grumblings on her cringe-worthy reality show were both highly watchable and desperately sad. Her sweet, breathless cooing to her little dog Sugar Pie was almost tear-inducing. And her solid but dejected son always looked adoringly at his child-like mother--however emotionally abandoned he seemed to have been. I think we expected a lot from Anna Nicole. We expected her to live our dreams for us. To be beautiful for us. To show us what larger than life can mean. Humble beginnings, a suspicious marriage, a dead son, a motherless baby daughter, and now her death at 39 years old--Anna Nicole Smith's iconic status is finally secured. I think maybe, in another life, she instead could have been our Eliza Doolittle--had she only met her Henry Higgins.
With every streak of blond we put in our hair, and every plumper we swipe on our lips--whether we know it or not--is, in a funny way, our own, strange search to look like that bedroom-eyed bombshell on the cover of Playboy in 1993.

Cybill Shephard: Moonlighting Style.

Remember when the producers of Moonlighting started to think Cybill was getting a little long in the tooth during her years at the Blue Moon Detective agency? This is back in the day, kids. Haven’t seen it? Rent it! Finally out on DVD! Plus you can develop an all-consuming crush on Bruce Willis, as I did, and be crestfallen that you can’t invent a time machine to swiftly bring you back to 1986, where he had much more hair, but interestingly, still not very much. Nonetheless, he’s never been more appealing.
Enough lust.
On to makeup.
They gave Cybill this soft focus or maybe a certain lighting-gel that just smooooooooothed everything out. She sort of always looked candle-lit and gauzy. It got a little extreme toward the end, but she worked that blur like nobody’s business in season 2 and 3.
Why am I talking TV you ask? Well, my possums, I’m here to tell you that you can get the Cybil blur—in real life! No gaffer required!
There are many products in this ilk, but one stands alone.
Clarins Instant Smooth: Perfecting touch. Smear under eyes, lines and pores--for real! Mine are usually big enough to store my off-season wardrobe, but no more! It really creates a softened, fuzzy, near-perfect look. My favorite way to apply is:

1. Moisturize normally
2. Apply where you need—sorry—want it.
3. Go about your other business i.e.; dry the hair, choose the outfit, etc.
4. Come back to put foundation on after 10 minutes or so—-the perplexing but miraculous micro-pearls have filled in any and all crows and pocks.
5. Look stunning.

PS: Click HERE to see Cybill as the most ravishing woman on the planet
PPS: And click HERE to see her looking slightly less ravishing.

A New Nude

I feel as though I came out of the womb searching for the perfect nude lipcolor. Yes, it’s true. Even as an infant, my magenta-baby lips were simply too berry for my complexion. I wanted to focus more on eyes. Somehow it made more sense with my onesie and pacifier.
Great news! After an exhausting thirty year search, I’ve done it. Leave it to my beloved Stila to create the perfect nude lip. It has addressed and solved the two, classic nude dilemmas—the Nude-lemmas, if you will:

1. Normally, the color is too opaque and thus becomes sort of chalky, resulting in the washed-out corpse look.
2. The colors themselves tend to be either too mauvy, pale or orange rendering the overall face to appear clownish—appearing as if you may have mistook some eye colors for lipcolors.

Stila will be having none of this. Their product is called Clear Color moisturizing lip tint. The genius is in the word “tint”. While it’s enough color to give a true hue, it still has the look and feel of a sheer. This SPF 8 is a lovely plus, as well. I've used it on a couple of shoots, and it seems to be ideal with every complexion, fair to dark.
Plus, good ol’ Jeanine Lobell (creator of Stila, of course) doesn’t mess around with any cutsie names. The color is called, appropriately, “Nude”.
Mission: completed.

The Dreaded Ablutions.

Now, we've all done the walk of shame back home in the wee hours, underwear in purse, raccoon-eyed, guilty. When we walk through the door, the last thing we wanna do is go through our whole routine in the loo. Ugh. Brushing, splashing, cleaning, and for god's sake—dealing with mascara? Ughhhh. BUT. Does our desire to collapse override the terrifying knowledge that some ugly little pore, some weak oil glad, will enlarge, engorge and become a big red hot spot on our face the next day? A rudolph-ian blemish that will prevent a truly good self-esteem day for at least a week if we don't scrape off our war paint that very moment? We know that when we don't deal with our face the night before, the day after presents a whole new world of pain. Spiky, hard lashes and black smears on the pillow! Fresh, proud, painful pimples!
Good morning!!
So what is it to be? A delicious drop into our beckoning bed with a complexion that pays the next day? OR?
Or what you might ask?
Prepare yourselves. Here it is. It's genius. It's one step away from a robot who follows you around with a wet washcloth and a vat of cold cream to remove the now slip-sliding face that you so painstakingly created hours ago. So here it is. It's...............
Wonder Cloth!
Oh. My. God. This thing is my new boyfriend. In fact, who cares if I do have pimples? I'm dating Wonder Cloth! It's soothing, calming, it listens to me, and gets the job done with almost no work. Men? Who needs 'em?
Wet this incredible item--it looks remarkably like any other washcloth--swipe across lashes, lips, whatever, and the makeup comes flowing off. Then run the thing under the faucet, and it all washes away! No cleansers, no q-tips, no eye-makeup remover with all its oily residue. Just a beautiful, simple little cloth that is, dare I say, MAGIC.
So drive, don't walk, to your nearest Linens 'n' Things, and snatch one of these lifesavers up for you and all your friends! They're at the checkout counter. You know where I mean, don't you? Allow me to paint the picture. You have your cart all full of the crap you don't need but have decided you must have. Now you're in line having talked yourself (and your signif oth.) into a cobalt-colored bathmat, a cupcake-scented Yankee candle, and a ridiculously tiny lamp with a gaudy, jeweled shade that probably takes like a maximum of 12 watts. You're feeling that buying-high. Everyone needs their house to smell like baked goods, right? Your whole concept of need and want shifts once you see all these new essential items at the register. I mean, I'm not quite sure how I've lived this long without my own personal dermabrasion kit, or, for that matter, a round, lit mirror with an 880 magnification. How could anyone? Anyway, the point is, the Wonder Cloth is in this section. And it is, in fact, the one thing you'll be amazed you ever lived without.

Regular washcloths are so....parochial.

Wonder Cloth? Will you marry me?

NO-BOTOX TRICKS FOR PILLOWY LIPS.

This is not to endorse some stereotypical image or idea of beauty. You know--big eyes, full lips, pert nose. But, well, puffy bee-stung kissers are sexy stuff. And why not? Maybe in a hundred years I'll be telling you how to thin them out, but for now, fat's where it's at.
So. We have options.
I mean, look, if you're beyond all this homespun crap and want to have the product of a life-threatening disease pumped into your face (that's botox, gals) or suck out your ass-fat and redirect it into your mouth, or try and see if collagen agrees with you, be my intrepid guest. And hey. Restylane seems like the best of the worst. But if that scene freaks the bejesus out of you, try these quite pedestrian but totally miraculous options.
1. Everyone always suggests the old foundation-before-lipstick routine. But in my experience this poses a serious threat to the quality of your lip color. Now, I'm a huge fan of the pale lip, but if you're sporting a berry hue this season, a coat of beigey foundation could be hazardous to its tone. SO. Ix-nay the oundation-fay and try this: Just the slightest sweep, NAY, dusting of a ridiculously light-colored powder right before you proceed with the lip color. A dry powder will sort of set the scene for the lipstick or gloss to hang on tight, and because it's a light shade, it will only enhance the color of your product. Promise.
2. Let's talk lipliner, my darlings. Oh, sweet lipliner. Lipliner really is both the angel of possibility and the angel of death, all wrapped up in one, unassuming little stick. Now, lipliner should never, EVER, be "noticed" or "seen" or "perceived by the human eye". This is non-negotiable. Actually, that's not true. If you make your living by giving dances in clubs (lap or pole) you can skip this part because for you, visible lipliner is not only ok, but in fact a requisite. But for the rest of us, there are easy ways to avoid the VLL. One way is to line your lips AFTER you apply your lipstick or gloss. This is counterintuitive, I know. But just by changing up the order, the liner now blends easily and seamlessly into the lip color. Give it a shot. Oh! Please, whatever you do, don't "line and pencil in your entire lips" just to make everything last longer. I hear this tip being thrown around in all the glossy mags and beauty books. But take it from me—it's no good. Try it. You'll see. Your whole mouth will look like a muddy donut. Not cute. Ok—so we've covered what NOT to do. Here's another easy tip to remember. Let's say you're doing the conventional lipstick thing. So we dust (DUST!) with powder, then comes liner. Get a color PALER than your lipstick (that's right, you read correctly!) and line around your whole mouth. You can even line a little outside of the natural lip contour (it's ok! it's paler!) and then—here's the tip—you smudge the mother out of it with your finger. Smudge it so much that there becomes no "line" to speak of, but merely a shadow of color. Now dip a lipbrush into your lipstick and apply. Blot with a tissue. Then smear more lipstick. Longevity, naturalness, loveliness. Total perfection. Now let's say you're a gloss girl like me. My trick is to dust, line, smudge like a mother, apply a tacky gloss with color, THEN, (that's right, there are 5 whole steps. Accept it! Pamela Anderson will be jealous!) apply MAC clear lipglass over the whole shebang. The clear gloss sort of blurs the edges of your lip a little, there's no VLL because you've brilliantly smudged, and you now have these pillow-lips that will make Bridget Bardot foam at the mouth. She's still with us, right? Or is she dead? Either way, she's pissed.
3. This is my fave. This is totally wild. Are you sitting down? Dust, line, put a clear swipe of gloss on, then, with your lipbrush, put the lipstick OVER the gloss. Have you ever heard of anything so bold, so daring? I should be clipped by the make-up mafia or have a fashion-fatwa on my head. You see, the in-the-know crowd doesn't want any laymen knowing our tricks. Otherwise, how would you brew all your insecurities, drag yourself to the scary makeup counters to buy yourself a little happy, and end up plunking down your hard-earned cash for a bunch of crap you don't need or know how to use! Our economy would sink! Forgive me if commerce is affected; we'll all know the origin. And if this is the last time you hear from me, just know that I've been rubbed out. Or hopefully I'm in some beauty-prison languishing in a well-appointed cell, drinking Evian and doing ok. Live on in my memory by committing to no VLL! It's as easy as 1, 2,3. (ok, 4,5,6, in some cases.)

Tammy Faye? Eat your heart out.

I'm going to admit a somewhat bizarre addiction. Well...obsession. Ok--problem! It's a problem, all right? And I'm going to tell you what it is:

I, Audie Metcalf, senselessly, painfully, obsessively rip out my eyelashes. Apparently this is called Trichotillomania.

It's super fun!

Actually, it's really not fun and I need to seek medical attention. But golly do I feel better having confessed. Now, in the intermediate stage between now and my no-doubt stay at some kind of "facility" or institute" there's no reason why all of you shouldn't benefit from my failing mental health.

This beauty news flash isn't just for the rest of you trichotillomaniacs. It just happens to be the origin of why I need the following ridiculously-impossible-to-believe, cynics-eat-your-heart-out, you're-gonna-belly-laugh when I tell you, product. My friends, you have to suspend disbelief and just trust me when I tell you--this stuff not only grows lashes that aren't there (you know, the hairless patches from, um, "habits"), it also makes longer the ones you already have. I know. Insane. The company is called Talika and the product is Lipocils.

This fancy French doc Danielle Roches invented an anti-bacterial cream back in the forties, and hair growth, she discovered, was a secondary benefit! This miraculous gel sort of looks like clear mascara and you apply it the same way--concentrating on the roots of the lash. Now, the packaging will tell you to swipe on your lashes, then follow up with regular mascara. But I find this makes your poor cilia look a little atrophied. My recommendation is to coat the heck out of them on mornings you don't wear mascara, and then at night when you take off your regular mascara (which is sooooo easy with Wonder Cloth! You remember my inanimate lover wondercloth, right? If not, read all posts). Anyway, I had been covering up my little bald sections with smudgy eyeliner for a while when I happened upon my NEW inanimate lover, Lipocils, and nary a patch remains. My lashes are now luscious! I've been using it for only a week and--are you sitting down for this?--my boyfriend noticed the change. BOYFRIEND! Are you hearing me? I think I could ask my friend to pinch-hit in bed for me a couple of nights and he wouldn't notice, and after using Lipocils he saw that my lashes were fuller?! I know I've convinced you now! Of course, maybe I just have really lousy taste in men. Perhaps another topic for therapy.
In any case...
Stumpy lashes? Straight Asian lashes? Sparse lashes. Get your Lipocils, heaaahhh!
Well, not actually here. But please go straight to your nearest Nordstrom or Sephora and get your very own. Or be utterly slothful as I was and order it online from www.skinterra.com (a fabulous site for other products, too, btw) and they'll ship it to you in under two days.
So here are your instructions:
After a week or two of using, gasp in front of the mirror often, then do a double coat of the ubiquitously beloved Great Lash on those new (improved) bad boys, and bat bat bat your way to the corner office, a rich husband or just the knowledge you've turned Tammy Faye green with envy. But please--no crying.