For years I've been intimidated by the Korean skincare line AmorePacific. At a glance, it seemed made for a very particular sort of lady—a lady with a name like Babe or Ina, whose skin doesn't need anything other than, say, a commissioned portrait, because good skin has been her lot ever since her shipping-tycoon grandfather married her swan-necked, alabaster-complexioned grandmother. Let's be honest: The line is pricey, $500-for-a-face-serum pricey. Unfairly, I never went further than occasional back-of-the-hand tests, where all my suspicions seemed to be confirmed—I mean, the smell of it! The creams smell of wealth—literally smell too good to be effective!

OK: I was wrong. I'm just going to say it again, to make sure it really sinks in: I was WRONG. A few months ago, I finally tried the Moisture Bound Vitalizing Cream, the twice-a-week powder exfoliating/scrubby peel thing—and then the $500 Time Response Renewal Serum. When I say I've never had clearer, glowier, better skin, it is a BIG understatement. Best skin ever. Seriously. I started pushing my skin to the limits (What if I only slept four hours? What if I forget to wash my face at night?)—but no, there is no derailing of the best skin ever.

... Last week, I ran out. Already there's an undeniable difference. My question to you, and I really am curious: If you know for a proven fact that a product will give you the best skin of your life, how much are you willing to pay for it?

—Cristina Mueller, senior beauty editor

My sister Emily and I share the same irksome, acne-prone skin: It's 80% lovely and 20% disaster, with the latter portion solely around the chin and mouth, residing there—with the exception of four miraculous days a month—all of the time. We blame our father for our vexing inheritance: Photo evidence reveals that he spent the early '70s rocking major breakouts, Ringo-inspired hair, and questionable Izod jumpsuits.

Any dermatologist will rightly tell you that chin-and-mouth breakouts are hormonal, which long ago led me to suspect that a) my sister and I share some hideous genetic mutancy and possibly—l'horreur!— perhaps produce more testosterone than other girls, and b) my only hope is birth control pills and eventual menopause.

Well. We had dinner together last night and her skin is, for the first time in years, truly clear! WTF?! "I threw away everything in my bathroom," she explained as I glowered across the table, feeling not unlike Jessica Simpson when Ashlee got her new nose/weave/spray-tanned androgymidget husband. "I use the same five products every day and that's it. My skin cleared up in two months." Her skin-transforming regimen:

1) Sjal Balans Deep Pore Cleanser ("I can't pronounce it but it works.")
2) Dr. Brandt Poreless Gel ("Feels like it's suctioning my pores clean.")
3) Kinerase Lotion ("Not greasy and super-light.")
4) Fresh Umbrian Clay Face Treatment ("Twice a week as a mask, and as a spot treatment where I feel zits coming on.")
5) Differen gel ("I've been prescribed this for years; it's never been as effective as it is now.")

Emily, suddenly an authority, pointed out that my problem might be that I'm a "product slut" (I vacillate wildly from one skincare trend to the next—mineral makeup! oil-free everything! retinol! all-natural!—never allowing time for the miracles to take effect) (never mind that it's my job!). But I'm convinced it's time to settle down and stick to something. So, since I'd bet money that your skin is better than mine, tell me: What's your regimen?

—Cat Marnell, beauty assistant

When I was six, my family moved to a new house. Along with leaky ceilings and built-in cat hammocks, we inherited the previous owners' massive daily delivery of junk mail. I was delighted: I sat on the living room floor and entertained myself for hours, carefully filing newsletters and fliers into different categorized bundles.

The hotel/cruise/tourism brochures were my favorite—I decided I wanted to be a travel agent. I was particularly fascinated with Australia, especially motorcycle explorations in New South Wales, for some reason. Whenever we discussed family vacations, I begged my mom to call Freedom Wheels.

Instead, she brought home Aussie Three Minute Miracle conditioner. The kangaroo! The eucalyptus! The tropical scent! I was in love. I squeezed it into the tub like bubble bath: Soon I would be tan, blonde, and if not IN Australia, then looking as if I were.

Twenty years later, I've accepted that the laid-back surfer look is never going to work for me—except for the tousled part. Aussie created the perfect scrunch spray for blowing-in-the-breeze-on-the-back-of-a-Suzuki waves. And Miracle is still the best thing for softening dry ends ... the kind you get, say, diving the Great Barrier Reef.

—Dawn Spinner, associate beauty editor

If you want to confound those who think they know you, the next time someone compliments you on the Marc Jacobs Daisy you're wearing, shrug and mumble, "Yeah, it was the grand prize winner at the Fifi's."

"The Fifi's?"

"You know, the fragrance awards—the Fifi's!" you'll blithely insist.

Someone will make a joke involving poodles or lapdogs. You will stand your ground: "It's the grand prize winner—you should go out and get some."

—Jean Godfrey-June, beauty director

The drugstore is rarely thrilling, but on a recent visit, as I wandered the aisles and waited for my prescription to be filled, I was delighted by these three retro discoveries:

Salon Selectives Healthy Volume Shampoo

Finesse Enhancing Shampoo

Teen Spirit Deodorant

I'm happy to report that Salon Selectives shampoo still smells like watermelon bubblegum, Finesse still smells clean and appealingly almost chlorine-y, and Teen Spirit stills smells ... well, like spirited, babypowder-loving teens (I'm particularly intrigued by the "Pop Star" scent on the website—Eau de Miley?).  But if you're humming the "By Mennen!" jingle as you read this, know that Colgate owns the brand now—adjust the lyrics accordingly.

Call me regressed, but I bought them all.

P.S. All still cost less than $5!

—Cat Marnell, beauty assistant

I read that the first thing Amanda Peet does when she gets up is brush her eyebrows. I found this concept truly staggering and also unfair—I never really even plucked my brows, as there isn't enough of them to brush. The scariest thing about having brows on the increasingly fairer, thinner side is that even if you go to the hottest brow shaper in the country, she invariably pulls out one hair and then use a pencil to draw on thick, Amanda Peet–style brows, which look fantastic on Amanda Peet but make me look like Bert from Sesame Street. The answer is Anastasia Brow Ex-press, a brilliant—if oddly punctuated—palette of wax, brow powder, and a brush. You dip the little slanted brush in the wax, dab it in the powder, and then use the combination to emphasize the shape of your brow. The result is defined yet incredibly subtle—and much longer-lasting than a pencil. Plus, the finishing step is to blend it all with a clean mascara wand, which is a lot like brushing, so I don't feel left out.

—Jennifer Scruby, contributing beauty writer, Miami

I had laser eye surgery (amazing! changed my life!) two years ago and now I'm especially cautious about always wearing sunglasses and never rubbing my eyes. Maybe I'm paranoid—but it was way too expensive to risk ever having to do it again. I also use the incredibly gentle Kiehl's eye makeup remover because it's the only one that doesn't sting.

Despite my precautions, my eyes were terribly puffy last weekend. I'm blaming allergies (have you read the science articles about the kudzu-like, pollution-mutated plants this season?) rather than the eight hours I spent in a Greenwich Village beer garden. My two-part solution: the new ZO Skin Health eye cream and frozen Vitamuffins, one on each eye (the latter are delicious after you've defrosted them on your face). And, if all else fails, a pair of tortoise Wayfarers totally count—in situations like these—as beauty items.

—Dawn Spinner, associate beauty editor

A few nights ago I dreamed about bikram yoga. No analysis needed: I haven't exercised, let alone unfurled a yoga mat, let alone unfurled a yoga mat in 110-degree heat, for one full year. I saw this as an irritating divine intervention from a naggy-but-well-intentioned god—so I carried my gym bag around all day in preparation for the 3pm class—or possibly the 5pm, maybe the 7:30. Three came and went; my energy was low—low enough to make me wonder if, possibly, I was suffering from chronic fatigue syndrome. Five came and went; the gym bag began to seem like a sad vestigial organ, and I finally beseeched my friend Lauren to "be my gym sherpa." She agreed to consider the idea over a demure early dinner of salad and pinot, which was followed by a slightly wine-inspired walk to another nearby eatery, where she treated me to (I kid you not) three desserts.

I decided to skip the 20-minute walk to the subway and get straight into a taxi to go home. And there, sitting crisply in the backseat of the cab with me, was an Origins bag. Yes. The gift of a well-intentioned beauty-editing god reminding me of work I'd left undone? An Origins bag holding a lovely, just-purchased set: An Incredible Spreadable Scrub, Smoothing Souffle, and Salt Suds body wash. And a cash receipt.

What does one do? Go back to the Origins store and get the cashier to do mysterious cashier tricks and somehow discover the identity of the poor bereaved purchaser?

Readers, you know what I did. And to you, Lady Who Pays for Body Souffles in Cash and Gets Out of Taxis Somewhere Along 14th Street: I am sorry. Really. But the salt scrub is also truly killer.

—Cristina Mueller, senior beauty editor

All makeup artists see the glory that is Tilda Swinton and they strive to make her look ... avant-garde. Which is not hard to do: She is avant-garde. What I want is some highfalutin photographer/hair/makeup team to do a story in which they really have to work: I want Tilda as easy-breezy Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf California Girl. I want wigs with sexy Jaclyn Smith layers; I want flip-flops, hip-hugging jeans, and a bikini top; I want blinding highlights and sheer pink lip gloss; I want pink kitten heels and black mascara.

Just once. I don't want Tilda's unstoppably amazing style in real life to be altered in any way, I just want to see a photo shoot where they use some real imagination. While they're at it, they could dress Kate Hudson/Cameron Diaz/Carrie Underwood, etc., to look like modernist architectural pieces with orange eyeshadow and flesh-colored lips every so often, just to keep us all on our toes. No?

—Jean Godfrey-June, beauty director

One sector of the population knows Mario Cantone from Sex and the City; another, very different demographic knows him from his appearances on The Howard Stern Show. A third and unlikely sector congregates once a year for a large luncheon in the ballroom of The Waldorf-Astoria: Cosmetic Executive Women (C.E.W.), an association that is precisely what it purports to be, women who are cosmetic executives. Mario Cantone officiates at C.E.W.'s Beauty Awards, and he adds the perfect measure of humor and gentle derision (all people at all awards ceremonies take themselves too seriously).

I like to think that I am one of very few who have enjoyed the work of Mr. Cantone in all three contexts; my favorite is Howard Stern. Perhaps that's because I am alone in my car when listening to Howard Stern, and at the C.E.W. lunch, while I am in a room full of much-beloved colleagues, I am tense about getting back to work, and I am eating chilled, less-than-tender chicken. "Sit down, everybody!" he yelled as we were all milling about. "Your chicken's going to get cold!"

My favorite product that won is the Rare Minerals Blemish Therapy powder from Bare Escentuals, which both covers and treats breakouts. It is so powerful and non-makeupy (despite the fact that it very effectively covers breakouts) that you're supposed to use it at night as well. True innovation, justly rewarded—and we got to hear Mario Cantone sing, very loudly, several times, into the microphone: "THE BEAUTY AWARDS! FOR THE BEAUTY IN YOU!"

I left the awards feeling doubly satisfied, having multi-tasked in much the way the Rare Minerals Blemish Therapy powder does: I laughed, I networked, and though I may not have loved how it tasted, I had had lunch.

—Jean Godfrey-June, beauty director

My sister Shannon, who had an allergic reaction to a pair of earrings that left her piercings like slits instead of holes, was desperate to fix them and even went to a plastic surgeon—who said he couldn't repair them. I found the solution: EarLifts, which are both inexpensive and easy to use. You apply one of the clear adhesive disks to the back of your earlobe, punch the stem of your earring through it, and voilà! Your earring sits up so perfectly, and no need to worry about it sliding down and exposing the problem. While they've changed Shannon's life, they're not just for repair work: They'd be great for anyone who loves heavier earrings and just wants to take the pressure off. Bring on the chandeliers!

—Jennifer Scruby, contributing writer

I had the very best intentions last week: to blog about really great Mother's Day beauty gifts, and then to actually give one to my mom. I got as far as finding this cool Philosophy set (which my mother, who has a low tolerance for cuteness, not to mention sweet scents, wouldn't even like, but I do—it's coconut products in a little CARDBOARD TIKI HUT; could you die?!) before wandering over to Amazon.com's beauty marketplace (the best for browsing) and finding THIS:

FERRET-OFF DEODORIZER SPRAY!!!!

Instantly, I had a hundred questions: Do ferrets really smell? If so, how can people love them—are ferrets really that charming? Do you spray your ferret with this stuff, or do you spray yourself? I was excitedly pondering all of these questions when I discovered THIS:

FERRET GLOW SHAMPOO!!!!

OMG. So what would it be like—like shampooing a long, slinky hamster? Are they slippery? Do they bite? Do you do it in the kitchen sink and hose them down with the little sprayer? Do you just dunk them in a bucket? I need answers and I need them now.

—Cat Marnell, beauty assistant

Every once in a while you come across a product that seems almost too perfect—where, spookily, the inventors seem to have invaded your head and created the exact thing you always wanted to make but never had the entrepreneurial drive to think up yourself.

1) This Blue Lotus Wild Grass candle is made by Joya—which, to my mind, is the best, coolest, chicest, New York-iest organic soy wax candle company ever; go into any sleek home-design boutique in the Lower East Side or Brooklyn, and chances are a Joya candle is burning next to the register. Check out the website.
2) The candle's matte black, dodecahedron-y container is slipcast in porcelain by ceramicist/artist/plate designer Sarah Cihat, who's kind of a New York genius in her own right (I'm personally fond of her "rehabilitated dishware"). After the candle's done (after 75 hours), you can repurpose the container as a squat little vase for flowers—or as a serving bowl for almonds, or pistachios, or wasabi peas.
3) The candle has an octopus embossed on it.
4) An OCTOPUS.
5) The scent is remarkably like the Gap's wonderful, long-ago-discontinued Grass perfume; though the ghost of my 15 year-old self hates to admit it, this version is actually ... even better. Do other people re-purpose their candle containers?

—Cristina Mueller, senior beauty editor

I am in fervent support of the new natural standards that a group of beauty companies agreed to last week. It is a relief to have a logo that means NO: parabens, phthalates, glycols, or anything else with potential suspected human health risks, instead of trying to decipher tiny and often inscrutable labels. ("Fragrance" listed as an ingredient can, for example, mean "with added phthalates.")

To those who argue that some of these ingredients may in fact prove to be safe, I say, while the subject is under debate, I'll wait it out and not use them. Call me crazy—but by all means, let us know what you think!

The label also means that 95% of the product—and the majority of the products in any company's line—comes from natural, sustainable sources. The logo will start appearing on products right away; the website, www.naturalproductsassoc.org, has a list of participating companies (Burt's Bees, Weleda, Aubrey Organics, California Baby, W.S. Badger, Farmaesthetics, and Trilogy, to name a few), along with more details about what the certification means.

—Jean Godfrey-June, beauty director

Charity: Water gives 100 percent—I repeat, 100 percent—of the money it raises to build wells in third-world countries. It is a truly genius organization. Given that approximately 1 billion people worldwide don't have clean drinking water and that contaminated water causes 80 percent of all sickness on the planet ...

Go to the Saks Fifth Avenue website and buy a $20 e-card for your mom; the $20 will provide clean water for one person for 20 years!

—Jean Godfrey-June, beauty director

FROM: Meredith Kahn Rollins, executive editor
TO: Jean Godfrey-June, beauty director
SUBJECT: Aquaphor

The other night, I was feeling particularly crowfoot-y and dry around the eye area—just really ancient in general—so I slathered Aquaphor around my eyes before I went to sleep. I figured it might be the same thing as coating your feet in Vaseline and putting on socks for the night, right? And indeed, I woke up with NO CROW'S FEET. They came back a couple days later, granted, but now I have a new before-the-photo-shoot trick. (Also: I had feared the Aquaphor would migrate down to my cheeks and break me out, but it didn't. Which was nice.)

I've lived in a lot of New York City studio apartments; all have featured ugly, depressing bathrooms: dingy white, psych ward–y, and too small for standard-size bath mats, with lighting that makes everyone look like Charles Manson.

I counter such bleakness with chic, attractively packaged hand soap. The splurge is definitely cheaper than a better apartment, and it shows everyone your values are in the right place. Plus, when I finish a bottle, I move it to the kitchen sink and fill the dispenser with dish soap—it is probably the only crafty, domestic thing I do, but it's very satisfying.

—Cat Marnell, beauty assistant

A few gorgeous soaps to consider:

Hermès Eau d'Orange Verte Hand and Body Wash, $50, hermes.com

Claus Porto Voga Liquid Soap, $19, lafcony.com

La Compagnie de Provence Savon de Marseilles Extra Pur Figue, $20, apothia.com

L'Amande Liquid Soap, $12.99, amazon.com

... and I am fascinated. Because they look weirdly awesome: Not as clobber-you-bright as Pepto-Bismol, not as stark as a marshmallow white—just neat and clean and chalky-pink and totally opaque. I'm buying the polish today, after work. So I can look like a fashion news editor.

—Cristina Mueller, senior beauty editor

*As we went over the calamine lotion-ness of her nails, it hit us: Why doesn't someone make a perfume that smells like Calamine lotion? Unless I'm completely remembering it wrong, it's sweet and powdery and kind of good, and is associated with all sorts of positive, summer camp–ish memories. I mean, there are already perfumes that smell like sushi, cigarettes, and seashells ...

Order a bar of the creamy, powdery-sweet Believe Honey Bar from Noodle & Boo, and the proceeds directly help clean the water of the village of Heeraraa in Ethiopia.

—Dawn Spinner, associate beauty editor

While the rage for tanning towels (see page 104 of our current issue) continues unabated in our office, I used them the evening before a big event, and I awoke untanned. The dress I planned to wear was a dove gray that needed skin drastically darker or paler than mine to set it off; I needed a tan.

I have a very thin margin of time in the morning; there was time for further tanning, or there was time for a shower. I got out my Lancôme Flash Bronzer Airbrush (it is almost as good as Lancôme Flash Bronzer for Legs, my all-time favorite, and it is much faster) and went to town.

If you can't shower—say you live in the suburbs and dress for your black-tie events crouching between your computer and your desk—the next best thing is a pack of Sephora wipes, which also do a remarkably good job of erasing self-tanning streaks. To that, you add: perfume. I went for Christian Celle Calypso Mimosa. And body cream: White Jasmin and Mint from Jo Malone. To your nails—if they are still showing signs of having planted two apple trees before sampling the tanning towels—you dab on Stick With Me , a milky pink polish from Nicole by OPI (it comes in a pen called Nic's Sticks and dries in seconds). False lashes from Sonia Kashuk, Bourjois liquid liner, Cover Girl Lash Blast mascara, Bobbi Brown face oil, Laura Mercier concealer, and hot pink MAC lip balm. Hope that your untouched hair looks messy-on-purpose, rather than simply unwashed.

Would this cascade of panic have occurred if I'd chosen a dress that complemented my actual skin tone? Am I the only crazy person that fantasizes about glamorous evenings, and then deglamorizes them by leaving all preparation to the last minute?

—Jean Godfrey-June, beauty director

Yesterday morning, all of a sudden, we were going to the beach. With my husband already waiting in the car, I threw caution to the wind and sprayed self-tanner from head to foot. I remembered the way my feet, elbows, and knees tend to come out over-tanned in dry spots, and I quickly rubbed body oil over any suspect areas. When I say the color came out PERFECTLY blended—not a streak, not a spot—I mean, perfect enough to look unstreaked and unblotchy at the beach, in broad daylight, all day long.

—Jennifer Scruby, contributing editor, Miami