The problem with approximating a Kate Hudson tan, for me, is the Conan O'Brien skin underneath. There comes a point when everything starts to revert—splotchily.

Last weekend I put on a new self-tanner: easy. No weird copper-penny smell or stickiness or pilling up. By midday the color started coming in—a warm, honeyish gold. Days 2 and 3, more of the same: incredibly even, golden, perfect. Kate from sunup to sundown. I wore V-necks, boatnecks, floaty short-sleeved things that rightfully should have waited another three months. Delightful.

But then Tuesday came: subtle, ominous, small-but-significant patches of truly glaring paleness. All self-tanner is bound to have a half-life, at which point you can reapply (risking splotchiness, tanorexia, etc.), or scrub the tan away. I chose the scrub, but 10 abrasive minutes later, I looked the same: Patches O'Brien. Maybe my skin has a particularly tenacious affinity for the tanning agents, who knows. In any case, there has to be a way to do this better. Some middle ground. Some way to a graceful fade ...

—Cristina Mueller, senior beauty editor

While I love a massage, what I really love—the genuinely relaxing part—is the waiting room. The lounge chairs, the wafting music, the teas, the lemons floating in the special water, everybody shuffling around in robes like 19th-century hysterics gone to take the cure at McLean, the air misty with estrogen. Heaven. Better than the massage, the facial, whatever, no? Discuss.

—Jean Godfrey-June, beauty director

A few weeks ago, Emily Hsieh blogged about this stunning, tomato red Geren Ford dress—and one comment-poster rightfully pointed out that it would make an amazing nail polish color. So after assiduous testing, here it is, the nail version of the dress: a gorgeous, glassy, cherry-cordial shade from the new CK Calvin Klein cosmetics line—a polish that, in addition to being a spot-on match, also turned out to be impressively long-lasting.

—Cristina Mueller, senior beauty editor

If an older actor wants no gray hair for a big night—say, the Oscars—he must insist any haircoloring be done several weeks in advance. Most of all, he must not allow it to be shorn and dyed the night before or the day of, lest he look like a Ken doll with an odd, receding sprayed-on pate.

—Jean Godfrey-June, beauty director

All editors are obsessed with Comme des Garçons parfums—and when I say all editors, I mean not just beauty editors, but editors from every department: fashion, art, photo, whatever. Everyone at Lucky asks me about Comme des Garçons. Everyone NOT at Lucky asks me about Comme des Garçons.

And I have few answers. The gatekeepers, the chic Comme des Garçons publicists, are as elusive and mysterious (and, I'd imagine, slinky) as jungle cats: While other companies messenger over bags and bags of products a month, in the past calendar year, Comme des Garçons has sent over exactly one fragrance (the new Play, pictured above, in the bottle with the scowling heart), and completely ignored a dozen e-mails and phone calls requesting other scents/candles/information/whatever. As is often tragically and pathetically the case in my personal life, this indifference and aloofness serves only to increase my desire.

If you, too, covet a little piece of CDG's obscure glamour for your own, most of the brand's fragrance collection is available for purchase on luckyscent.com—and they have the candles, too. —Cat Marnell, beauty assistant

It would be a fitting death for me, given my current line of work: A bit of my over-shampooed, -conditioned, -cut, -thought hair brushes up against a glowing, beautifully fragranced candle and poof! straight to hell in a beauty basket for me.

As it happened, I was sitting next to a calm, quick-thinking, and true friend when this scenario came almost to pass; I'd leaned across the table to kiss my six-year-old son, who was having an I-haven't-eaten-in-four-hours meltdown in the middle of a crowded, upscale restaurant.

Before I sensed a thing, my lifesaving friend had somehow grabbed my flambé-ing hair and put the fire out. Everyone but me—who missed the whole thing—was deeply horrified. Blackened bits of hair were all over the tablecloth; the smell was unbearable. "Does anybody smell ... like, burnt hair?" I heard a bartender querying the hostess. The already-hostile couples—it was a Friday night, and nobody was happy to see a tableful of kids on Date Night—coughed and held their noses. I went to the bathroom and tried to wet down my hair in hopes of obliterating the smell. The only thing worse than burnt-hair smell, it turns out, is wet burnt-hair smell.

"You're going to need a serious haircut," said my friend.
"I'm definitely going to have to wash my hair," I said.

Burnt hair is, perhaps unsurprisingly, very rough and split end-y. So after my shower later that night, I put in about a bottle of Philip B Hair Oil and left it on for a half hour, then washed my hair again. In the morning, I discovered that, miraculously, the fates preserved not just my life, but somehow, my haircut: The fire burned my Sally Hershberger layers just so. They must be shorter, but they are all still in proportion to one another. And the Philip B transformed the burnt, hardened ends back into hair, somehow. It's as if it never happened.  —Jean Godfrey-June, beauty director

Every dermatologist I've ever met has emphasized the importance of taking care of your neck and chest. (Reading Nora Ephron's I Feel Bad About My Neck certainly wasn't reassuring either.) And though I'm diligent about reapplying sunscreen to my face, wearing a hat, and slathering on repairing serums and lotions, I'm slightly less responsible with the rest of my fair-skinned body.

My new, simple, time-saving strategy: I've stocked an arsenal of antioxidant/sun-protecting/hydrating/toning sprays at my desk, which I plan to spritz on throughout the day, constantly bathing my skin—face, neck, and chest—in ... skincare. So far, I'm in love with these three options, but I'm totally open to suggestions. Please advise!  —Dawn Spinner, associate beauty editor

Caudalie Beauty Elixir
Skyn Arctic Face Mist With Biospheric Complex
Kiss My Face Sunblock Spray, SPF 30

FROM: Jen Ford, Fashion News Director
TO: Jean Godfrey-June
SUBJECT: Aggy Alert

Every girl in London is copying model Agyness' look down to a T ... salons are surely running out of peroxide blonde ...

Senior Beauty editor Cristina Mueller thought she was taking photos of all the models backstage at Michael Kors spring 2008 show; instead, she came back with an entire memory card-full of Agyness Deyn.

"Who knew Jean was a wallflower?" marveled my friend's husband as I clung stubbornly to the sidelines at Lucky creative director Andrea Linett's wedding last weekend. Well. The truth is . . . the truth. I will dance if I am forced, but I do not enjoy it.

Eventually, as is my custom, I retreated to the bathroom.*

Because the entire event was one of the most amazing, romantic weddings I have ever been to—the dress! the cake! the flowers! the gorgeous, otherworldly setting! the raucous laughing and dancing!—the bathroom exceeded expectations as well.  It was stocked thoroughly yet elegantly, a tough balance to maintain, particularly as it was a smaller bathroom. I found a Jurlique face spritz; I rehydrated. I swabbed myself liberally with the Prada refreshing towelettes. And just for kicks, I dabbed a bit of that old faithful, Benetint, first onto my lips and then—what the hell—my cheeks. I emerged exceedingly fresh-faced, and reseated myself at my table. They all looked at me. "You finally danced!!!" one tablemate exclaimed.

"You see, you look so much better when you dance," another seconded. "A little sweat on your brow, a little color in your cheeks ..."

*My brilliant coworker Liz Kiernan snapped a picture of the glamorous bathroom setup. Here it is, followed by the all-important links:

Benefit Benetint

Prada Infusion d'Iris Refreshing Towels

MAC Blot Film

Jurlique Lavender Hydrating Mist

Burn Liquid Balinese Woods Hand Lotion

Burn Liquid Balinese Woods Hand Wash

Soap & Paper Factory Beeswax Candle in Green Tea

John Frieda Frizz-Ease Secret Weapon

Arrojo Hair Creme

Bumble & Bumble Hairspray

Bumble & Bumble Holding Spray

Chanel Protective Base Coat

Paul & Joe Emery Boards (Sold at Bergdorf Goodman, NYC, 800-558-1855)

GoSmile Touch Up On-The-Go Smile Refresher in Mint-licious

Spearmint Altoids, Band-Aids, and Advil, all from drugstore.com —Jean Godfrey-June, beauty director

I will never be able to pull off bright blue tights. I accept this, in the same way I accept the fact that I'll never walk elegantly in heels, nor play poker, basketball, or the clarinet. It's fine; I know my limits.

That said, I admire those who can do any of these things (it being Fashion Week, the tights are the issue at hand)—like this model at Erin Fetherston, whose look simply rocks. And while I leave the tights to her, I think the skinny cobalt headband is fantastic—and more within the limits of do-ability. —Cristina Mueller, senior beauty editor (Runway image courtesy of Maria Valentino/MCV Photo)

Attention models/socialites/celebrities: The bottle of water you carry with you always—that thing to which you attribute all your beauty, in lieu of revealing the concealers/mascaras/conditioners/foundations you actually use—is now new and improved. Aveda is leading the charge, supplying designers, models, makeup artists, hairstylists, and other backstage fabulists at the shows with metal Sigg bottles of tap water. Besides sidestepping the mind-bending waste conventional bottled water entails, you also sidestep the nasty chemicals (phthalates, which disrupt the endocrine system, a.k.a. your hormones) that the plastic container releases into the water. Sigg bottles, as Aveda has smartly recognized, are a sleek, chic, much better alternative.

*They are also huge in my house: The people you really, really don't want consuming all those hormone disrupters are kids, and the Siggs come in a metallic blue and a metallic red that are the envy of all on the playground.

*Is a bottle of water technically a beauty product? Ask a model/socialite/celeb. —Jean Godfrey-June, beauty director

The DKNY show was conveniently 100 meters from my apartment, so I got to take a break from my usual Sunday routine (brunch, books, old episodes of Jeopardy) and have a fashion moment. Perhaps because I was at home, the time got away from me, and I had to run over at the last minute—unshowered, unbrushed, and without much makeup aside from mascara and Tarte's Natural Stain on my cheeks and lips.

I was thrilled to find that Karan herself must have been feeling the same lazy-Sunday vibe: The models all had blotted, pink-stained lips and cheeks, a bit of last night's eyeliner, and tumbling, semi-messy hair. I felt so validated that I went straight up to Bryant Park for more shows without ever looking in the mirror (except for two seconds in the cab when I dabbed on the indispensable Givenchy Mister Light). —Dawn Spinner, associate beauty editor

Nosing around backstage, I noticed that the models milling about at both Peter Som and Thakoon had these loose, undone, windblown chignons—sort of Gibson Girl, only roughed-up—paired with berry-stained lips* and pale-pale pink/lavender around the eyes. In their traditional model-uniforms of skinny-skinny jeans and wacky scarves, they looked like packs of—I don't know—dissolute ballerinas. Totally cool. —Cristina Mueller, senior beauty editor (Runway images courtesy of firstVIEW.com)

*The pretty, muted cherry stain at Thakoon was cleverly achieved by a combination of Lancôme cream blushes, not lipsticks: Retro Rouge and Chic Cassis, topped with Juicy Tubes gloss in various colors.

In addition to emitting heat, the radiator in my apartment lets out a guttural, otherworldly growl. The noise is unpredictable. But it generally happens when I'm attempting to sleep or talk on the phone. The only good thing about it is that it reminds me to put on more lip balm, as the radiator seems, maliciously, to suck the moisture from the air.

I'm fighting the gremlin with a two-part plan of attack: a humidifier and lots more lip balm. The humidifier is virtually silent (especially compared to the radiator), and the air is cool and clean-smelling. Similarly, Blistex Silk & Shine is amazingly comforting, long-lasting, and ultra-hydrating. So until the gremlin retires to his spring/summer residence, I'm going to try this passive-aggressive approach. It's much easier than calling my super to come over to fix the heater. —Dawn Spinner, associate beauty editor

When I started at Lucky three years ago, my friend Kelly told me I had to try Arbonne: "My mom sells their skincare in Minnesota. She loves it and looks so great!"

I checked the beauty closet. I scoured the contact list. I glanced at the website. But I didn't find much information. And then I forgot all about it.

Recently, my friend Jill mentioned Arbonne: "After trying peels, Accutane, and everything else, my acne is finally gone!"

I've left them messages. I've sent them e-mails. Arbonne won't call me back. And I'm still dying to know: What makes it so great? —Dawn Spinner, associate beauty editor

As documented extensively on this blog, I do not like mice, but mice LOVE me.

So even when I'm DETERMINED to go home—as in, "Cat, you are going to face your fears and reclaim your apartment TONIGHT"—I find myself walking highly unmethodical circles around my neighborhood at, say, 8:25 PM on a Thursday, when everyone else in New York City is watching 30 Rock without having to sit next to their vacuum cleaner and turn it on at every commercial break JUST IN CASE something is planning a Viet Cong-like sneak attack—ANYWAY, I walk my circles, casually desperate for something, anything, to divert me and delay the inevitable.

Swiftly, I've become addicted to discount shopping. I live near stores like the DSW shoe warehouse and Daffy's ("High Fashion, Low Prices"), which stays open until 9 PM; I halfheartedly try on dumpy skirts from the clearance rack and buy $3 underwear hung on tiny plastic hangers. Even discount shopping becomes prohibitively expensive, however, if you do it every night, so I've taken to perusing the beauty products—which always sit on a dusty shelf near the linens section—because they're the only things I know I won't buy.  That's where I recently found a bottle of Elizabeth Arden's Sunflowers, my fragrance from junior high.  The floral scent is sweet and clean and pretty; it reminds me of a time before mice, before I experienced cold, hard emotional depravity as I tried on sequined jeans in the dressing room of Filene's Basement at 9:55 PM on a Monday. And it gives me hope. —Cat Marnell, beauty assistant

In life, I often find myself wishing I'd said something differently. Quick-witted I am not: It is usually about six hours after the dramatic argument that I finally come up with the brilliant, stinging retort. Conversely, if someone does or says something lovely, I typically mumble something idiotic and retreat; several days after the moment is past, the correct, human reaction at last occurs to me.

I'm much better at saying what I mean in writing, but even then, every so often, there's an after-the-fact shoulda-woulda-coulda. Accordingly, here is what I SHOULD have said some months ago when I wrote about the Deep Calm bath and shower oil from This Works: What this unbelievably effective product needs is a warning label, forbidding the operation of heavy machinery post-bath.*

*This occurred to me last night as I lay in the tub, thinking powerful thoughts about how once I got out, I really needed to hook my cell phone into its charger. Though the intention was unquestionably there, by the time I got out, there was no way I had it in me. —Jean Godfrey-June, beauty director

I ran a half marathon (13.1 miles) around the perimeter of Key West last weekend. Katie Holmes-style, I gave myself four weeks to train (I needed a New Year's resolution and an excuse to spend a few days somewhere warm in the middle of winter).

The first two weeks were no problem: not terribly intense compared to my regular runs. But as I started to increase my mileage, I started getting blisters.

Looking for a solution before the big race, I pored over back issues of Runner's World. In just about every one, a writer recommends Body Glide—which I'm sure is great, but I just can't get past the name.

The more straightforward-sounding Blister Block (made by Band-Aid), however, caught my eye: It's a chubby stick that feels like silky wax and smells sort of like baby shampoo. I slathered it all over my feet, concentrating on my big toes and heels, before I put on my socks—and I didn't get a single blister.

And Blister Block is not just for running: I now can't wear my semi-uncomfortable-but-amazing-looking Kors boots without it. —Dawn Spinner, associate beauty editor

Normal women have makeup bags or a makeup drawer at home; I have a three-tiered rolling cart in my bathroom and three kitchen cupboards of clear plastic Container Store shoeboxes brimming with lip glosses and bronzers.

I hoard because a huge stash of makeup comes in handy. ("Here, go through this," I'll tell a guest, shoving a bin of eyeshadow palettes into her hands in lieu of a beverage or snack, neither of which I ever have at the ready.) Plus, it's my job to try everything! (This is the speech I give my mother when she visits.)

But this week, forced to quickly relocate to a friend's apartment after yet another blitzkrieg of mouse activity in my own, I was forced to limit myself to one small cosmetic pouch of very favorite, essential items from the Sephora junkyard that is my home:

1) Bobbi Brown Tinted Eye Brightener (a miraculous highlighter-concealer hybrid that makes you look like you've slept 10 hours)
2) Prestige Kohl Eyeliner in Black Brown (the creamiest, most richly pigmented pencil ever—and cheap!)
3) Fiberwig Mascara (super-dark and glossy even after it dries)
4) Chantecaille Cheek Shade in Emotion (a sheer, warm peachy-pink, and one of the only blushes in the world that looks good on me)
5) Kiehl's Lip Balm SPF15 in Hue 58B (enhances your natural lip color, so it looks like you were just born with this super attractively pigmented mouth)

If you're so inspired, tell us all about YOUR favorite products in the comments section (so I can try them).

—Cat Marnell, beauty assistant

From: Meredith Rollins
To: Jean Godfrey-June
Subject: The nice-smelling cream

Okay. So a couple of weeks back I stole this Susanne Kaufmann Nutrient Cream, and my husband has been using it on his face when he's feeling dry (he has super-sensitive skin, so I was hunting around for something that seemed basic and nice and not packed with retinols, or AHAs, or anything).
It smells like a Swiss herb garden. Maybe it's the daisy in it? So perhaps it's more like a lovely Swiss florist,  filled with lovely Swiss daisies...and yet is somehow perfectly masculine and non-perfumy. And super-moisturizing and not-irritating. Plus, there's the nicely hefty, plain-as-can-be glass pot that it comes in, the one that says "I'm a really great, luxurious cream" but not "made for the ladies." Total success!