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eleanorkeye · 3 years

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honey days - excerpt

Chapter One

I want to live in a castle. A hundred and five rooms, each a different color, because sometimes I like emerald green, sometimes I like powdery pink, and sometimes, my favorite color in the whole world is jetty, midnight, inkwell black. I will craft my own stained glass and let the foyer bathe me in rainbows at sunrise. Hopefully, that front room will look east, and then I can choose which hue to run with for the rest of the day. If it faces west, however, I can deal, something of reflection. I know that I want a greenhouse for the winter and a garden for the summer. In the springtime, my hundred year old trees will flower, and in the autumn, of which there must be ample autumn wherever my castle is built or remodeled, those same trees and all of the others in the little forest that is my surrounding land, must go red and gold. I hope to have apple trees, but if someone from the town down the hill, where I get along with every single person, wants to place a crate of them on my old, or made to look, steps each October, that is fine. My lack of height doesn’t lend well to taking fruit from trees. Actually, I would love to climb my trees. Is it too late to have an orchard in the backyard, too? I don’t need too much in the way of a kitchen— I haven’t been very hungry lately— but I feel strongly about hallways. They should be bright. Rugs are important, for my castle will have wooden floors. I’m drawn to red rugs, though I don’t know really why. In any case, each room should have a rug, because I want to run all through the estate, and I feel like the echo of my shoes will wear on me. The shiny black shoes with the winged tips and the spiked-bottom shoes with brown plaid aren’t meant for running on hardwood, anyway. I have grand visions of a different outfit that belongs to each room, but I think that I only want five pairs of shoes. Unkind-weather boots, dark, some kind of imitation leather because cows are for hugs and milk, but only when they agree, since I can’t eat meat anymore. I’ll have my shiny wing-tipped black shoes, the spiky-bottomed plaid shoes, some flat canvas lace-ups for sportier looks, and- “What are you thinking about, Hudson?” Margarite always asks me what I am thinking about just before she leaves me to try and fall asleep. Apparently, I think of the funniest things around this time. When she asks, she combs her fingers through my cinnamon colored half curls to get the knots out and judge how much has fallen out since last night. I think that it’s her fingernails that get me thinking. Then again, just about any woman could comb her fingernails through my hair and I would be spaced out for hours. “Shoes.” She gives a questioning sound. “Shoes?” I just nod, my eyes to the window. The moon should be full one of these nights, and with how much trouble I have had getting to sleep at a reasonable hour recently, it’s an incentive. I could stare at the sky forever. Once the town goes to sleep, once the lights have all went out, the stars take their place. In other times that I have laid in this bed, I have gotten up and stood at the window, but I don’t think I will do that tonight. Maybe I’ll be able to see which sign is in the sky from here. I’m not sure, though. Five stars shine in the sky beyond Roseville Towneship Medical Centre, room three two zero four. I only ever count five, and there is no way in which I could tell you why. “What about shoes, Hudson?” I shake my head. “I’ve moved on.” Maybe I won’t have trouble sleeping anymore by the time I move to my castle. I don’t really have the money for it right now. I’m just a little tailor, but I’m good enough at it to save up. It’s not easy for me to go back to work now. Usually, I still work while I’m here since anyone can bring me my sewing box and projects, but this time is different. I don’t want to think about it. I want to think of my castle, because even though I am stuck here for now, in this yellowish-white room with squares on the pleated and round-hemmed curtains, sun-powered lights in the ceiling that are so unkind, and the scratchiest blankets in the world, someday, I will live in a castle. I just hope that someday is relatively soon. Now, to spend so much time in rooms with no art on the walls, single beds, higher than they should be, with overbleached white sheets, and these little lamps with sun-bulbs that affix to the tall headboard, switches on the walls and little sketching monitors or tall poles adorned with clear bags, there is no soul to be found. I have been so drained of anything. It’s harder to breathe. It’s harder to speak. It is so much harder to sleep. Even if, on the little table beside the window, there is a radio, there isn’t any life here. Maybe that’s the point. I was doing so well until recently. For months, I never even thought of anything being out of place. I worked in my parents’ laundromat, setting my sewing machine up at the counter. When anyone came in for their drycleaning, they spoke to me before my mother. It was always something along the lines of looking better. I’d like to think that I always look decent, being very much my mother’s son and all, but I am biased towards the bruisier, rheumy aesthetics. They’re all I’ve ever really known, I guess. I’ve never woken up feeling rested. Not a day goes by without an ache or standing too quickly. Too many times in life, I have jumped to my feet, only to fall over like a logged tree. There must be some pretty short trees out there for this simile to work. Anyway, daily inconveniences aside, I had been doing so well. I saw my friends often and put my paychecks towards new albums or scented candles or throw pillows. I made my bed every morning after waking up on time after falling asleep quickly. Three meals a day, colorful ones without ingredients that made things worse, coordinated outfits that fit right, and I even got a good haircut at a point. None of my friends pointed out that I should find different sweater sizes. They didn’t call my haircut, “uh… interesting…” and not one person asked if I’d slept alright the night before. I was smiley, talkative, and present. I was fuzzy and warm and just about to turn twenty-four. I was betting castle savings that I’d never have Margarite’s good fingernails through my hair again, or that it would be falling out again. But I guess I bet a bit too much. I was out with a girl named Melody, laughing over conspiracy theories and craft brews at the after-hour library. I liked Melody a lot. We met at the record shop. My favorite lead from my favorite band left last March. I knew that a solo album had been released, as well as a business as usual album from the two members left, but I hadn’t the heart to invest in either of them until then. I have a favorite member, but it was still heartbreaking to have to choose a side. The record shop had both albums on a table. The single from the solo record had gone to number one, the other number two, and the feud was so dramatic that I couldn’t escape it. It tore me apart. Truly. I’d gotten so bad, and to not have my favorite band behind me, to have my favorite band falling apart so dramatically right in front of me, threw me into episodes of nothing mattering more often than I’d like to admit. The nurses gave me news when they found out from the gossip columns in the paper, but only good news. I couldn’t handle any more bad news. Anyway, Melody saw me weighing my options at the table. “They’re both good,” she said from the counter. I turned quickly, wondering when the owner, an older and worse for wear gentleman who has a warrant out for anything on the baroque spectrum and does not condone my checkerboard mustard yellow and navy blue slacks— which look amazing, mind you— had been replaced with a goddess of heavy eye makeup, loose-bobbed curls the color of coffee, and, fatefully, a navy blue overall shift dress atop a mustard yellow turtleneck. I was in love. I pushed back my tears as quickly as I could. I stammered the only thing that mattered to me. “Which is more baroque?” She smiled through caramel lipstick. “Solo album.” So I bought the solo album, we exchanged names and free evenings, and then on Saturday, chose a table in the new non-fiction section. I talk politics like a madman, and luckily, Melody and I agree on universal healthcare and social progress, so we got wheat-buzzed and laughed at the right wing. Roseville is a small, cobblestone town situated barely inside cotton and tobacco country, and maybe it was the will of the conservatives at the bar, or maybe I got too optimistic in my newfound alcohol tolerance, but either way, I made it halfway back to my parents’ house at the end of White Street before waking up on the sidewalk at the hands of burly paramedics, my date replaced with a canvas-covered trauma-trolley, and my lifelong cycle of, “actually, it can get worse this time” repeating itself. I didn’t ask what happened. I know how it goes by now. I didn’t wonder what madness my body would assault me with this time. I’ve learned better than to try and predict it. I didn’t bother asking how long I’d be spending in room three two zero four of Roseville Towneship Medical Complex. They always underestimate. I took my new side effect of excruciating pain down my legs, six hands’ worth of needle drips per carpal set, and bad news after bad news after bad news, and decided to think of other things. Like living in a castle, for example. “We’ll get you reunited with your shoes soon,” Margarite presently tries. I respond with a roll of violently hazel eyes and a breath not too strong to beckon the breather again. “Once you’re a little more vibrant.” “That’s offensive, Margarite.” “Last time, you called it clever.” “Last time, I couldn’t remember my name.” “Which reminds me,” she takes my board of paperwork from the foot of the bed. “What’s your name again?” I’ve done this six times today— name, age, month and day of birth, sun sign, height, and, get ready for this one, street address. Exciting stuff. I love feeling like I’m locked out of my life. “Hudson James Walker, twenty-four, August twenty-second, Leo, if my birth time is to be believed, five-seven in shoes, and,” I catch my breath. “Three-thirteen White Street.” She returns the board. “At least you don’t have to worry about any of that,” as she reaches the door, the lights are cut off. “Goodnight, Hudson.” “Don’t count on it, Margarite.” The begged question at this point is along the lines of, “What is wrong with me?” Short answer: Everything. No, honestly, it is my tendency to collapse at complete random and violently convulse until something is knocked off-kilter, out of place, or into dormancy. It comes in clusters. I’ll go a few months completely fine, usually immediately after Roseville Medical glues me back together, and then it will strike with the most random thing at the most random time. My most recent hiatus was the shortest at three months, but it was the best. I got summer, and I do appreciate that, because I got my birthday, too. The lake outside town was so nice on the solstice. I couldn’t go in past my waist because I still had patches taped to my chest from having lightning pressed against the lifespots, but I did take my shirt off despite the bolt scars up my shoulders. I think that people were more obligated to stare by the month’s worth of hair in the time I couldn’t shave, but I understand that. I’m small… for the most part… and have a very gentle face— long eyelashes, low hairline, the whole nine— so, really, there is no excuse for me to have as much hair on my chest, arms, and legs as I do. Some lake-goers, I think, were waiting for me to speak, and when my s’s and high-ish tenor delivered in spades— ‘sspadess’— the mystery got that much deeper. I enunciate a lot, and very little of it, if any, comes across as masculine, so I get it. It’s all confused. Overall, summer was great, though. I enjoyed it alongside my health, toothy smile, and best friend. Autumn is my favorite season by far, though. October the only month I live for, so losing this year is a bit of a— sigh— bummer, but I’ll live. Wait. The time before last was the most dramatic. I think that they shocked me six times. The hair doesn’t grow there anymore. I kept the patches on for six months. I’m not sure the scars will ever go away. So, yes, I’ve died before, here, and, yes, it keeps me awake at night. I still get sore around my ribs sometimes. It was my memory last time, and they said that they fixed it, and I’m inclined to believe them what with the fact that I remember it, but I don’t recall exactly how. I don’t want to know. If I know, then I know what to worry about. This time, it flipped a switch that turned my legs to radio static. It hurts at the best of times. I have learned to cope with the base hurt, the stationary static, but they won’t send me home because, unless I stay completely still above the waist, it is absolutely unbearable. It is safe to say that I am mildly dramatic, but I have an incredible pain tolerance. If I say something hurts at a ten, I don’t. If something hurts at a ten, I am collapsed to the floor, unconscious. I can’t be touched below the hip flexors without coughing up whatever I’ve eaten in the past five days, and I think that’s why they aren’t offering food anymore. A shower, during which I never stood, was so intense that it stopped them pushing liquids, too, and I’ve never been so thirsty, but drinking then involves getting up twenty minutes later, so I’ve taken to dealing with it. No one is allowed to give me anything, and I don’t really want to sneak over to the sink. I am just going to be thirsty forever, feeling no relief from painkillers, breaking down into tears when I remember how much I love toast. It’s bad this time. It was bad last time. It was bad the two times before that. Before those times, however, it was little more than finding a safe place to lie down once every few months and, at worst, waking up with bruises. I got warnings before anything happened, a little shake in my hands. The episodes were short, no more than five minutes. No switches were ever flipped, the day just went on as normal. It wasn’t fun, but it wasn’t bad. I worked regularly. I saw my friends often. I lived with my girlfriend. She found me the first bad time. We rented a one-bedroom apartment on North Main Street, tucked away between the historical district and the park. It was an industrial thing, an old mill, I think. The ceilings were high, the windows were tall, and all of the furniture was either dark wood or upholstered mustard yellow. I did not decorate the apartment. Maximalism and I don’t do well together. I asked only for my turntable and a third of a bed. Her name was Emily Monday, and I’m pretty sure that it still is. She had blonde hair, and I’m pretty sure that she still does. We dated for three years. I don’t really want to talk more about any aspects that aren’t medical, but I loved her. I loved her so terribly. I got along with her about as well as I get along with maximalism, but I really did love her. It was around three in the morning when she found me on the vinyl tiled kitchen floor, affront the laminate ‘wood’ cabinets, or so the people involved have told me. She knew as much as I did about it. Less than five minutes, don’t try to stop it, I’ll deal with the aftermath when I wake up, “don’t worry about it, babe. You wouldn’t even know it happened if I hadn’t told you.” Except, I got no warning. I don’t even remember going into the kitchen. I remember falling asleep combing my fingers through the longest, straightest, softest blonde hair, and then I woke up in July. The incident happened in the second week of June. I don’t really know what tipped her to call paramedics, and I haven’t gotten around to asking her about it, so we’ll never know. I take a bit of joy imagining two burly men dragging me down the three flights of stairs, no lift, that I was cursed to climb a few times a day. I’m not heavy, but they must have been on their toes, never knowing when I would flail and hit them. It’s what the ideally built man deserves, to be scared of me for once. Then again, everyone who knows is absolutely terrified of me. I shiver or cough or stare into one spot trying to add two double digit numbers together for too long and everyone has a panic attack. I don’t work register anymore. I couldn’t find words for a while after that first bad time, but Emily could, and that was that. We ran into each other at the lake over the summer. Her new boyfriend is taller than I am. He has broader shoulders and a deeper voice, doesn’t overdo ‘s’s or anything. We went to school together, all three of us. He’s a nice guy, I guess. I never really knew him. He dragged her up to me, saying that we should talk, catch up. I politely lied that I had to go, but there we three were, half-naked on a man-made beach. I don’t remember what we said, but I remember my best friend, Lionel Lee, ending it by making the sound of thunder by cupping his hands over his mouth and dragging me away to collect my clothes. Lionel is a great friend. I wonder why he hasn’t called in the week since I’ve been here. I wonder what color I’ll paint my bedroom in the castle.

There comes a point. I’ll start with that. There comes a point, and to elaborate, there comes a point in situations such as mine at which all avenues have been exhausted, and a decision must be made. I’ve known medications before, three of them. Two of the three didn’t work, but the one that did was so terribly unkind that it pushed me over a terribly unkind edge, and it was never an avenue again until yesterday afternoon. Yesterday? Yesterday— it’s tomorrow now, quarter past three. I was confronted by a doctor alone, in stark contrast to the usual confrontation involving my mother. I know this doctor well, but I can’t ever remember his name. I guess that is to be expected in a situation such as mine. He said that we all know what works in controlling these spells, and that I should strongly consider considering it again. This is not my worst outcome, but if a usual pattern is to be followed, it will get worse over the next few days, and then disappear for a while, only to come back that much scarier. I can always rely on being brought back with how irrationally eager my soul is to stay in this body, but it has been implied that I should avoid it in the first place. I agree, but I cannot subject myself to what I was subjected to on that chemical compound the last time. I told him that. In response, and in complete honesty, he told me that I have about a hundred days left to live, should I choose to live alone. Alone, referring to free of chemical intervention, I can move in with as many women as I’d like. Of course, a hundred days is a rough estimate. It could be fewer or it could be more, but he said that one hundred days was a good estimate for me. He then said that I should rethink my decision. I refused to rethink my decision.

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dawnasiler · 4 years

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SAG Awards 2020: The Best Skin, Hair and Makeup Looks on the Red Carpet

As award season marches on, this week brings another round of celebrity beauty looks to inspire us, courtesy of last night's SAG Awards.

Also known as the Screen Actors Guild Awards, the ceremony celebrates the best in television and film—which means we get a double dose of glam from our favourite red carpet stars.

These were the best skin, hair and makeup moments:

Zoë Kravitz

Zoë Kravitz at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Close-up of Zoë Kravitz at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Two words: Blown. Away! Zoë looks like a modern-day Audrey Hepburn in this gown, gloves and elegant hair and makeup. The peach tones are doing incredible things for her skin—which isn't too covered up, since we can still see her freckles—and I love the cat eyes and subtle shading of her lids. She is flawless!

Dakota Fanning

Dakota Fanning at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Close-up of Dakota Fanning at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Dakota traded her usual girly aesthetic for a sexy, beachy vibe, and I'm here for it. Especially the messy, mermaid hair texture, which dresses down the sparkly green dress. (I think it's bad lighting that is making her blonde seem so yellow!) The makeup couldn't be more delicate, with sheer washes of peach on her lids and cheeks.

Dakota is wearing: Tinted lip balm in Super Cashmere

Lupita Nyong‘o

Lupita Nyong'o at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Close-up of Lupita Nyong'o at the 2020 SAG Awards.

You don't often see old Hollywood hairstyles with Afro hair texture, but Lupita's 1940s-inspired updo shows us how it's done. Then, she matched her makeup to her dress by layering white next to black eyeliner. The rich berry blush and lipstick bring it all together.

Lupita is wearing: Blush in Haute Couture • Eyeliner in Black Vinyl • Eyeliner in French Lace • False lashes in C.10 • Lipstick in Jezebel

Reese Witherspoon

Reese Witherspoon at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Close-up of Reese Witherspoon at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Reese is wearing the exact same flippy bob hairstyle we saw at the Golden Globes, but now I like it even better. I think it's because the makeup colours are a lot more flattering here—no brown tones, and a cherry lipstick that brings her face to life. All together, the effect is young and fresh.

Scarlett Johansson

Scarlett Johansson at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Close-up of Scarlett Johansson at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Scarlett is back on her game with this slick, tight updo and bright orangey-red lipstick. I love how healthy her skin looks (and there's no sign of the white under-eyes we saw at the Golden Globes!). Her eyes are emphasized with warm shimmery shadow, a sweep of liquid liner, and a pop of gold at the inner corners.

Sophie Turner

Sophie Turner at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Close-up of Sophie Turner at the 2020 SAG Awards.

While it doesn't have the wow factor of her 2019 Met Gala look, Sophie's long waves and peachy-pink makeup are super pretty. Rather than dark eyeliner or shadow, she's relying on extra long lashes to make her eyes pop. I also like the light dusting of sparkly shadow on top of the pink.

Joey King

Joey King at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Close-up of Joey King at the 2020 SAG Awards.

I appreciate how Joey keeps mixing it up this award season. This time, it's all about the slicked-back hair, extra long earrings and sultry, smoky charcoal eyeshadow. Although I'd prefer a slightly lighter touch, this is probably my favourite look I've seen on her yet. (I hope she tones down the lip injections, though!)

Joey is wearing: Moisturizer • Primer • Foundation in 20CP • Concealer in 20CP • Powder in 30NN • Blush in Going Native • Setting spray • Eyeshadow primer • Eyeshadow in Stranded, Jet and Drift • Eyeshadow in Midnight Cowboy • Eyeliner in Perversion and Smoke • Mascara • Brow pencil in Cafe Kitty • Lip liner in Liar • Lipstick in Ex-Girlfriend

Michelle Williams

Michelle Williams at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Close-up of Michelle Williams at the 2020 SAG Awards.

After her stiff waves and orange dress at the Golden Globes, I'm happy to see Michelle upping the glam factor. The makeup is much more intense than usual, with long lashes, black liner and a rich red lip. (And stars are just like us—they get pimples, too!) But it's the Art Deco barrette and angular waved bob that really make this stand out.

Michelle is wearing: Serum • Moisturizer • Eye cream • Lip balm

Camila Mendes

Camila Mendes at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Close-up of Camila Mendes at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Is anyone else getting Kendall Jenner vibes from Camila? She didn't take any risks with this simple hair and makeup, but it still looks lovely. The key elements are matte skin, matte rose lipstick and soft lashes—with her unusual arched brows framing her face.

Rachel Brosnahan

Rachel Brosnahan at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Close-up of Rachel Brosnahan at the 2020 SAG Awards.

I loved Rachel's mid-length soft waves at the Golden Globes, but she's had a haircut since then and possibly a blonder hair colour. I'm not as into this textured bob, which seems too trendy for her, but I do love these smoky eyes. And she has gorgeous skin and brows.

Rachel is wearing: Foundation in Porcelaine • Concealer in 1 • Powder in 1 • Powder • Blush in Glow (as highlighter) • Blush in Petal • Eyeshadow in Steel, Marine and Baby Pink • Eyeshadow in Silky Rose, Metallic Pink and Silky Steel • Eyeliner in Sparkling Black • Mascara in Deep Black • Brow pencil in Cappuccino • Brow gel • Lip balm • Lip liner in Nude • Tinted lip balm in Nude

Jennifer Garner

Jennifer Garner at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Close-up of Jennifer Garner at the 2020 SAG Awards.

I'm glad Jennifer wore her hair down in these textured waves, because otherwise, her ensemble would've looked way too "prom." I can't fault the au naturel makeup—just a hint of mascara and a pinky tinted balm on the lips—but I feel like she deserves a stronger overall style statement. We need more edge!

Lili Reinhart

Lili Reinhart at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Close-up of Lili Reinhart at the 2020 SAG Awards.

If you feel like you've seen this before, you have—Lili wore a similar tight updo and smoky eye makeup the last time she made a red carpet appearance, at TIFF. It's nothing groundbreaking, but it shows off her beautiful skin, and I love the shading around her eyes.

Madeline Brewer

Madeline Brewer at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Close-up of Madeline Brewer at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Madeline didn't shy away from colour, choosing a bright turquoise dress and even brighter orange lipstick to go with her signature red hair. I don't find it the most sophisticated combination, though, and the hair seems a bit too casual for the outfit. What I do love are her brows, skin finish and barely-there eye makeup.

Madeline is wearing: Foundation • Lipstick in Laugh Louder

Margot Robbie

Margot Robbie at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Close-up of Margot Robbie at the 2020 SAG Awards.

What is going on with Margot this award season? She's still rocking the dark roots from the Golden Globes, and in this loose bun, it truly looks like she didn't have time to go to the hairdresser's. The makeup seems like a repeat, too—just flushed cheeks and a slightly deeper lip colour. Margot, you are better than this!

Margot is wearing: Moisturizer • Skin balm • Blush in Rosewood • Eyeshadow in Blurry Blue

Jennifer Aniston

Jennifer Aniston at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Close-up of Jennifer Aniston at the 2020 SAG Awards.

This is classic Jen, but at least she didn't wear black this time. I think her hair looks better in this straight-ish blowout, rather than the waves she had at the Golden Globes. The makeup is exactly the same. Pretty, but predictable.

Nicole Kidman

Nicole Kidman at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Close-up of Nicole Kidman at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Nicole should wear blue more often—it looks so good with her blue eyes, pale skin and strawberry blonde hair. I like the matching hint of silvery blue shadow at the inner corners of her eyes (although I don't love the lashes), and the vintage waves look thick and luscious.

Millie Bobby Brown

Millie Bobby Brown at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Close-up of Millie Bobby Brown at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Believe it or not, Millie is only 15... but here, she's been styled like someone 20 or 30 years older. The entire look is too mature—the mother of the bride outfit is the worst part, but also the stiff long hairstyle and brown smoky shadow. She needs to be taking cues from Kiernan Shipka!

Millie is wearing: Serum • Moisturizer • Eye mask • Foundation in Light Medium 8 • Powder in Light 1 • Blush in Shy Shi • Eyeshadow in Telepathic Taupe and Deep Velvet • Eyeshadow in Sublime • Eyeliner in Shade and Blk Coffee • Mascara • Brow gel in Brown • Lip oil • Lip liner in Supernatural • Lipstick in LaBeija • Lip gloss in Flesh Astral

Charlize Theron

Charlize Theron at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Close-up of Charlize Theron at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Apparently, Charlize didn't have time to do her roots, so she adorned them with a diamond tennis bracelet instead! I can't say I'm a fan (although I'm not going to complain about her blonde because I'm pretty sure it's the lighting). Her go-to neutral makeup was updated with a pinky shadow from lash lines to brows.

Sarah Hyland

Sarah Hyland at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Close-up of Sarah Hyland at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Sarah's dress and spray tan seem more fitting for a springtime music event, not the SAG Awards in January. If she'd leaned into the pastel tones for a more ethereal look, it might've worked okay. But the tan plus the lashes, liner and contouring cheapen this.

Sarah is wearing: Foundation in 550 Light/Medium • Blush in Innocence • Eyeshadow in Peach Punch • Mascara • False lashes in Mia • Brow pencil in Soft Brown • Lip gloss in Fling

Jennifer Lopez

Jennifer Lopez at the 2020 SAG Awards.

Close-up of Jennifer Lopez at the 2020 SAG Awards.

I was hopeful that JLo would give us a head-to-toe old Hollywood moment, but the hair and makeup just aren't cutting it. The two face-framing pieces pulled out of her updo are really dated, as are the smoky eyes and heavy lashes. It's also a shame that her skin is covered in thick, shiny foundation... and that goopy nude lip look needs to go!

Who had your favourite (and least favourite) beauty look on this red carpet?

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SAG Awards 2020: The Best Skin, Hair and Makeup Looks on the Red Carpet syndicated from The Skincare Edit

#skincare #beauty #makeup

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