beauty closet

The Astier de Villatte store in Paris has a sort of rabbit-warrenish vibe. There’s a room in the back where there might or might not be some sort of primitive kiln; the floor might or might not just be packed, ancient earth. You forget—until you’re signing your credit card bill—that you’re on the Rue Saint-Honoré, avec Hermès, Lanvin and the Hotel Bristol. Even though said bill is giving you some palpitations, as you sign it you see the scented erasers arranged in a big bowl and you have to have them as well.

I am a little disinclined toward “relaxing” products. But this one—it is a tiny vial of essential oils that smell so 
good it is hard to pick out specifics, beyond lavender and maybe 
a jasmine or a honeysuckle—cannot be argued with. It is completely and utterly and unstressfully relaxing.

I like my beauty products … pretty. This sheer tinted balm made with organic beeswax and olive oil is thick enough to really moisturize, matte enough that your hair will not get stuck in it, tinted enough to make a difference, pomegranate scented, sweet-tasting and—and isn’t it just the prettiest?

In the Kiehl’s offices, they call the Original Musk perfume the Breakup Fragrance. Not because it causes breakups, but because, post-breakup, you dab a little on your wrists and step, chastened, back out into the world, and find yourself much more popular than you remember.

Depending on where you live, this lion/lamb/cruelest-month time period is unbelievably frustrating. Here is my $10, two-second total solution: the striped or floral-print Sally Hansen peel-off nail polish, for hands or feet.