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Scarring Beauty Products

 

The Devil
So the other day I was hanging out at our Executive Editor Kristen's desk. You know, just perusing all the fun new beauty products that sit there and call to me from across the room (seriously, it's like they whisper to me as I'm trying to work, "Come play with me Anna, come plaaaaaay"). Kristen was showing me the new shades of Bare Escentuals Buxom Smoky Eye Stick pencils and naturally we were drawing all over our hands with them like kids that got a hold of some Crayolas ... luckily there were no freshly painted white walls for us to wreak havoc on.

 

To help me wipe away the eyeliner evidence, she handed me a cucumber-scented face wipe. I winced and declined as the aroma of cucumber and melon wafted from the freshly opened package. You see, what poor Kristen thought was an innocent, kind gesture was actually a cruel, cruel offering *shakes*. This of course was no fault of hers or the innocent wipes, or even cucumbers or melons in general. This was the fault of NAIR!

 

YUCK!That's right. You heard me right: Nair, the hair removing depilatory lotion. "What on earth does Nair have to do with anything?" you ask is shock and dismay. Well it scarred me, mentally, long, long ago when I was young, naïve and just learning how to remove my post-pubescent leg hair. I saw the commercial (everyone remembers "Who wears short shorts?" right?) and had decided I too wanted to wear short shorts while confidently riding some dude's shoulders on the sandy beach.

 

So, I secretly bought some melon-scented Nair with my allowance, as my mother would have never approved such a purchase.  I will spare you the gruesome details of this first burning, painful, melony-cucumber smelling experience. I will however simply state that to this very day, I can no longer use, consume, or be in the presence of anything that smells like cucumber. I won't eat it. I won't touch it. I even prefer not to look at it … I do however love pickles, err sorry, off topic…

 

And why? Why am I scarred for life, forever having to lie to waiters about an allergy to cucumbers so it NEVER ends up anywhere in my salad? Well, because smell is the sense tied most closely to human memory. My traumatic human memory of Nair is thus directly associated with the smell of cucumber.

 

Now, my friends, tell me (perhaps in a less dramatic fashion): What beauty product has scarred you? 

 

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Frost and glow. ew. it frightens me....really. my mom told me a story when she dyed my aunts hair with frost and glow. y'know.. you put on the cap with the holes and pull the hair through the holes. her hair was falling out. i am emotionily scarred

by aly7 3 years, 3 months ago Report as inappropriate | Remove Comment

I had a boyfriend who would use nair on his chest. I never got it.

by Tracyhep 3 years, 4 months ago Report as inappropriate | Remove Comment

Anna, that is horrifying. I don't, but sorta do, want to know what exactly happened down there, but I will refrain from getting too graphic and get on with my own scarring beauty story ...  My less epic short story takes place in the sleepy town of La Crescenta, Calif. when I was a gawky teenager trying to burgeon into a young, beautiful woman -- particularly, one with beautiful colored hair. Considering that we subsisted on a meager $5 a day allowance, (how did we do that by the way?), getting our hair professionally colored at a salon was completely out of question. So we resorted to our beauty brand best friend, Garnier 100% Color to do its thing and vamp up our hair. I wanted a jet-black color with blue tints. My friend Sandra wanted her hair dark brown. We bought our respective colors and, with much anticipation, arrived in my bathroom only to realize that we didn't have everything that we needed. Apparently not all the supplies would be provided in the box, such as gloves or a brush.  Well, we thought, do you really need gloves or a brush? Nah. So we started to color each other's hair with our bare hands. I know. You're probably thinking we must've been the dumbest 15-year-old girls to have ever lived, and you are probably right. To our HORROR, the dye coated our hands black and REFUSED to come off! We tried water and soap and dish soap and even Clorox. Now just to give you an image of how truly wretched the situation was, Sandra and I are both Asian. As in, we have pale, yellow-tinted skin. Our hands looked like they've been amputated off and replaced by ones belonging to our black sister. By this time, it was way past our bedtime, so we resigned ourselves to our fate. We were forever going to be taunted and remembered as the two dumb Asian girls with black hands. Oh the pain. The next morning, we had mandatory Sunday service and both went to church -- in the middle of sunny southern California's summer -- with mittens on.

by Sharon_Yi 3 years, 4 months ago Report as inappropriate | Remove Comment

  Anna, that is horrifying. I don't, but sorta do, want to know what exactly happened down there. But I will refrain from getting too graphic and get on with my own scarring beauty story…    My less epic short story takes place in the sleepy town of La Crescenta, Calif. when I was a gawky teenager trying to burgeon into a young, beautiful woman -- particularly, one with beautifully colored hair. Considering that we subsisted on a meager $5 a day allowance, (how <i>did</i> we do that by the way?), getting our hair professionally colored at a salon was completely out of question. So we resorted to our beauty brand best friend, <a href="http://www.totalbeauty.com/reviews/product/6416532/garnier-100-color-vibrant-colors-by-nutrisse">Garnier 100% Color</a> to do its thing and vamp up our hair.    I wanted a jet-black color with blue tints. My friend Sandra wanted her hair dark brown. We bought our respective colors and, with much anticipation, arrived in my bathroom only to realize that we didn't have everything that we needed. Apparently not all the supplies would be provided in the box, such as gloves or a brush. Well, we thought, do you <i>really</i> need gloves or a brush? ... Nah.     So we started to color each other's hair with our bare hands.    I know.    You're probably thinking we must've been the dumbest 15-year-old girls tohave ever lived and you are probably right. To our HORROR, the dye coated our hands black and utterly <i>refused</i> to come off! We tried water and soap and dish soap and even Clorox. Now just to give you an image of how truly wretched the situation was, Sandra and I are both Asian. As in, we have pale, yellow-tinted skin. Our hands looked like they've been amputated off and replaced by ones belonging to our black sister.    By this time, it was way past our bedtime, so we resigned ourselves to our fate. We were forever going to be taunted and remembered as the two dumb Asian girls with black hands.    Oh the pain.    The next morning, we had mandatory Sunday service and both went to church -- in the middle of sunny southern California's summer -- with mittens on.    

by Sharon_Yi 3 years, 4 months ago Report as inappropriate | Remove Comment

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