The Devil Wears Ulta

The climate in Virginia is slightly different than that of San Diego. My skin presents one example. Whilst I've never had amazing skin, I've noticed that my former, So Cal "sun-kissed glow," had been replaced by a dry, cracked, "heater-is-blowing-all-the-time" reddish complexion. As mother nature is no longer acting has a natural moisturizer for me, I thought it was time to explore some options. And maybe find a really great foundation to cover up all that red.

Armed with birthday money (thanks Mom!), I headed to Ulta's spring beauty event. My first appointment was with a" Clarisonic" representative. She was selling a fancy ultrasonic brush that is supposed to be all that and a bag of chips, and while it really did make my skin feel silky, and despite sales claims of never needing to wear makeup again, I wasn't about to plunk down $199 dollars. The sales lady was very pleasant, and didn't give me a hard sell, so I wasn't prepared for what came next. Perhaps the greek terms that flew about me such as "microdermabrasion," and "primer" should have clued me in, but I went on blissfully ignorant to my next appointment.

My next appointment featured a fancy makeup line, which I'd always wanted to try. That's when I realized I'd walked onto the set of "The Devil Wears Prada." My stylist, (I'll call her "Miranda"), was promptly horrified at the condition of my skin. The redness and dry spots were not easily tamed by her expensive beauty products. She tsked tsked and she tut-tutted, she frowned, and she shook her head over the sorry state of my skin. My lack of skin care knowledge, prowess, and interest, was the perfect "Andy" to her expertise, passion, and intensity. Even the disdain in which she treated the younger beauticians, smacked of "Miranda."

Finally, she succeeded in transforming my face to her satisfaction. You know that scene in the movie, where Miranda notices that Andy is finally wearing high heels, and this look of relief and satisfaction crosses her face. Yeah, I got that look.

Then she took me to the shelves and piled my basket full of stuff. While I initially attempted to price things and make decisions, I finally just let her throw it all in my basket. Then I fled to the nether regions of the store where they sell the products that they don't really want to sell you, but if you are determined enough to find them, well they'd rather take your money than lose your business to Walmart. There I basked in the familiarity of my grocery store favorites. I picked up a Cover Girl Eyeliner I was out of, and my ususal L'Oreal mascara. I even chose a cheap new nail polish color, just for fun.

Then, hiding amongst the tall make-up displays I planned my next move. I did want to buy some things. My skin felt better than it had in months, and the makeover was stunning enough, that the security guard even complimented me. But I wouldn't be able to afford all the products she had used, unless I asked my family to give up food, electricity, and transportation for lent.

Finally I decided not too purchase any of the ridiculously expensive make-up, but to go back to the over-priced skin care section, and see what I could do. I put all the containers back on the shelves, and noticed they had travel kits that fit my budget. This seemed like the perfect solution, except none of them had the right combination of products. So I asked a nearby saleswoman if I could buy them separately. She said she'd look in the back.

She must have delegated the responsibility, because soon "Miranda" came towards me bearing the requested products. "Oh, it's YOU!" she said. I attempted a fumbled explanation. There we were. The woman who felt that every girl should have an intimate relationship with their esthetician, versus a woman who's closest friendships were forged searching for salmon eggs in vernal pools with other like-minded Moms. How could I explain to a woman who exultantly shared with me her deepest secrets of exfoliation, that I would be perfectly content to wear baggy sweats and old running shoes every day if it were socially acceptable.

To Miranda's credit, she was very gracious about helping me find what I wanted, reassured me with their 60-day-guarantee, and we parted on civil terms.

When I got home, my husband gave me an admiring look and said, "Wo-ow!" to which I replied, "You better not talk like that unless you want me to march right back to Ulta and spend all of your hard earned money on make-up!"

In the end, I 've found that my skin feels great thanks to the ridiculously over-priced skin care products, and I'm on the hunt for some more affordable versions of the makeup.

But it may be awhile before I step foot in an Ulta again.