Sometimes makeup fanatics will call themselves “beauty addicts,” like the quest for ever shinier hair, ever more pneumatic lips, and freakishly long lashes is a dehabilitating illness, akin to gross public displays of inebriation or a deviated septum from a prolific coke habit.

I suppose you could see it this way. It is true, falling down the Vitamin C spiked skin serum-slicked slope of beauty addiction is a pleasant kind of freefall. It is at once disgusting and awe-inducing. You realize that there are so many things wrong with you. And you realize there are so many solutions. You realize that there are finer gradiations of that alluring cheek flush than you could have ever imagined, and that it comes in salacious, X-rated names like Orgasm and Sin. (Available at your nearest Sephora at the NARS counter.)

I am more of a hobbyist than a hardcore addict.

I suscribe to occasional exfoliation (not nearly often enough), a sporadic regimen of vanilla spice-scented body butter, daily broad-spectrum SPF 70 sunscreen, and not really brushing my hair. I find it difficult to leave my room without some foundation. I’m a true believer in the curative powers of blush – come hell, hangover, or all-nighter, a bit of rouge on the cheeks will solve nearly anything. And an entire counter in the medicine cabinet behind the mirror is stocked with lipgloss, mostly in shades of fuschia and berry and mauve.

There is always something so digustingly hopeful about buying makeup. As I walked past the shelves of CVS today, it occured to me maybe I should get some black gel eyeliner. I mean, I have a black eyeliner pencil (runny) and liquid (too harsh) and black eyeshadow (not pigmented enough). And if I get it, I would have to get the perfect angled brush. Because the other 6 brushes I have aren’t adequate. There’s always this chance for self-betterment. Hope springs eternal.

At this point, I guess I should cut to the chase. Here are a few things that I like, and I hope you find your own brand of happiness, whatever shade of creme eyeshadow that may be.

Oh, one more thing – there are more expensive, better products than these, but in my cheap, college student life, I’ve found these to be reliable, beautifying, and most of all, very, very easy on the wallet. I’ve named more expensive, superior alternatives in some cases.

One thought: I read that French women attain their feminine allure by an air of mystery and perfect grooming. They won’t tell you where they get their hair cut, or precisely what kind of skin cream they use, or their secret methods to a svelte figure. I’ve read that generally speaking, that is the sticking point of how to obtain that X factor, that you know, je ne sais quoi. But the truth is, je ne suis pas comme elles. (J‘ai étudié un peu francais quand je suis étais en ecole, mais maintenant, je ne me souviens beaucoup.) Translation: I’m not like them. And I studied a little French when I was in high school, but now, I don’t remember much. And I used Google translator to help me get it right. See, no mystery.

Related posts:

1. Behind the scenes at Miss New York USA, Day 2
2. Live Fast, Die Pretty