Archive for the ‘Skin’ Category

For those of you eagerly anticipating my first-ever Downton Abbey recap, alas, this isn’t it.

Hubby would only let me watch the first hour before he called lights out, and then proceeded to scroll through roughly eight zillion financial websites on his laptop before officially shutting down Hubby + Wifey Central.

Grrr….

Thus, I must watch the second hour tonight. And while I was literally screaming at the telly during the initial 50 minutes – poor Bates and Anna! – I need to get the full lay of the land before I can do the episode proper justice.

In the meantime, I simply must sing Elizabeth McGovern‘s praises from the rafters.

She was always gorgeous; that isn’t even remotely up for debate.

And now she is an equally luminous 50-year-old woman who is giving hope to all of us who aren’t completely convinced that shooting our faces full of Botox and fillers is the best way to sail into our futures.

Granted, I have no idea what McGovern, who plays the warm and charming matriarch Lady Grantham, does of a beauty nature. For all I know, she’s at the dermatologist for injections every other week.

But I doubt it. Because unlike so many actresses, she actually looks her age.

Of course, when she’s in a scene with the crinkly-fabulous Maggie Smith, McGovern looks like a young hottie in comparison. But when she’s with her TV daughters she just looks like a blissed-out, well-dressed mama hen clucking over her unlined chicks. The antithesis, in other words, of a Real Housewife jamming herself into a pair of bedazzled jeans.

Last night, while I was watching McGovern, I wanted to reach through the flatscreen and give her a massive hug for showing us there is indeed another way to go about this aging business. Writing this blog post is the digital version of that thank-you snuggle.

I trust we all had a wonderful holiday? And that our assorted tot-lets turned cartwheels over their prezzies? The Wee Lass certainly did, especially over her pretty new Schwinn Dee-Lite, as well as her bespectacled Molly McIntire doll and the mega Palomino to go along with it.

And how’s this for perfect? Last Thursday, the Wee Lass thought it would be “fun” to hide one of her Zhu Zhu pets in a box of packing peanuts headed for the recycling center in our building. Guess who freaked out when she realized, much later in the day, what she’d done? Quelle surprise, after begging our super to sift through all the crunched-up cardboard in the basement, he came up Zhu Zhu-less.

But happily – if 1000 percent coincidentally – Aunt Jan had sent her another Zhu Zhu for Xmas, complete with a skateboard and U-turn track. Crisis averted.

Of course, the best news of all is that she doesn’t seem that into her new toy Singer sewing machine. Which is exactly what Momover Lady was hoping would happen. Thus she won’t know, or care, if I spirit it off for a few covert stitching sessions.

Aaaaah life is good. And it was made even better when I nipped off on Friday for a little pre-holiday pampering at the Vinotherapie Spa by Caudalie at the Plaza.

I guess I should have realized how packed the Plaza – perhaps the most storied hotel in New York – would be at this time of year. And indeed, it was Tourist Central, with peeps literally tripping over each other with their shopping bags and packages.

But tucked away on the fourth floor, the Caudalie spa is the very definition of oasis. So quiet and soothing, with a wine bar in the central hub, so you can get a tad hammered between treatments, if you’re so inclined. I didn’t imbibe, shockingly, but I will circle back to the wine bar in a second.

My purpose that day was to test-drive one of the “Beauty Under An Hour” treatments that I’d learned about when I attended the FITist FIT MOM press event several weeks ago. There are four treatments in total – all lightning-fast combo packs for face and body -  and I chose “Vine Power,” which included a full facial, manicure and a “petite” pedicure. (Which basically meant a buffing, sanding and clean-up for the tootsies sans nail lacquer, which I don’t bother with during the non-summer months anyway.)

The facial rocked. My aesthetician, Aniko, was a straight shooter, doling out the stern advice and the compliments in equal measure. On a nice note, she said my skin looked “excellent for your age” but she was not down with my recent Refissa use, which she thinks is rendering my mug entirely too sensitive. Though it might be okay in warmer months when the humidity is higher, right now, it’s giving me the scalies and flakies. Not good. Thus, I agreed to scale back to once every four weeks or so, to see how I fare.

Oh, and she was a little appalled by my messy eyebrows, which are actually kind of growing, thanks to my diligence with the neuVeau Brow. “I’ll just clean up a bit, if you don’t mind,” Aniko said, whipping out her tweezers. “No charge.”

Meanwhile, Gina, my nail technician, was busily engaged in ministering to my feet and hands. I feel like a Kardashian, I thought, as one woman tended to my facial pores as the other buffed and sloughed.

Though I almost never wear nail lacquer on my hands – because I don’t have the patience to wait for it to dry and I abhor chips and smudges – I thought I’d try it to appease the Wee Lass, who is forever up in my grill for not being fancy enough. Her frequent lament: “I wish I knew you in your high heel days.” Sniff sniff.

But I have to say that at the Caudalie spa, waiting for your nail lacquer to dry is a blast – especially for une Francophile comme moi. That’s because the wine bar | lounging area is packed with books like Paris Living Rooms.

Ooh la la – how did I not know about this book already? It sooooo has my name written all over it. Why? Well, the very first of the living rooms is Carine Roitfeld’s, stripped down to its bones. I mean, it looks exactly like a hotel. And faithful readers know I am forever on a quest to make my home look as austere, forbidding and utterly untouchable as a high-end hotel. How much does it figure that one of my idols has already completely nailed that look? In fact, it’s even less cozy, because La Roitfeld doesn’t even have a single piece of art on the walls.

Okay, I’m on nanny duty this morning so I better jet. But here’s to successful holiday prezzie-gifting, gorgeous spas and homes that look like hotels. Yay!

Tomorrow I’m having lunch with my new writer pal Julia Somewhere In Transition Barclay. (Someday I’ll stop referring to her as Julia Somewhere In Transition Barclay, but for now, she’s Julia Somewhere In Transition Barclay.) And I intend to bring her a goodie bag stuffed with beautifiers.

Not that she needs them; this isn’t an indictment of her looks, which are lovely.

Rather, it’s that thing we gals do. We gift. Or, in my case, we re-gift from the cavernous recesses of our Beauty Armoires.

Because she and I don’t know each other that well yet, I only have the most fleeting cues to go by: She has long hair. It’s blonde. She doesn’t wear oodles of makeup, but I’m sure she’d appreciate one or two items along those lines. And skincare.

Yes, I know; it’s a little weird for one woman to give another woman skincare. But since Julia Somewhere In Transition Barclay and I are exactly the same age (whatever, I’m a few months older), I have a sneaking suspicion what some of her complexion concerns might be.

So right now, I’m going on a fishing expedition. When I return, I’ll report on what I nabbed for her.

Okay, I’m back. And I’ve collected:

1. Aveda Damage Remedy Restructuring Conditioner

2. Comfort Zone Renight Recover Cream

3. Tata Harper Restorative Eye Creme

4. Caudalie Vinosource Quenching Sorbet-Crème

5. Murad Eye Lift Illuminator

6. Shea Moisture Organic Raw Shea Butter Soap

And a…

7. Set of Sonia Kashuk makeup brushes, kinda like this one

There, I think she’ll like all that. And it won’t be too taxing to lug all that into the office for her. Yay. A win-win, as they say.

Before anyone gets their knickers in a twist and starts going all Occupy Wall Street on me, let me just state upfront that this blog post is mostly aimed at preggos and new moms who have a bit of disposable income at their….disposal. Maybe not Petra Ecclestone-level dough, but definitely a bit of pocket change.

I know people get really pissed about that these days; I can’t tell you how many blogosphere wrist slaps I’ve gotten for admitting I belong to Harry & David’s Organic Fruit Of The Month Club. Sheesh, the venom. You’d have thought I’d traded the Wee Lass for a Birkin.

Anyway, the only reason I’m being so gauche as to discuss money is that I’m about to tell you about a very smart – if indulgent – plan called FIT MOM that can help you ace your pregnancy and | or new mommyhood feeling vibrant and energetic and up to the challenge. That’s really important. Given how much our hyped-up, modern lives have cut us off from a more natural, slower approach to having babies and recuperating postpartum, a qualified support team can be a godsend.

So first, I’d like to tell you the specifics of FIT MOM, which is brought to you by FITiST, the members-only “one-stop booking website for wellness and fitness,” based in New York and L.A., that offers a range of curated regimens and access to many top fitness studios and spas. Then I’ll summarize some very useful advice I got from the press event to launch the program.

FIT MOM

Monthly Plan

* 12 classes customized by Pregnancy Fitness Expert Andrea Orbeck. Via Skype, Andrea will tailor a program perfectly suited to your body, goals, lifestyle and needs.
* Weekly nutrition advice from Dr. Oz Garcia
* One private yoga session
* Caudalie Limited Edition Spa in a Bag: Tone and Slim Collection
* Price: $525 for New Yorkers; $440 for Los Angelenos

FIT MOM PRESS EVENT

There was a panel of super-smarties at the press event, including Orbeck, whom I’d never met before, and celeb nutritionist Oz Garcia, whom I’ve known for years and have blogged about several times. Rounding out the group were Pilates whiz Brooke Siler; yogi Kristin McGee and Mathilde Thomas, co-founder of the lovely French skincare brand Caudalie.

Here, excellent preggo + postpartum tips from each:

1. Andrea Orbeck: Having whipped Heidi Klum into shape after baby number four (!), Andrea is known as “the Pied Piper of sexy bottoms and long, lean legs.” She’s all about re-orging your fitness routine to fit your new post-newborn life. Only have 10 minutes to work out? Go for it, no excuses. “Intensity is a surrogate for duration,” she says. “You have to re-invent and be creative,” breaking one long mega-session into do-able chunks.

2. Oz Garcia: I felt vindicated when Oz mentioned that pregnancy can wreak havoc on our thyroids. Since my own GP scoffed when I posited this theory, I loved hearing this über wellness guru basically tell me that I wasn’t insane. According to Oz, a lot of what gets diagnosed as postpartum depression may in fact be thyroiditis. So to that end, he suggests that every new mom who isn’t feel up to snuff get her thyroid tested. Wearing his nutritionist’s hat, Oz urges a largely plant-based diet, with a bit of low-mercury seafood thrown into the mix (or fish oil capsules) for the omega 3 essential fatty acids they provide. “Eat small,” he says, “trout, bass, grouper, salmon and sardines.” Other healthy musts: Nuts, lentils, beans. But if you’re pregnant, he says, stay the hell away from coffee. Caffeine easily leaps the placental barrier, and you don’t want to subject your little Miss or Mister to that.

3. Brooke Siler: A Pilates pioneer of sorts – not that she isn’t totally young and amazing! – Brooke says to make the playground your new fitness studio. In other words, instead of sitting on that bench yakking with the nannies and checking your CrackBerry, do some pull ups on the monkey bars, or run a few laps around the perimeter. Just move it. Also: If you’ve never done Pilates before, pregnancy is not the time to start. Wait until you’ve delivered – and fully recuperated – before you embark on a beginner program. Another cute tip: Use your baby as a weight for squats. Trust me, they’ll love it.

4. Kristin McGee: While standing balance poses can really help shore up your confidence around carrying your ever-growing bundle of joy, McGee says that Plank, an all-over toner that’s fairly easy to execute, is pretty much her desert island must-have move. And to keep your energy high, she recommends keeping an empty Altoids tin packed with almonds.

5. Mathilde Thomas: To prevent the dreaded “mask of pregnancy,” Mathilde says SPF is crucial. And make sure to OD on body moisturizer, despite the fact that your face might actually be producing more oil during pregnancy and require a lighter formula. Not gaining too much weight while pregnant is also a great idea, she says. I happen to agree with her. But bear in mind she’s French, and as we all know, French women don’t get fat.

More on Mathilde in an upcoming blog post. I’m going to visit the gorge Caudalie spa at the Plaza Hotel, so I’ll report back on my yummy experience. Just because the Wee Lass is pushing six doesn’t mean I don’t need to pamper myself, oui?

I think it’s pretty safe to say that I have a deep and abiding obsession with chemical peel pads. I once pitched a two-page magazine story about the wonders of the little white exfoliating discs, and I had absolutely zero trouble finding enough things to say about how ground-breaking and life-changing I find them to be.

(I know – I need to get a life. Immediately.)

After a quick scan of these here Momover archives, I see that I’ve blogged about a whole mess of peel pads, including Peter Thomas Roth, Arcona, philosophy and Colbert MD.

Well, say hello to the hottie du jour: Dr. Dennis Gross Alpha Beta Peel Extra Strength.

I can’t tell whether I’m happy or sad that I discovered them on a recent wander through Sephora. On the plus side, I’m in serious like. On the minus side, I’m in debt. Not really. But they aren’t cheap, that is for damn sure.

And between the $200 Refissa and the $85 robo peel pads, my skincare shopping cart is getting a little spendy these days.

But maybe this is my new normal. Maybe I’ve turned some sinister corner and I’ll never not need the razzle dazzle provided by my beloved Refissa and my peel pad of the moment.

Whatever. I’m just super-duper glad they were concocted by the mad scientists in the beauty labs. Love you, mad scientists.

On Friday afternoon, as I was making my way back home to Momover Central from a schmancy beauty luncheon at the Waldorf, an email query popped up on my iPhone: Would I like to be granted media access to listen to Dr. Brandt’s radio show on Saturday? Gwyneth Paltrow would be his special guest.

Hells yes, I tapped back.

Faithful Momoverettes know I blog about Dr. B incessantly.

And while I blog about GP less incessantly, she was nonetheless the recipient of my first-ever Hot-Mama Appreciation Award. Love her. Team Gwyneth, big-time.

So I was happy to tune in to hear these two peppy peeps chirp about beauty and wellness. And I agreed with so much of what they had to say, which I will now convey to you, my lovely reader, because that’s exactly the type of super-nice person I am.

I will lead with Dr. B because it’s his show.

Dr. Brandt’s Top Beauty & Wellness Tips

1. Swathe yourself like a beekeeper and avoid the sun like the plague. Or, alternatively, just be normal and wear sunscreen.

2. Juice up some greens every morning in your trusty blender. Dr. B likes to pretend that his fictional wife Edna is whipping up his little celery | kale | spinach | ginger | green apple | ginger concoction, but you don’t really need all that backstory to crank out a healthy bevvie of your own.

3. Make time to prepare decent meals for yourself. None of this eating on the fly nonsense. You are worthy, darn it! Stay the heck away from the Taco Bell drive-thru! On crazed work days, when he’s flitting from patient to patient with a Botox needle in his hand, Dr. B even says a little prayer first before wolfing down his lunch and getting back to business.

4. Ingest vitamins topically and orally. Taking issue with the recent Iowa Women’s Health Study linking vitamin supplement intake with a higher mortality rate among women, Dr. B says we still need to popping and slathering. He likes B vitamins for hair and skin (niacin topically and biotin orally); vitamin D orally for overall great health and immune support; and Omega 3s obtained through foods like salmon, walnuts and flaxseed oil.

5. Steer clear of sugar. Dr. B is convinced we can retrain our taste buds to prefer less-sweet fare. And he’s adamant that we should. Not only does it add unwelcome padding, it contributes to wrinkles and sagging and spikes our insulin and cortisol levels. Your poor bod doesn’t deserve all that sagging and spiking.

GP’s Top Beauty & Wellness Tips

1. Sleep. And then sleep some more.

2. Drink tons of water.

3. Get tons of exercise. Gwyneth says she does cardio five times a week, and credits Tracy Anderson for helping her feel confident when she has to strip down to her skivvies in movies.

4. Give your digestive system a rest every once in a while with some type of cleanse. When she’s up for a major overhaul, she prefers to follow Alejandro Junger’s three-week Clean program. But she’ll also do a five-day juice fast from time to time. Our world is just too toxic, she says, not to take that extra step to rejuvenate.

5. Feel happy and positive. I loved that she said that focusing on all the good stuff in the world (her world, the world) is her number one beauty secret. We can all do that. Personally, when I’m happy and relaxed I look five years younger. It’s so much more effective, and family-friendly, than the $500 miracle cream.

There comes a time in every woman’s life when she needs to push aside her pricey OTC miracle cremes and clear some shelf space for the guns-blazing prescription stuff.

For me, that time came this summer. Actually, my moment of truth arrived a lot earlier than that, but I managed to bury my head in the sand like an ostrich about it for quite a while. It also came in handy that my eyesight isn’t amazing and I refuse to wear glasses. If your vision is sorta lousy, and you squint whenever you look in the mirror, you are perpetually 27.

Try it; denial is not merely a river in Egypt.

But for whatever reasons, I’ve been facing the music lately. Kinda. I could definitely benefit from some more invasive dermatological intervention. But I already tried that to do that, and I completely caved before any filler-filled syringes were actually waved about.

Wuss, thy name is Momover Lady.

Not that all was for naught: Along with an ill-defined desire to learn to age gracefully, I got something powerful out of my near-needle experience: A prescription for Refissa. Snap. I’m in love.

Though it can’t help with sagging and loss of volume (two huge bummers attached to advancing years) Refissa, which is a moisturizing spin on retinoic acid, addresses the third ghastly hallmark of aging skin: Discoloration, fine lines and that crepey-ness that comes from too much sun and champs.

It’s pretty mild – containing only 0.05 percent of tretinoin, the prescription-strength vitamin A used in Retin A. Still, that’s more than Renova (0.02 percent), the earlier ramped-down version of Retin A. And it’s a hell of a lot more high-test vitamin A than you’ll ever find in a drug- or department store retinol product.

Which isn’t to say that retinol products are a waste of time, because they aren’t. Several are really fantastic. But they don’t contain 0.05 percent tretinoin. If they did, you’d need a prescription to buy them.

Perhaps you’re not where I am, face-wise. If not, by all means dive into a big vat of RoC or philosophy help me.

But let’s say you want to raise your game, and give those little brown spots and sun damage a swift kick in the pants. Or a gradual kick in the pants, if, like me, your skin only likes to be Refissad about three times a week. Just call your dermy doc and go for it. You have nothing to lose but the third ghastly hallmark of aging skin.

I don’t mean to beat a dead horse (Worst. Expression. Ever.), but I’m still not completely over my near-needle experience at Dr. Brandt’s last week.

Of course it didn’t help that when I went to see my beloved colorist, Anthony Gianzero, he seriously questioned the wisdom of my bail-out. His stance, basically, was: “Oh babe, don’t kid yourself – you still need shit.”

I’m putting words in his mouth, but after 15 years of hanging out with him on a monthly basis, I feel at liberty to do so.

Here’s what he actually said: “Why not treat yourself? What do you ever do for YOU? It’s all about your kid. Maybe just a little around your eyes. That’s all I do, and look at me. Go to my new guy. I’ll give you his number.”

And here’s what I was thinking when he said all that: What do I ever do for ME? Have you met me? This entire website is devoted to me and my cockamamie self-obsessions. In fact, the Momover mommy-festo is one of high-powered self-care and pampering. I’m all about us, not the tot-lets.

Anyway, I’m getting off point here with my ranting, and I really wanted to tell you what New York mommy-socialite Marina Rust is doing to stave off a sagging jawline.

In a new piece for Vogue (the August “age” issue again, which I blogged about over the weekend), Rust writes about the rather elaborate measures she’s taking to tighten up sans scalpel.

In essence, she’s got a fleet of facialists on speed-dial, all of whom deploy electricity and/or some type of manual manipulation to zap and push drooping skin back into place. She regularly gets a “Platinum Lift” from aesthetician Mary Schook, and pays twice-monthly visits to Face Place New York for Galvanic Facial Treatments.

Oh, and she avoids booze.  Which can’t be easy given the fact that she’s rush rush rushing from one swanky soirée to the next every night of her glam life.

I’m intrigued – about the Mary Schook and Face Place bit. (The steering-clear-of-Champs bit is not music to my ears.) For years I’ve been meaning to try a facial by Tracie Martyn, who was way ahead of the curve on this whole electricity jazz. Tracie’s a fave of such gorge surgery-avoiders as Diane von Furstenberg and Susan Sarandon.

Inspired by Marina’s tale, I’m also going to crack open my vast library of facial exercise books. I’m not kidding; I have like 5 of them now. I even nabbed an advance copy of Ultimate Facercise by Carole Maggio during my guest-editing gig last month. Think I’ll also dust off my trusty NuFACE and Neckline Slimmer and rev those puppies up again.

Scrunch, zap. Scrunch, zap. Me, me, me.

Well, well, well. The plot thickens.

After months of anticipating my big needle-fest with Dr. Brandt – Botox, Restylane, the whole nine yards – I wimped-out in the reception area of his New York office. He was super behind schedule (at least an hour and a half), and as I sat there, it gave me ample time to think about how much I didn’t want to be sitting there.

People kill to get an appointment with this guy; he’s the best of the best, The Baron of Botox. And there isn’t a doubt in my mind that he would’ve turned the clock back on my mug. He said he could make me look 15 years younger, and I completely believe him.

But as I cooled my heels in his waiting room, flipping through his amazing stash of art and fashion books, I couldn’t help but wonder: And then what? What happens six months from now? Do I just do it all over again?

Luckily, my answer was parked in the chair next to me in the form of a petite blonde clad in baggy cargos, a black tank and FitFlops. It turns out she was booked for the same time as me. They do that at Dr B’s, because he has multiple rooms that he just bounces between, syringe in hand. And she was such a seasoned pro that she’d brought provisions to settle in for the long haul.

When she asked the receptionist how long the wait would be – and then promptly whipped a banana out of her Prada crossbody – I knew I was a goner.

“I’ve never done this before,” I confided. “Does it always take this long to actually get in to see him?”

“Yes,” she said. “And then you have to be numbed, so that’s another half hour.”

At this point, she took off her aviators and I could see the wrinkles and crinkles around her eyes. I’m guessing she’s about 10 years older than I am, but dressed in a way that reads much younger. (The tank, the FitFlops.)

She was so friendly and warm, and really wanted me to make a trek to the deli across the street so I could shore up my energy like she was doing with her stash of fruit and bottled water.

Turns out I did make that trek, but it was out the door and back out into the great wide world, sans Botox, sans fillers. And immediately I felt better.

Calmer. More centered. In tune with the total Crunchista I secretly am.

Would I like to look younger? Absolutely. But I don’t think, for me at least, the answer lies at the end of a needle. I think I’d rather do some other stuff instead. Like take care of all the little tiny things that drive me nuts, the stuff I attack with concealer every day.

In other words, there are a few squiggly broken capillaries and brown spots I think Dr. B could zap for me with a laser. I could also get a light chemical peel down the road. And the Refissa he prescribed for me, as well as his whitening products, are excellent. So I want to keep using those.

For now though, I’m just saying no to the needle.

I can’t say that there was any one particular thing that made me change my mind. Rather, it was a perfect storm of s–t that sent me over the edge. The petite blonde in the tank top. The new issue of Star that I nabbed at the drugstore en route to Dr. B’s, the one with the “Botox Stars & Frozen Faces” story emblazoned on the cover.

The utterly terrifying recent episode of RHONY when Jill goes to Dr. Wexler for a “liquid facelift.” Oh my effing god, did you seeee that? I’m surprised I didn’t cancel my appointment on the spot.

Or – gasp – maybe I just want to figure out a way to gracefully accept the fact that I’m getting older. Now there’s a project.

Day four of Road Trip 2011: Heartland America. We’re in gorge downtown Chicago as I try to peck this blog post out on Hubby’s eensy weensy Mac Air. Jiminy Christmas, it’s like a Polly Pockets version of a laptop.

So please forgive me if I start writing like this jadfhaifhiauhfeiourhaieuhjhvbufg all of a sudden.

Anyway, here’s what’s going super-duper well on this cross-country trek so far: my beauty regimen. Just goes to show you that the only thing standing between me and amazing skin is a solid hour bookending my day for my elaborate morning and evening toilettes, as the French say.

Basically I’ve been doing everything Dr. Brandt told me to do a month ago, including deploying as much of the Refissa as my complexion can take, and then using some of his really excellent whitening products to dislodge stubborn brown spots and other bits of sun damage.

So before breakie and beddy bye, I’ve been loading up on his Light Years Away Whitening Essence layered under Light Years Away Whitening Cream. The latter is in such a schmancy giant Lucite-y jar that the ONLY way I could drag it on vacay is if we were traveling via Lexus SUV, which we are. (Road trips are so, so, so brills if you’re prone to overpacking, as I am.)

Hubby is getting antsy to reclaim his miniature computer, so I have to sign off now. But not before saying how GREATLY improved my mug is looking, even after this relatively short stint of hardcore beauty TLC.