Fibro Q&A: So you want to be a fashion/beauty writer?

Paula Joye has dedicated the last 20 years of her life to beauty, fashion and style. When I met her in the early days of my fulltime features-writing career, she was the deputy editor of CLEO, a gorgeous (still is, see left), bubbly blonde with endless reserves of encouragement (for people like me) and unlimited potential (for her). She pretty much fulfilled all that potential in magazines, as editor of CLEO, Shop Til You Drop and Madison - and editor-in-chief of all three - and has now moved on to seeing where it will take her online (I'm thinking far) with Life.Styled., which she describes as a 'depot for beautiful things'.

With a solid-gold background in beauty and fashion editing in her portfolio, I could think of no better person to ask about beauty and fashion writing. It's a very specific niche in the publishing world (both print and online) and it calls for a particular set of skills. Not least of which is being able to write down, off the top of your head, at least a dozen different alternatives for each of these words: hair, skin, eyes, fragrance. Trust me, it's not as easy as it looks...

What are the three main skills you need to be a good fashion or beauty writer?
PJ: "1. You must love it, otherwise it will melt your brain. The way to find true satisfaction when specialising in any subject is passion - if you kinda like shoes or sorta think mascara is awesome, it's never going to be for you.

"2. Have an opinion. This separates the wheat from the chaff. The best beauty and fashion writers have a point of view that is engaging, 360  and often humorous or self-deprecating. It's not rocket science and shouldn't be written as such.

"3. Luck. Right place. Right time."

I think it's an area of writing that people think is easy - but anyone who's tried to write a hair story and come up with 33 different ways to say 'hair' (without repeating yourself) knows differently. What are the keys to getting it right?
PJ: "Finding 33 different words for hair! Creativity is key and the big one is to avoid cliches. It is an area riddled with them - find a new angle, throw the net wider, and don't say stuff like 'sun, sand and salt water can wreak havoc on your locks'. Just don't."

Of course, there's more to it than just the writing. Fashion and beauty editors spend a lot of time away from their desks, viewing collections, attending product launches, etc. Is relationship-building a vital tool in the fashion or beauty writer's arsenal?
PJ: "One hundred per cent. It's your mainline to experts, new information, inspiration - it's the front line. The industry is about contacts and runs on the board - a big part of that is the network you create."

How do I break into this area if it's something I'm passionate about?
PJ: "You can do it. Make sure you really want it (because it's hard) and then dig your heels in. Work experience is essential. Try to get an internship within a magazine, newspaper or television fashion or beauty department. Start a blog or website as an outlet for your writing - and to become your CV."

Would you agree then that any potential fashion/beauty writer/editor needs a blog? What do you think are the key ingredients of a standout fashion/beauty blog?
PJ: "You should only create a blog if you're passionate about it - no matter what the subject matter. Yes, it's a great way to express your creative point of view and self-publish, but it's also a beast that needs to be fed. Daily.

"Find your sticky point - and for everyone that will be different. The key to success is recognising the 'thing' that people are visiting your blog for, and capitalising on it.

"A wise editor once said (and man, it's true), 'Should we give the readers more of what they want? Or less?'

"It's actually that simple."

Visit Paula at lifestyled.com.au for everything you ever wanted to know about fashion, beauty, home, heart... and fun.

Same face, different mirror

On the weekend, circumstances were such that I had to spend some time in front of an unfamiliar mirror. I'm not a fan of mirrors. They rate right up there with photographs for me. I can tolerate my own mirror, mostly because it seems to tolerate me. But get me in front of a new, differently lit mirror and, well, it tends to go pear-shaped.

In my own mirror, my face looks okay. Tired, not quite what it was, but okay. Other mirrors, however, seem to magnify flaws. Jowls appear. Wrinkles deepen. Teeth yellow and, good God!, is that a moustache I see before me? A simple teeth-brushing exercise becomes an odyssey of self-reflection - and not the good, meditative, Dalai Lama version.

I have to back away.

Given enough time, I can convince myself that it was all in the lighting. Too harsh. So different from the 50-watt energy-saving (useless) single bulb that currently casts flattering shadows in the Fibro bathroom. I probably look better than that. Really.

But in the back of my mind, I know the truth. It's my face, but not how I like to see it.

How's your relationship with your mirror these days?

[image: antique mirror from TheGildedTassel/etsy]

There's maintenance - and then there's renovating

There are certain things in life that you put off. That you ignore. That you sometimes actively avoid. Then you go and do them and you remember why it was that you should do them more often. One of these things is going to the dentist (mind you, the biggest plus of that is the fact that once it's over you don't need to go again for a while). For me, getting to the hairdresser is another.

I know that a haircut is something that I should be writing in my diary every six weeks, and anticipating with glee. But, to be perfectly honest, I'm not much good at maintenance. I tend to wait until everything goes to rack and ruin and then try to rebuild from the ground up, so to speak. My brand new (and fabulous) eyebrow queen has taken this matter in hand and scheduled me in for appointments for the next six months. She assures me that it is not necessary to allow my brows to fade to nothingness before retinting them. There will be no Mr Potato Head shock if I take her advice. So she says.

The hairdressing sorority has not been so proactive. I thought I was managing quarterly appointments. My stylist today informed me that it was more like every five months. Not a great average.

Part of the problem is the sameness of my hair. There is only so much you can do with boofy redness. Too short and it's Raggedy Anne. Too long and it's Beyonce - only redder.

The sudden (and profuse) proliferation of greys, however, suggests that I need to step up my game. I made the switch to permanent colour about a year ago - no more fading of the semi, with no roots to speak of. Now I get a stripe. Subtle, but stripey. People ask me if I'm tired. They ask me if I've 'gone blonde'. No, I say, just washed out and grey. Thanks for asking.

This morning I went to get myself seen to. Waiting for my stylist, I sat and contemplated my face and hair under very bright lights. Hmmm. My stylist and I chatted about this and that - body image, air-brushing in magazines, holidays in Europe - as she applied the colour that she promised would lift my appearance from haggard to radiant. She shepherded me under the steamer, where I read a September issue of New Idea (nothing better than dated gossip, don't you find?), and then directed me to the basin. Otherwise known as the Pay Off.

Every time I get my hair washed - with complimentary scalp massage - I find myself wondering if I could manage to fit it in three times a week. Snuggled under my enormous plastic bib, feet up, eyes closed, goosebumpy chills running from head to foot. Too good.

During my haircut, my stylist revealed to me - and the rest of the salon - that she and 15 of her friends had 'made over' someone's house while they were off on their honeymoon. Repainted. Remodelled ('We decided to lose a wall'). Renovated. Stunned silence followed this statement.

"They don't know?" asked the woman in the seat next to me.

"Nope, it'll be such a thrill!" trilled my stylist. "They'll love it."

"You hope," said the woman.

The stylist didn't even bat an eyelid, all the confidence of youth personified. "Of course they will," she said. "It's been like one of those home renovation shows. Everywhere you look, someone is knocking down a wall or painting or replastering. I wish I could be there when they got home."

The woman next to me and I shared a look. "So do I!" we said, in harmony.

Apparently, they're coming back on Sunday. I'm almost tempted to book myself in for another haircut next week just to find out what happened. Or maybe just a hairwash...

PS: I love this image by esan01, on etsy - my kind of princess!

A beautiful life (and some waggling)

When you say goodbye to an old life and move into a new one, there are some tearful goodbyes that need to be said. Friends, family, blah, blah, blah. These are hard, but, you know, they’ll visit.

Some relationships, however, are over. The tyranny of distance is too great to bear. It’s a rare person who travels hours and hours up the freeway to see their dentist, doctor, hairdresser or beauty therapist. But sometimes I wonder if I shouldn’t be one of those rare people.

Surprisingly, the whole hair thing was sorted in minutes. We met through friends, she was cheap, she was good and she was easy. Sold.

It took me a year to find a new dentist. We’ve had our first date and so far things are going well. He’s the kind of guy who’ll tell you if there’s spinach in your teeth. I like that in a person.

I rushed into things with our doctor – sometimes needs must, right? I had a need, he was there, and it’s not easy to find The One when potentials are thin on the ground. Just ask the women of Sydney. Down here, it’s not a matter of choosing a doctor, it’s a matter of finding someone, anyone, with room on their dance card when push comes to shove. So I dove in early, put all my cards on the table, and, fortunately, it seems to be working out.

The whole beauty thing, however, is another kettle of fish all together. I thought I’d cracked it. Things were going well and then… let’s just say that I’m thinking that this may not be a longterm affair.

When you are fair of hair, pale of skin and freckled of hue as I am, you need brows. They need to be shaped, darkened and not destroyed. In the big smoke, I had one trusted soul who'd looked after my needs for seven or eight years. But she didn't want to make the move with me.

I should have tried harder to convince her.

My last visit to what had become my regular salon here ended with me looking not unlike Mr Potato Head. Wearing his Angry Eyes. The Builder tried hard to reassure me, but found it difficult. Every time he spoke to me, his eyes were invariably drawn upward, fixated. I couldn’t even be offended. I kept catching sight of my brows in mirrors and startling myself. I even found myself waggling them. Waggling. This was not good.

Mr3, who is in the habit of telling me when I need to ‘get my brows on’, thought they were wonderful. He kept patting them, like pet caterpillars.

That was more than six weeks ago. Which means it’s time to ‘get my brows on’ again. But now I have a decision to make. Do I risk my regular salon again, knowing I could end up looking like an extra in Toy Story 3? Or do I branch out and try someone new?

Which means all that getting to know you chit-chat again. Baring my brows and other body parts to another stranger. Waiting to see how it all turns out.

The dilemma.

All I can hear in my head is Eddie Vedder singing ‘She lies and says she’s in love with them…can’t find a better brow’.