I Want To Disappear, But I Have To Write, So: Retail Therapy With Hannah

Emotional shopping saves lives (maybe?) and also my job.
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Emotional shopping saves lives (maybe?) and also my job.

I honestly don’t purchase beauty products very often anymore. Why would I? I get them for free. We have huge metal cabinets (with locks) full of them.

I have a pile of 12 eyeshadow compacts ready to topple onto the collection of anti-aging eye creams below. Marci’s desk, less organized than my own--which is really saying something--is like one of those quarter-pushing games at the arcade. You know, you drop in a coin and hope that it pushes the other coins forward and off the edge down into the tray from which you gather your winnings. Except instead of quarters, they’re boxes of celebrity dermatologist sunscreens and nail decals.

I’m not an emotional eater, although I did get a croissant and chocolate pistachio cake for breakfast on Saturday morning before catching the first flight that I could back to New York.

OK, at least I’m not a lame-ass social media crybaby, tweeting about how confused and sad and emotional I am, and Instagramming the sunset behind the NYC skyline from my cab back to my apartment. Although, I did take the photo.

The caption would have read something like, "It's okay." Or some other lame-ass heart-on-my-sleeve crap. I don't even wear sleeves, I have great arms.

The caption would have read something like, "It's okay." Or some other lame-ass heart-on-my-sleeve crap. I don't even wear sleeves, I have great arms.

I do know that I’m an emotional shopper… I guess. I don’t actually know this; I never really think about these things. I have good taste, so instances of buyer’s remorse are few and far between. What I really suffer from is non-buyer’s remorse. I’m still pissed at myself for letting that monkey fur slip out of my life as I exited Red Light in Seattle.

I did some online shopping for my apartment today: vintage linen curtains. If this is my life now, I should buy curtains. I should buy an armoire--finally get my clothes out of these suitcases. I should buy some art to hang or whatever. Is that what people do? Maybe a lamp.

But the curtains won’t get here for at least a week, and I needed instant self-gratification. Masturbation is cheap. New London Pharmacy, on the other hand, is not.

Quaint. Not cheap.

Quaint. Not cheap.

I believe that it was one of you that suggested I check it out in the comments section of a previous article, as it carries lots of fancy European skincare products that aren’t available elsewhere in the city. Hannah and I both read it, and had been wanting to go ever since.

I mean, the timing couldn’t have been better. I don't feel like doing anything right now, let alone talking about myself on the internet. But what I can do is buy some new beauty products to write about on the internet, whilst satiating my fiendishness for shopper's high.

Hannah strolled on into the office just this afternoon, quick and refreshing, like a crisp Canadian breeze. I, still dusty from my quick trip to Texas--red-nosed, eyes swollen--pouted until she agreed to go with me. She took pity on me, really, like, “Ugh, karma better get me back for taking this sad little bitch for some fancy soaps.”

It’s a nice little shop, packed with products. I guess I was expecting something a bit more stylized, Hannah described the location as “quaint.” We might as well have been in a Walgreens with the tall, parallel aisles and real pharmacy in the back. But Walgreens doesn’t carry the entire Mason Pearson collection--or make me tear up a bit, this time in pure joy--at the Davines selection.

Does Walgreens carry baby perfume? New London Pharmacy totally gets it. 

Does Walgreens carry baby perfume? New London Pharmacy totally gets it. 

They also have an extensive curation of skincare--probably the most impressive thing about the shop, unless you’re into boutique fragrances. The size of the makeup section is wanting, although what they do have is excellent: Becca Cosmetics and Kevyn Aucoin.

In a shocking turn of events, Hannah actually bought some concealer that I had recommended! Sure, she’d probably wanted to get some before I wrote the article--before I was born, even--but this totally counts as me influencing the beauty industry’s top-most influencer. Yes? Yes.

Doesn't she look like a super hero?

Doesn't she look like a super hero?

I wasn’t sure where to begin, so I started small: bobby pins. I bought a cheap page of huge, colorful bobby pins because it made me happy at the time.

Next, I decided on a bar of Eggwhite Soap, recommended by Hannah, naturally. Whaddaya know, I LOVE IT. It smells like honey and has a remarkably rich lather. You leave the foam on your face for five minutes as it “draws out impurities” and then rinse to what’s probably the softest skin you’ll ever experience.

Next to the eggwhite soaps were some products from Yu-Be. I still don’t know who recommended this, but the label had stuck in my mind as something that only a fancy, beauty-savvy bitch would know about. She was probably Japanese--they know everything that I don’t. Or maybe it’s inherent, maybe it was my intuition telling me to buy the body lotion, thus proving that I am, in fact, destined for this job.

Whatever the case, this stuff rules. It doesn’t smell like fruits or flowers and absorbs beautifully into post-shower skin. I love looking greasy after slathering expensive oils all over myself, but there’s a time and a place for that. If you need a fast-absorbing, ultra-moisturizing body lotion, look no further. I'm not sure if a product has ever entered into my "favorites" list so quickly.

New day, new products. Also: the deco armoire I'm having serious non-buyers remorse over. What's a dozen hundred dollars anyway? 

New day, new products. Also: the deco armoire I'm having serious non-buyers remorse over. What's a dozen hundred dollars anyway? 

I then remembered watching some video recently of a totally frigid-seeming European lady teaching me how to wash my face. There’s nobody I want to learn how to wash my face from more than a frigid Swedish/French woman that talks with the matter-of-fact-ness of a 48-year-old mother of three, minus the jowls and crow’s feet.

She advised spraying thermal water on your face before washing to “prepare it for emolliating” or whatever. So what choice did I have but drop $14 on aerosol water? Avene Thermal Spring Water to be exact. Spray it on before cleansing, and then after rinsing to “reduce the effects of the tap water” I think.

Look, if this bitch told me to oil-pull a tub of Crisco, I’d probably do it. While wearing a leotard and dribbling a basketball.

I have no clue as to the effectiveness of the spring water spray, and will not be providing any scientific proof of its miraculous results. If anything, I think it adds some sort of ritual-ness to your facial cleansing routine, making you slow down a bit to thoroughly follow all the steps, which can’t be bad.

Lastly, I got some dumb candle. I don’t even use candles! In fact, I’m pretty sure anybody who’s even briefly met me wouldn’t go the typical mid-range candle route if they had to give me one of those fun obligatory presents that we sometimes have to give people we don’t really know or even like. I’m just so opposite of what a candle person would be, which is really a testament to how whack my emotions are at the moment. I dunno, maybe I could become a candle person. I obviously love burning money.

The red currant and guava scent is named after the Peruvian singer, Yma, who, according to Google Images, looks great in strapless tops. Interesting choice, Tocca. I’ll probably not even burn it--just keep it beside my bed to huff as I write my articles or Reddit.

I mean, obviously. 

I mean, obviously. 

Hannah and I made our purchases and split ways, avoiding the pastry shop next door. See? I really don’t think I’m an emotional eater. But the top I bought immediately after leaving the pharmacy says that “emotional” doesn’t even begin to describe it.

Totally logical purchase. 

Totally logical purchase.