Nodding off in a makeup chair is not hot unless you are Jessica Stam, and surely I am not. However, that's what I spent much of the morning doing, being shot for the pages of Lucky (as any reader knows, it's part of the job). At the downtown studio by 8:30AM and spackled with smoked-out gel liner and spidery false lashes as if preparing for a night of sensuous cage dancing at Club Tequila Las Vegas, I groggily made several pronouncements to the makeup artist, hairstylist, photographer, and crew, all people whom I did not in any capacity know: "That face cream is made of baby foreskin and I'm obsessed with it!" I volunteered. "This weekend I watched Eyes Wide Shut four times!"

Then there was the actual smiling-for-the-camera thing. "Don't, um, grimace," the photographer said. "Relax your mouth. Deep breath. Okay, now smile with your eyes. Relax your mouth. Turn toward me? Okay, umm, unclench your feet." "Prune," I whispered to myself, as the Olsen twins do. "Chin up," said the photographer. "RELAX YOUR MOUTH!"

The worst, though, was returning to the office post-shoot and being, by chance, introduced to a famously glamorous executive at my company that I didn't anticipate meeting EVER, so important is she. "I don't—I don't usually wear this much makeup," I stammered, my left eye twitching desperately to expel an errant mascara clump as humiliation flushing through four layers of foundation. "Great meeting you!"

Then it was upstairs to a different photo studio for my 'cute outfit' to be shot for the Lucky website. "Have you seen Eyes Wide Shut?!" I shouted over the music and the whir of the wind machine. "With Nicole Kidman and Tom Cruise and he's the rich doctor and he goes to that bananas masked sex-cult party with the prostitutes..."

"If you want to get out of here fast like you say you do, you need to stop talking," said the photographer." And so I did.

—Cat Marnell, associate beauty editor

Last week, in her Cute Outfit Of The Day portrait, my ever-lovely colleague Noria Morales had on some gorgeous, delicate strappy sandals by—of all companies—Ugg. Intrigued, I did a little googling to get a closer look. I found them on zappos.com, and they are indeed as chic as they looked in her picture, with tiny wedge heels and skinny laces that wrap around the ankle. Most fascinating though is that the narrow leather band that runs across the toe of the shoe is lined with the brand's signature sheepskin. Could fur possibly make any sense on a sandal?? I promptly emailed Noria, and she had this to say: "I know, I thought the furry part was ridiculous at first too. But it actually just feels like this little hint of softness, and since the rest of the style is so bare, it doesn't get at all hot or uncomfortable. Plus, you'll never have to worry about blisters or chafing or any of that other yucky foot stuff." I'm sold.

When I was in college, and the extent of my fashion sense was men's V-neck undershirts worn with cut-offs (and J.Crew roll-neck sweaters and Barn jackets in the fall—yes!), I somehow managed to pick up a Helmut Newton photography book on super-duper sale. I had no real use for this oversize tome, but I still loved it and displayed it proudly on the rickety coffee table in our basement apartment. It's now many moons and moves later, and the book is long gone, but I was thinking the other day how much I'd like to flip through its glossy, weighty pages again. In fact, I would like to start a collection of style books from the '80s and early '90s, including one with all the big supermodels—the Gias, Janets, Lindas, Christies, and Kates. Perhaps I'll start with the incredible-looking (and vaguely titled) Professional Fashion Photography, which features not only a man in a tuxedo and cowboy hat on the cover but every late-'70s model I could ever hope for—Jerry Hall, Carol Alt, Iman, etc. Or I could get the very intriguing (and more from a time I remember), 10 Women, which is signed by photographer Peter Lindbergh. And lastly, not so much eye candy, but it looks beyond juicy: Shut Up and Smile: Supermodels the Dark Side.

In so many ways, the people who made this cosmetics bag totally got it right. The silk-screened image of a sweetly granny-ish pouch takes on an artsy trompe l'oeil quality in this context. It's made of fair-trade organic cotton and is printed using water-based ink. There are three color options, each as desirable as the next, and if you can't decide, it wouldn't be unfathomable to buy one of each, given that they're $20 apiece. I'm considering stocking up on a bunch to keep on hand to give as gifts.

Chantecaille Aquablush really is the most perfect cream blush because there's nothing greasy about it—it's more like a water-based gel with the dewy finish of a cream, and it cools your skin when you apply it. I wear the coral pink shade, and one tube lasts forever without drying out. I can attest to this because I've used mine every day for at least a year and, thank goodness, am nowhere near the end of it.

—Jennifer Scruby, contributing writer, Miami

If I were a rich lady, I would buy a million things from designer Hanii Y. every season as soon as they came out. Her stuff is gorgeous—feminine, but not prissy; artsy and unusual, but not in a way that says "wacky." However, it's not really my style to fritter away $400 for a tank top ("not really my style" equals "I'm cheap"), and so I must resort to eBay to fulfill my desires. Which, as it turns out, is not a bad alternative at all. For starters, there's this beautiful satin dress with a rosette on the collar. I also would love to wear this amazing embroidered lace blouse with a pair of neat shorts and ballet flats. And though I can't even believe I'm considering spending more than $100 on less than a quarter of a yard of fabric, this interesting, sexy tank is almost irresistible.

Here is one of my major style challenges: I really want to become one of those women who understands belts—the ones who wear them over dresses or peeking out under a pretty shirt on a pair of jeans, and it all looks effortless and cool, not contrived and dorky. I think maybe the problem is my belts themselves. I've never really invested in a good one—this is embarrassing, but two of my three belts require the aid of carefully positioned duct tape to keep the ends from flailing away from my body. Another problem is I have no idea what to look for: Do I go trendy and colorful like this woven style? Or should I try something clean and classic like this one from Ralph Lauren? Is this '70s ring style really as "killer" as the auction claims? Or would I look sexier in a wide version, which kind of appears to be modeled by Kimberly Stewart?

If you were going to buy just one dress to wear for the next few months, I propose this one. The floral embroidery on the back is what really gets me—I love everything about it, from the intricacy of the stitching to the sexy cutouts between petals and the unusual mint, orange, and pink palette. There's something about the way it all comes together that gives the piece a bit of an art nouveau feel (the model's tousled chignon—so chic!—may be contributing to that as well). And there are plenty more details that add to its perfection, like scalloped trim at the neckline, pointelle insets on the skirt to give it a tiered look, and the raw-edged hem. It's laid-back enough to wear while roaming around a farmer's market, pulled-together enough to wear to a cocktail party, and flirty enough to wear on a date. All this for $118. I'm placing an order today.

I was devastated to find that I had suddenly developed age spots on my hands—six or seven of them, only on one hand—the other day. So this is how it's going to be, I thought. One day, you're still vaguely clinging to some (perhaps hysterical) semblance of youth and the next day you're covered in age spots.

I regarded them in quiet despair all day until, washing my hands next to a colleague, I got very chatty and continued scrubbing as I prattled on. "Oh my god—my age spots!" They were gone. Self-tanner.

—Jean Godfrey-June, beauty director

"Jean, do you dye yourself?" I should panic more when someone—in this case my tall handsome friend E.—says something like this, gazing uncomfortable at my half-tan/half-not splotchy foot. Such comments are akin to "Interesting hair-color!" or "Whoa! That's some purple eyeliner!" Such comments should spur me to apply self-tanner more carefully, to touch up mistakes more diligently—and yet, they do not.

One theory is that I suffer from hysteria—I see what I want to see, in this case a smooth, sexy, naturally tanned foot instead of the blotchy reality right in front of me. This is at least partially true.

Another theory is laziness—the kind of Debbie Harry laziness that leaves a person with sexy tousled roots, is how I like to think of it.

Contributing writer Jennifer Scruby prescribes a post-tanning application of body lotion where ever splotches might occur; it should be noted that contributing writer Jennifer Scruby is the very neatest, most unconsciously devoted to perfection person I know. If she were there to personally dab at my just-faux-tanned feet, perhaps the technique would be more successful for me. Alas.

Tips? Solutions? Please advise.

—Jean Godfrey-June, beauty director