I have never in my life used any kind of primer.
Practically every item of clothing I own is from Primark.
I almost never style my hair.
I have been known to go a whole month without shaving my legs.
"So why on earth", I hear you ask, "should I listen to a single bloody word you have to say?" It's alright; my boyfriend asks the same question at least three times a day. In his case, the answer tends to be "because otherwise you're not getting laid for a week", but if that holds true for every single person who ever reads this blog then I'm going to need a bigger bedroom*.
For you lot, though, we're going to need something a little less in the line of blackmailesque threats that play into the 'mainstream' view of traditional gender roles in male/female binary relationships in the 21st century Western world. You'll have to make your own mind up, of course, but my suspicion is that you should keep reading because a) I can actually write a bit, sort of, if the wind's blowing in the right direction and the cock crows three times on the gatepost, b) I am totally prepared to lay bare my journey into the world of Real Beauty Geekery, failed smoky eye pictures that look like I've gone ten rounds with a rottweiler and all, and c) I really love this shit. I really really do.
I love glamour. I have always loved glamour. Ever since I was old enough to totter around the flat in my mother's high heels, I was disappointed that my mother wasn't actually very into wearing high heels and mostly only owned boots and flat sandals. One of my favourite things about going round to Nana's house was that she'd let me go through her big box of treasures saved from decades past and try on little lace gloves like posh women in films wear to funerals, and huge 80's earrings with more rhinestones than Britney Spears circa 1999, and brooches that looked to my untrained eye as though they could be a hundred years old. I've worn a full face of make-up nearly every day since I was twelve years old. I had a phase of wearing a black mantilla over my school uniform (I can't really work out why either). And now that I am a Real Grown Up with a Real Full Time Job and Real Money in my Real Bank Account, I know exactly where most of it is going to go.
So come with me. Learn with me. Watch me and roll your eyes at how quickly I manage to chip my nail varnish. Keep jumping in; the water's gone a bit cold but the bubble bath smells lovely.
*I hope. Probably nobody at all will ever read this except my own mother and the long-suffering girl who sits next to me at work who is extremely lovely but has to put up with a LOT of my squee over random indie beauty shops I've just discovered on the internet. But what is life without hope? Apart from cheaper, obviously.