Dear Friends,
Hold onto your bronzer, get a Kung-Fu grip on that mascara, and watch your lipstick’s back. I am sorry to report that there is a makeup robber loose in NYC.
Who steals makeup? That is my frantic thought on Monday morning when I cannot find my favorite Laura Mercier tinted moisturizer (which, if you don’t know already, is the best invention and lasts forever). The only catch? It’s $45 per bottle and I have two. Well, being the struggling writer I am and having no God take pity on my finances, I get makeup robbed. I believe it happened between the hours of 3 am and 11 am on Saturday morning. A new “friend” of mine stole them from right under my nose. Good thing I keep all of my really expensive things to myself in my room.
How crazy is that? I was makeup robbed. Earlier this month, I was umbrella-robbed too by someone who lives on my floor and has a classic eye for Coach umbrellas. I was borrowing my colleague’s and I didn’t even realize it was designer. Who has time to consider what’s over their head in Manhattan? You just are thankful you have something.
I have never been a super trustworthy person, but here’s to all the people who say that going home with a stranger is ever so dangerous. I no longer believe in that. Having a girlfriend sleep over is dangerous, and leaving your umbrella out to dry on a rainy week in the city is dangerous. Go home with strangers all you want. Chances are, if you’re not the clepto-maniac, everyone’s probably good to go.
I feel so crossed. I’ve never been robbed before, thank god, and this is a terrible feeling. To have one of your favorite things stolen from you, albeit replacible, is such BS. What is wrong with my generation and seeing something shiny and wanting it and using that as a justification? I just can’t believe that some random girl is running around the city unsuccessfully covering up her acne (I don’t have any, my makeup is not applicable to her), wearing the wrong skin tone (it was a customized mixture) and thinking she got away with something. Someone is wearing my face – it feels so wrong. This is like the missing joke from Clueless. I was makeup punk’d.
Guard that caboodle, polka-dotted travel bag, wherever your prized possessions are, sleep with one eye open. Don’t say you weren’t warned. Everyone’s so afraid of that cobra who escaped from the Bronx Zoo last week. At least it doesn’t wear expensive tinted moisturizer.
Kisses,
Jessica
