Artist’s Impressions

One thing that really gets my goat, really riles my styles, is Big Cosmetic advertising. On the odd occasions when I buy a Cleo or a Marie Claire, or flick through their ilk at the hairdressers, I’m inundated with arresting images of famous women with flawless cheeks, smooth lips, and skyscraper eyelashes. These pictures are presented as photographs, as true representations of exactly what I would see with my own eyes if I peered at these faces at this level of magnification.

And it’s all sizzle and no sausage.

Airbrushing creates known unknowns. We know that the face before us, looking for L'Oreal or smiling for Shisedo, cannot be utterly line-free and without blemish, even with hefty aid from the sponsor’s product. We all have wrinkles and spots. I kind of knew this, but it wasn’t until Wriggly came along, with his brow already furrowed from the womb, that I saw the clear evidence – at the level of magnification routinely used in cosmetic advertising even my dear sweet son, who is all of 5 months old, does not have skin like a baby.

And yet thanks to the artistry of photo retouchers cosmetic companies are able to make claims, visually, that they cannot possibly deliver on. It never fails to astound me that this isn’t false advertising. If I was selling house paint and I said that it would stay on ten times longer than it actually does, without any flaking or need to reapply, someone would rely on that promise and then take me to the Commerce Commission when the product, inevitably, fell short of the impossible claims I had made.

Many’s the time I used to look at a lippy advert and think “I’m gonna get me some of that and my lips will look more like that lady’s.” In hope I headed to the pharmacy, eagerly shelled out for the goods, then applied them with a sense of excited anticipation that my days of thin, pale, dry lips might be over forever. Invariably within two hours I’d be disappointed by the sad naked-lipped reality of Big Cosmetic’s big lies. Yes, I’m bitter.

Research song lyrics show that reading beauty magazines will only make you feel ugly. This is primarily because of the pictures used in advertising, and in “editorial content” which is anything but. I guess I’m a bit naïve, but I didn’t realize that a lot of the make-up articles are actually paid spots. That story on how best to deforest your legs this summer has been brought to you by the makers of razors and waxing strips, and a beauty salon owner or two, rather than as a public service designed to fairly inform you, dear reader, about your options in the defoliant department.*

Being a forthright political type, from time to time someone asks me what piece of legislation I would pass if I could choose any law change at all. I’m always tempted by my imaginary Truth in Advertising (Bring Down Big Cosmetic) Bill, but I’m too embarrassed so I push it to the back of my mental filing cabinet and bring out something more worthy and robust.

My solution so far has been to just avoid Big Cosmetic most of the time. I buy my make-up from a NZ company that doesn’t do the misleading advert thing (so far), and rarely do I put that face on. I quite enjoy it when I do get to dress-up, and play around with the ungents and powders, although I have very little expertise due to my formative years as a tomboy. I’m always a bit worried that I’ve done it all wrong, because I certainly don’t look like one of those adverts when I’ve finished dabbling with the brushes and pots.

At heart I believe we should expect more from Big Cosmetic, and from magazine publishers, than advertising that makes lying an art form. After all, aren’t we worth it?




* My observations here are that I’m too wimpy for waxing, too time-poor for shaving, too cheap for the electro-pulse thingy, too allergenic for those depilation creams, but also too conformist to go free range.