What's In Your Cosmetics? Who Knows?

Box Clever

My recovery programme has involved a truckload of therapies: chemotherapy; radiotherapy; adjuvant therapy; massage therapy; green juice therapy; brown rice therapy; psychotherapy… to name but a few. The therapy that has undoubtedly been the most fun is my patented Product Replacement Therapy. 


PRT* involves replacing all of my toxic cosmetics and beauty products with superior natural alternatives. Good Glamour is a subject that has become as dear to my heart as it is to my wallet. I’ve said it before: natural cosmetics are the new crack!


I do know, from experience, how dizzyingly confusing this whole subject of non-toxic beauty can be. I have kissed numerous organic frogs on the path to finding my Good Glamour ‘princes’. Mistakes are undoubtedly costly.


So I’m really impressed with the people at Amarya who have come up with a cunning plan to get you hooked on natural cosmetics. It’s called the Amarya Beauty Box. So simple: for £10 a month they send you a box containing a wonderful full-sized product plus samples of what’s hot on the market. Try before you buy.


Inside my Beauty Box I found a tube of Dr Hauschka Rose Day Cream (30ml – normal price £23.95) plus a trial size of Caudalíe Gentle Cleanser (30ml) and a sample sachet of John Masters Organics Vitamin C Anti-Aging Face Serum (2ml). Reviews to follow - stay tuned. That’s gotta be £10 worth in anyone’s language!


Amarya don’t insist that you sign up for a year but, if you do, they chuck in some extra freebies!


The Beauty Box is going straight onto Chemo Chic’s list of top pressies to give to a woman who is going through cancer. The prospect of having such a delightful surprise drop through the letter box each month certainly fills me with cheer.


*Don’t forget: Product Replacement Therapy – Live! Tell me which beauty product you can’t live without and I will suggest a fabulous non-toxic alternative that will soon become your new must-have. Join in on facebook, tweet @itsjessyjones with the hashtag #PRT or leave a comment below.

Product Replacement Therapy - Live!

Almost three years ago I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I dived head first into researching and informing myself about every possible cure and contributory factor, no matter how insane. 

Once I'd calmed down a bit, I realised that there were about five areas where I could make fundamental changes in my lifestyle that would improve my outcome and, ultimately, my life. These were: 

1. diet

2. exercise

3. spiritual practices

4. getting and giving help

5. possibly the most tricky - beauty products. 

When I began to find out about toxic ingredients in my everyday cosmetics I was deeply confused. In fact, I did not want to know. It all seemed like too much information. I had other things to worry about. Yet the seed had been planted... Gradually, I began to understand what some of the issues are, what the alternatives are, which products actually work and where to get them. As my studies unfolded I became more and more horrified by what I learned. Over time I have replaced every single expensive lotion and potion in my bathroom with a safe - and superior - alternative. And, I promise you I do not miss those old 'friends' at all. 

You too may be concerned about what’s in your beauty products – yet feel overwhelmed at the prospect of digesting all this confusing technical information about ingredients, carcinogens, hormone disruptors and the rest. 

Do not despair – Product Replacement Therapy is here to help (see point 4, above).

Just tell us which beauty product you can’t live without and we will suggest a fabulous non-toxic alternative that will soon become your new must-have.

Leave a comment below or tweet your product to @itsjessyjones with the hashtag #PRT.

Airborne Glamour

So now you know that I am in sometimes-sunny Sydney. Obviously I got here on 
an aeroplane but unless you’ve ever done it yourself you may be unaware of just 
what a long and arduous flight it is from the UK to Australia… even for brats like 
me who insist on spending every penny of their hard earned cash on a business 
class ticket (best deals: Trailfinders). Which was just as well because after 
Royston drove me to the airport at 99 miles and hour with AC/DC’s Highway To 
Hell blasting at five thousand decibels I needed a bit of a lie down.


But Lily is not one to be idle for long. After reading the in-flight safety card, the 
in-flight menu and the in-flight movie programme, I put my time on the twenty-
four hour flight to work on your behalf researching in-flight beauty. 


For several years now our travels have been blighted by airport restrictions on 
what and how much we can take aboard planes in liquid, gel or lotion form. So 
packing the right products for a long flight takes meticulous planning.


After a great deal of deliberation about what I couldn’t live without for a whole 
day I have devised the Chemo Chic In-Flight Beauty Bag:


Products classed as liquids that must be carried in a clear plastic zip-lock bag.

• Pai Macadamia and Rose dry skin cream: this is a richer moisturiser so works well to combat cabin-air dryness.

• MV Organic Skincare Energizing 9-Oil Cleanser: the queen of cleansers, it is stuffed with nourishing and beautifully scented oils.

• Pai Lotus & Orange Blossom Bio Affinity Toner: soothing, hydrating and it smells divine - spray on face, neck and hands every two hours.

• Pai Rosehip Bioregenerate facial oil: mix a few drops with the moisturiser for extra richness. Because of limited space I use the moisturiser/ rosehip oil mixture on my hands as well, rather than taking a separate hand cream.

• Comvita Propolis toothpaste: try to save an almost exhausted tube so you can roll it up and it won’t take up so much space in your zip-lock bag.

• Sample size of Organic Glam Oud perfume: Oud is the classic scent of North Africa. It’s intensely evocative of exotic travel so one squirt before landing will do the trick.

• Hurraw Night Treatment balm: with blue chamomile to keep lips soft and supple.

• Ilia Bang Bang red lipstick: a sheer lippy to restore some colour to the face on arrival. Can also be used as an emergency blusher.

• Vapour Organic Beauty concealer stick: in case of in-flight breakouts, blotchiness and the inevitable dark under-eye circles.

• Organic Glam black mascara: always essential.

Products not classed as liquids.

• Inika eye pencil and brow pencil: for a two second eye glammafacation.

• Crystal mini mineral salt deodorant stick.

• Silk eye mask (the aeroplane ones tend to be plastic backed and scratchy).

• Ear plugs.

• Soft scrunchy (for keeping hair tidy whilst sleeping).

• Pair of knitted Afghan socks with leather soles for padding around the cabin.

• Mini microbead pillow: squishes up to nothing.

Congratulations!

First bit of good news that I've been meaning to tell you about:

To: Canalily

Subject: Congratulations!

Hello,

I’m writing with some exciting news, which is that Chemo Chic has made

it into 4Beauty’s round-up of the best health blogs:

http://www.channel4.com/4beauty/wellbeing/womens-health/best-health-blogs

We love your blog and are so pleased to be able to feature it on the

site.

Congrats again and Merry Christmas from the 4Beauty team.    

I am beyond pleased to be featured on their site. Channel Four's 4Beauty isn't just any old beauty website. It is, if you like, the Delia Smith of beauty sites - a gold mine of really useful basic information: make-up videos; fashion tips; how to wear lipstick and guides to creating glamorous hair styles. This is the kind of stuff that fashion magazines just don't tell us, the kind of stuff that I spent years figuring out.

My pick of the day from 4Beauty is How to Apply Mineral Makeup, something I've been meaning to write about but haven't quite found the time to do. I suggest that you read it immediately and save me the bother of writing a similar piece.

Best mineral foundations:

Inika Mineral Foundation

Jane Iredale Amazing Base

Ecotools retractable Kabuki brush

ila Put a Spell on You

Review by Jessica Jones


I am under the spell of ila. To say that ila is a range of utterly sumptuous home spa 
products would be completely underselling the whole thing. 


From their website...


“...by embracing the utmost ethical integrity that we can harness the earth’s highest natural 
vibrations: vibrations with the power to reach beyond the physical to nourish emotional and spiritual well-being too.”


Well - I’ve gotta get me some of that. 


Spiritual well-being aside, there’s nothing like a bit of luxury packaging to make me feel special. I savour the jewel-coloured boxes for a moment before ripping them open to 
get at the heavy, white glass jars nestled inside their golden cardboard linings. Following 
instructions from Denise Leicester, ila’s founder, I dump a handful of Himalayan bath salts 
with Damascena Rose Otto and Sandalwood into the tub and turn on the hot tap. Whilst 
the bathroom is steaming up I fold a fresh white towel, roll up some face flannels and place 
them neatly on the rim of the bath. Just like they do it in a real spa. Next I switch off the 
light and spark up my tuberose and rose candle. By now my tiny bathroom could be 
mistaken for  Sheherazade’s chamber. The bath is brimming so I top it off with a scattering 
of rose petals (not organic) and leave those to steep whilst I strip and rub my pale body 
down with Blissful Body Scrub - a heavenly concoction of Himalayan Salt Crystal, 
Damascena Rose Otto, Jasmine and Organic Rosehip seed oil. Then it’s simply a matter 
of sliding into the hot, scented water and lying there is a state of bliss and emotional 
nourishment for twenty minutes with a warm flannel over my eyes. Oh damn - I forgot the 
whale music. No matter, I can sing “Frosty the Snowman” and other hits from “The Phil 
Spector Christmas Collection” that Sheldon gave me last year. I mean, who is going to 
stop me?


So here is my first resolution for 2012: I’m going to be this good to myself at least once a 
week. I grant you permission to do the same.


And if you’re wondering what to buy as a Christmas treat for yourself or for a friend who is 
unwell, ponder no more.


ila Essence of Peace gift box, £74
ila Tuberose and Rose candle for inner peace, £45.94


Body Scrub for a Blissful Experience ingredients: Himalayan Salt Crystals (Sodium Chloride), Wild-Grown Argan Oil (Argania Spinosa Kernel), Almond (Prunus Amygdalus Dulcis), Rosehip Seed Oil (Rosa Canina Fruit), Sandalwood (Santalum Spicatum), Rose Otto Oil (Rosa Damascena Flower Oil), Jasmine (Jasminium Officinale), Patchouli (Pogostemon Cablin), Vitamin E Oil (Tocopherol Extract), Wild Poppy Essence, Naturally Occurring Citronellol, Geraniol.


Bath Salts for Inner Peace ingredients: Himalayan Salt Crystals (Sodium Chloride), Essential Oil Blend: Rose Otto Oil (Rosa Damascena Flower Oil), Sandalwood Oil (Santalum Spicatum), Jasmine Oil (Jasminium Officinale), Naturally Occurring Citronellol, Geraniol.


Tuberose and Rose Candle for Inner Peace ingredients: Beeswax, Jojoba Oil, Eco-soya, Essential Oils of Rose Absolut, Rose Geranium, Tuberose and Vetivert

Attention, New Yorkers

I received this from the photographer David Jay. If you're in New York this week I urge you to go along. The Scar Project is a very moving and thoughtful body of work.

Reminder: Four days left-The SCAR Project Opening Night Gala, October 28th. Exhibition runs through November 6th, 2011. Please join us in celebrating this extraordinary project. Tickets are available online at EventBrite for our Opening Night Gala or a Gallery Walk with photographer David Jay, on October 30th and November 5th. General admission tickets are also available for the entire 10 days and evenings of the exhibition. We look forward to seeing you at 201 Mulberry St. NY, NY.

For more information on The SCAR Project, please visit our website at www.thescarproject.org or our Facebook page.

Grown Up Lipstick

Organic Glam Lipstick Red (3g - £17.50)

I am a self-admitted lipstick lover. I collect them in much the same way that a magpie picks up shiny bottle tops: I’m not sure what I’m going to do with it but I rather like the look of it.

Then every few years I have a big clearout and dispose of dozens of unused cylinders of Pearly Gates Pink, Hallowe’en Green, Cadaver Black, Deep Purple, William of Orange, Putrid Puce and Miami Midas Gold.

My most recent cosmetic clearance though was altogether different. Last year I threw out my favourite lippies – the ones that I wore every day. It was a wrench to lose them but they had to go, you see I discovered that they didn’t love me like I loved them. In fact, they were full of horrible things like parabens, lead and liquid paraffin. (Well I did keep the Schiap by Nars. It’s screaming matte pink is irreplaceable. But I resolved to wear it no more than once a month.)

There are only three colours that I actually truly wear: shocking pink; deep fuchsia and RED. Red lipstick is the ultimate seducer. Picture Marilyn Monroe or Rita Hayworth in your mind’s eye for a moment. What do you see? Exactly. Red is for women, not girls. It needs to be deep. It needs to be rich. It needs to be luscious.

Over dinner Iris’s friend Donald leans towards me with a conspiratorial air. “Do you know what red lipstick was first made of?” he asks. “Cockroaches,” I reply nonchalantly. Actually, I know that the red dye is not really made from cockroaches, rather from the cochineal insect but I enjoy the frissance of saying “cockroaches” loudly in a crowded restaurant.

Donald ups the stakes: “OK so do you know why women first wore red lipstick?” I try to appear magnanimous in defeat. “No. Please do tell me.”

“Well, it was Roman prostitutes,” he raises his voice a couple of notches, “they wore it to signify that they would give blow jobs!” Donald is a top model agent in New York so I guess he knows what he's talking about. He grins from ear to ear like a contemporary Caligula.

When it comes to the new beauty, skincare is in the vanguard. Independent alchemists all over the world have been mixing and refining rare herbs and oils to create some of the most luxurious creams and unctions that womankind has known. But on the make-up front the beauty revolution is still skirmishing in the trenches. I don’t understand why that is.

“It may be because the product development is so expensive,” says Imelda. When I think about it that makes sense. Once you’ve blended a basic face cream it’s just a matter of adding various precious extracts to create a line of cosmetics. But make-up requires a large array of colours and formulations. It’s obviously much more complex.

If there is one brand that is taking groundbreaking strides towards the future of face paint it is Organic Glam. They produce a small range but every product that I have tried so far has been stellar.

I unwrap my tube of Organic Glam Red lipstick. The packaging is classic: a slim oblong of black with discreet gold trim. At first inspection the colour looks disappointingly brownish. But wait, we’re in the magical world of natural beauty – everything is not what it seems. I twist the cylinder and slick on the lippy. On my lips it turns out a beautiful shade of intense, long-lasting carmine with a deep, velvety gloss. It glows. It smoulders. It rocks!

Organic Glam is the ultimate come-hither red. Make sure that you carry an exquisitely enamelled compact mirror in your handbag so that you can seductively touch up your red in a public place and enjoy those backward glances. They know they can't afford you.

Stepping Through a Doorway

A long day is in prospect. I’m having the big scary bone scan.


Sitting on the bus I notice that I have forgotten to wear the opal ring that Miranda gave me for Christmas. I feel doomed.

9.30 - Princess Grace Hospital, Nottingham Place. I’m here for a bone densitometry scan. Confusingly, this has nothing to do with the bone scan. Rather, it is to see if I have any osteoporosis. It’s as well to be on the safe side. This scan involves lying on my back whilst low dose x-rays are wafted over my body.

10. 15 - The Harley Street Clinic. A radioactive isotope is injected from a lead cylinder into my vein. I leave after being given the usual warnings about steering clear of children and pregnant women. As if I’d fraternise with them anyway.

10.45 - Content Wellbeing. I rush in and pick up this week’s beauty product I can’t live without: Hurraw! raw, fair-trade, vegan, cold-pressed black cherry lip balm.

11.00 - Cocorino, Thayer Street. Tess meets me for coffee at this tiny Italian café. I order a huge serving of scrambled eggs with sun-dried tomatoes on sourdough toast and a soya latte. Well I am trying to gain four kilos. Tess has a more restrained bowl of granola. Tess was in hospital herself this week but she’s looking fabulous in her usual yoga-casual way. 

12.15 - LOC, Harley Street. I have a follow-up appointment with nutritionist Jane Clarke. She has asked me to keep a food diary for the past week. I rummage in my bag, pull out the diary and a can of Coke, pop the Coke and push the diary across the desk to her. “I feel that just keeping the diary has helped. I’ve drunk a lot more water and I have put on about a kilo already." As my friend Jimmy always says “What you stare at gets bigger,” – only he has a much more snappy and memorable way of putting it that I can’t remember right now. Do I imagine it or did Jane glance at the can in my hand?

“I’m drinking this for medical reasons,” I exclaim, “Jane Plant says that the phosphates in Coke leach calcium from your bones and help to flush out the radioactivity.”*

“I’m not proscriptive,” she replies. Jane’s non-judgemental approach raises her even further in my esteem. She flicks through my diary. “Gosh, you eat well.” I glow with pride. “There are two areas you need to focus on. The first is proteins – you need to eat at least two protein rich meals a day. For you, the best proteins are eggs; all kinds of seafood; lentils, chick peas and all kinds of beans – hummus on oatcakes is great - also nuts and nut butters on wholegrain toast. Second, load up on antioxidants. Drink a fresh juice every day and vary the colours – have a green juice one day, an orange one the next and a red one another day. Eat loads of salad with lots of raw stuff: add in avocado, sprouts, chicory, raw broccoli, ginger, fresh herbs, seeds or onions. Adding hummus, a boiled egg or a tahini dressing gives your salad a protein boost. Beta-carotene is important. You get that from red and orange vegetables. Interestingly, beta-carotene is more available if the vegetables are cooked – so roast tomatoes, beetroot and pumpkin and add them into your salads. Do eat your brown rice, quinoa and buckwheat pasta but don’t fill up on carbohydrates. You need to leave room to boost your protein and antioxidants. Your body is exhausted from all the chemo and emotional stress. It’s as if you’ve had you foot to the floor for the last year and a half. When you get this depleted, your body starts to break down its own muscles in order to get the amino acids it needs. For a sweet eat organic dark chocolate. Have some cake from time to time if you want. This isn’t an exercise in self-deprivation. But try to choose a cake that has lots of good stuff in it and isn’t just white flour, sugar and cream. Keep up the good work. I will see you again in two weeks.”

***

13.15 - The Harley Street Clinic - in the basement where they keep the big guns. I don the ghastly gown and lie down on the table. Here we go. June, the radiographer, chats away. “Would you like some music? We have classics: Puccini, Mozart; or some easy listening piano music; jazz – or Michael Bublé?” I remember the endless Elton John cds that Big Bruce and I listened to in the radiotherapy chamber. We were given no choice in the matter back then. “Do you have any Elton John?” I ask. June shakes her head. “Mozart then.”

“This is a new scanner,” June explains about this gigantic machine. The camera will come down very close to your face and then as it moves down it will actually touch you. Don’t panic. It is searching for the heat of your body”

“But what will happen,” I ask, panicking immediately, “if it just keeps coming down and then starts slowly crushing the life out of me, like in a James Bond film?”

“If that happens, shout really loud and we will rush in and save you.” June ties my feet together to be sure there's no possibility of escape, gives me a look and leaves the room.

I lie on the bench and try to concentrate on breathing. The big camera descends to within a couple of centimetres of my face. It begins its slow crawl along the length of my body. It lightly touches my collarbone. I glance down at the giant, beige head. I now understand what it feels like to be nuzzled by a dinosaur. A dinosaur with the word PHILIPS tattooed across its forehead. Mozart fiddles away. I become aware that the head is rising and falling, almost imperceptibly. It’s as if the dinosaur is breathing. Or am I imagining it? I take a deep breath. The big head lifts noticeably. I breathe out. It falls back. Oh my god - this creature is closely following every slight movement of my body.

There is a screen to the left of my head, showing images of what the camera is seeing. The screen is on the periphery of my vision. I strain to pull it into focus and make out two little ghostly figures, lit up and glowing from the abdomen to the top of the legs. This is the part of me that the creature is inspecting now. But I simply can’t hold the focus. I mentally recommit to getting my eyes lasered.

Some long time later an alarm sounds. I jump involuntarily. The gentle undulations of the machine and the soft strains of Mozart have lulled me into a trance. Radiographer Susan enters the room. I have often noticed that whenever I have anything like radiotherapy or an MRI or a CT scan, one radiographer walks out the door and a different one walks in at the end of the procedure. I wonder if it has anything to do with mutating qualities of the radiation?

“All done Lily. Take a seat in the waiting area and we’ll bring you the films.”

***

14.15 - A Japanese café on Marylebone High Street. I take a seat and carefully place the sealed A4 envelope containing the films on the table in front of me.

“Here is the sixty-four million dollar answer.”

“Let’s have a look then,“ says Flossie, “I’ve been watching lots of episodes of House lately so I’m sure I can figure it out a few scans.” 


I’m getting through the anxiety of this long day with a lot of help from my friends. It’s great to see Flossie. Over sushi we chat about cosmetics with a dash of discussion about love addiction and love avoidance. These are our two favourite topics.

15.15 - The Wallace Collection, Manchester Square. If you’re ever wandering about in the west end with an hour or two to kill before you discover whether or not you have cancer in your bones this is THE place to go. It’s an eclectic, almost eccentric bunch of paintings, furniture, ceramics, sculptures, miniatures, swords, daggers, medals, suits of armour, jewelled trinket boxes and the like that was collected by various Marquesses of Hertford and, most notably, Sir Richard Wallace – who lived in this house between about 1760 and 1890. There is room upon room of stuff and a lovely café in the glass-roofed courtyard. Today I spend time with the Rembrandts, the fascinating miniatures of Napoleon and Marie Antoinette’s Sèvres porcelain before relaxing in the courtyard with a fresh pineapple, melon and ginger juice. Top spot.

17.00 - LOC, Harley Street. Iris and Lily enter the building. “That’s a good new look,” I say, complimenting Iris on her ensemble of slim trousers, bias-cut grey t-shirt, long grey silk scarf and mushroom leather jacket.

“It’s very business class in here,” comments Iris as she plops her monochrome self into an oyster grey suedette armchair. I judge from her expression that 'business class' is not necessarily what we desire. Suzy Cleator tears in from another hospital down the road. These top consultants flit like butterflies from clinic to clinic up and down Harley Street. “Come on Lily.”  She bustles. Iris and I follow her slipstream into the lift.

Upstairs we sit in more oyster grey suedette armchairs whilst Suzy sits in a high-backed swivel chair behind a cherry wood desk. She peels open the envelope. I study a minimalist arrangement of magnolia buds on the empty sideboard.

Suzy glances at the films and, quick as you like, says: “these are fine.”

There is a brief silence in the room and then the words pour out. “Oh that’s fantastic!” “What do you think is causing all the pains?”

“You have a slight scoliosis,” says Suzy.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a curvature of the spine, see?” She holds up the photographs. I can distinctly see a gentle S shape in the line of my backbones. “What causes that?” asks Iris.

“Usually you’re born with it.”

“And what is that? I ask, pointing to a noticeable black spot in the centre of my chest.

“It’s probably a tiny bit of arthritis.”

“In my spine? Should I be concerned about that?”

“Oh no, everyone has it. At your age. At our age,” Suzy corrects herself swiftly waving her hand about to include Iris and herself. “Everyone over thirty has it,” she concludes, limping across the finishing line.

***

Some days the greatest joy a person can have is to walk through a door and step back out into the world. Iris and I do just that.

“See?” says Iris, “I told you there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re just old with a black heart.”

“That’s ok with me. I’m looking forward to getting a lot older, even if I do have to spend the rest of my newly granted existence with you.”


*In her book 'Your Life in Your Hands'. Scary huh?

The New Glamour

“Welcome Madam,” says the beauty consultant, “please sit.” She indicates the closed lid of a toilet seat. I sit.

I’m here to check out Aqua - a new concept in pampering.

“Please choose from our menu madam.” She passes me a small catalogue. AQWA it says on the cover. Inside are illustrations of clothing and all manner of hairdos and make-up products. Aqua, you see, is a total makeover experience.

“These are our coats. And here are our gowns.” There are pictures of sumptuous Cindarella style garments. I indicate a couple that I prefer. “But first we will do your hair and make-up.” Flicking through we peruse the hairstyles. I choose one.

Now my consultant pulls and grips my hair into a tight bunch on the side of my head. It falls out a couple of times because my hair is still on the short side but she perseveres until she is happy with the look. To frame my face she adds a bright pink silk flower clip.

“Please choose a colour.” She sweeps her hand expansively towards a long rank of nail varnish pots - some are glittery, most are nearly empty. The slim shelf almost groans under the weight of its toxic load. I opt for a nail polish that I have brought myself. It’s a coppery pink by SpaRitual, one of the less hazardous brands. My consultant dabs it delicately onto my fingernails.

Make-up comes next. I choose a burgundy red lipstick. The lipstick is applied and the therapist inspects her work with satisfaction. “The most important thing about this lipstick,” she tells me, “is don’t do this.” She rubs her lips together.

“Why ever not?”

“Because it tastes horrible.”

Next, a brown eye shadow is applied. As a finishing touch she rubs some kind of pink light reflecting cream all over one side of my face. “Hmmm,” she says with a thoughtful squint, “I think it would look better if we put it on both sides.”

Makeover complete I am led to a mirror for the big reveal. I gaze at my altered image. An escapee from a locked ward stares back at me.

“It’s beautiful Eloise,” I say, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome aunty Lily. Can we go to Pizza Express now?”

Dream Liner

Inika Mineral Eye Liner (1.2g - £11.50)

In the past I rarely used eyeliner. The pencils would always wear down and then, at the moment I wanted to quickly slap on a lick of colour and run out the door I would find myself tearing my bathroom apart in the vain hunt for a pencil sharpener. After the eyepencils had spent a few months scribbling their colours all over the inside of my makeup bag I would throw them away in irritation.

As for the liquid – even if I could ever hold my hand still enough to apply it without painting a wobbly black line all over my face I found that it would crack as it dried down, creating a creepy snakeskin effect on my upper eyelids.

But now I’m having a new romance with Inika Mineral Eye Liners. The pencils are soft enough to go on smoothly without scratching or dragging, yet not so soft that they smudge all over my eyes. The colours are subtly beautiful. I started off with a shimmering sage one that really enhances my greenish-grey eyes. I love it and wear it most days. Remember what they say about any addiction, whether it be Bacardi Breezers, crack cocaine or eye pencils: “One is too many and a thousand never enough.” Today I purchased my second Inika eyeliner. This one is a rich, dark sapphire blue colour. I sweep it along my top lid and shazam – dramatic evening makeup in a minute.

Best of all, these pencils have a little sharpener built into the lid. So I’ve no excuse for not bothering to wear it.

Ingredients: Simmondsia Chinensis(Jojoba) Seed Oil; Euphorbia Cerifera (Candelilla) Wax; Ricinus Communis (Castor) Seed Oil; Cetyl Alcohol. May Contain (+/-) Mica (CI 77019); Ultramarine Blue (CI 77007); Iron Oxides (CI 77491, CI 77492, CI 77499);Chromium Green Oxide

How to Take Care of Your Skin

1. Eat a healthy diet

2. Don’t smoke

3. Use a mineral-based (zinc oxide or titanium dioxide) sun screen

4. Drink plenty of water

5. Top up your antioxidants: green tea; berries; resveratrol supplements and cold pressed rose hip oil are all helpful

6. Get enough sleep

7. Keep your skin clean and supple with natural and organic moisturisers and cleansers

Black Marketing

The more I have researched Chemo Chic cosmetics, the more I have cottoned on to the sly marketing dodges that big beauty companies use to push their overpriced, cheap, nasty products onto our bathroom shelves.

Here are a few of their sneaky tricks.

Greenwashing 


‘Natural’ does not have a legal definition. One may safely, and legally, say that crude oil is ‘natural’. After all it comes out of the earth – doesn’t it? But would you use it as a moisturiser? Come to think of it, you probably do. There are many well-known brands that cultivate an image of being ‘natural’ but it’s worth looking closely at the labels. My Aveda shampoo contains: undisclosed fragrance, PEG-7 Dimethicone C8-C18 Ester, Propylparaben, Methylparaben, Methylchloroisothiazolinone and Methylisothiazolinone. Ooh! It’s just like a summer meadow. My Phyto Plage hair ‘protecting’ spray is pretty much a toxic soup of Parabens, PEGs and Octinoxate. The Body Shop’s Almond Body Butter contains the usual rubbish: Parabens; Fragrance; Benzyl Alcohol and so on, whilst their White Musk Bath & Shower Gel scores a perfect 10 on the Cosmetics Database (10 being the highest hazard).

Misdirection 


A brand may trumpet one of its products as ‘Parabens Free’ – and that single item is indeed free of parabens. But then we make a mental leap and assume that all of their products are ‘Parabens Free.’ Wrong. We’ve been suckered again.

Trade secrets 


Fragrance may disguise a multitude of sins. Because perfume recipes are held to be trade secrets manufacturers can use hundreds of different ingredients in their formulations and not disclose a single one of them. Here is what the cosmetics database says: The word ‘fragrance’ or ‘parfum’ on the product label represents an undisclosed mixture of various scent chemicals and ingredients used as fragrance dispersants such as diethyl phthalate. Fragrance mixes have been associated with allergies, dermatitis, respiratory distress and potential effects on the reproductive system. Choose products that declare that they contain ‘100% naturally derived fragrance’ or use unfragranced products.

Faux organic 


Anyone may use the word ‘organic’ on products. Check the label to see how many and what proportion of the ingredients are actually organic. For example ‘organic avocado moisturiser’ may contain a drop or two of organic avocado oil, along with several million drops of Mineral Oil, Petrolatum, Propylene Glycol, Oxybenzone, Octinoxate, Fragrance, Propylparaben, Methylparaben, Triethanolamine, Peg-40 Stearate and Benzyl Alcohol – to name but a few of the usual suspects. I don’t know if there is a marketing term for this practice. But its bollocks.

Selling the dream 


When it comes to beauty we all love to believe that price equals quality. Yes, I know that you weren’t born yesterday, neither was I. But after all, do I buy cosmetics simply because they work? No. If that were the case my entire beauty routine would consist of moisturising with coconut oil, brushing my teeth with baking soda, rinsing my hair with vinegar and washing my armpits with plain soap. I love coming home from Content Beauty (as Being Content is now called) or the Organic Pharmacy with another glamorously packaged product. But did you know that when the price of cosmetics is increased, the sales go up? The cost of a beauty product is dictated by the market at which it is targeted, not by the quality of its ingredients.

Blinded by science


The product is ‘scientifically tested’ – by who? The manufacturers, that’s who. Are the ‘scientific’ tests peer reviewed? No they are not. May we see them? No, we may not. ‘Dermatologist approved’ simply means that a moisturiser won’t instantly burn your face off or bring you out in a rash of suppurating pustules.

 “Better Than Botox”


Let’s get it right. A face cream cannot paralyse your muscles. If it could, and you put it all over your face, the result would be disastrous.

Pinkwash


Pinkwashing is the practice of sticking a pink ribbon on product packaging. The aim is to make you feel good about supporting the 'fight against breast cancer’, regardless of whether or not the product itself contains ingredients that may contribute to giving you breast cancer.

Funny Face

My friend Minnie wants me to do a piece of work for her, only she doesn’t have any money to pay me. Poverty is relative. In the eyes of an everyday citizen of the Calcutta I am prosperous beyond imagining but I am feeling the pinch in every direction. In my eyes Minnie is more than comfortably wealthy. In Minnie’s eyes, she’s broke. I decide to embrace abundance: I’ve got a lovely home; my bills are paid; there’s food in my cupboards and petrol in my car. I’m rich!

And I know that, broke or not, Minnie is extremely well connected. “Ok Min, I’ll do it,” I say. “Could you arrange some free face injections for me?”

“Darling, of course I can.”

So that is how I have come to be flicking through Vogue in the West End waiting room of Dr Jean-Louis Sebagh, face filler to the stars. I’m not seeing Dr Sebagh himself – he is booked up until sometime after the end of the Mayan calendar. Obviously I want to be looking my best when the apocalypse comes so I am to be treated by his sidekick, Dr Anne. Minnie is here to hold my hand.

On the outside I’m calmly perusing the latest handbags for winter. On the inside I’m suffering a paroxysm of moral turmoil. “Ha!” crowed Iris when I told her where I was going, so much for you and your organic rose oil.” “She’s right,” I admonish myself, “maybe I should just cut down my lentil consumption, save up a grand and buy myself a new handbag instead.”

But then again, Chemo Chic is not meant to be an alternative lifestyle campaign. It is a blog about surviving cancer with style. Here is how I view the situation. You may recall that for the first half of this year my psychiatrists in Sydney and London did not want me to take anti-depressants. “You need to feel your grief,” they said. But further down the road I received a revised analysis. When grief and depression go on for a long time one’s brain chemistry can be altered. At that point there is no way to take the first step on the ladder that leads back to the sunny side. No matter how much psychotherapy, hypnotherapy or manicure therapy one has, one cannot climb out of the hole one is in until one’s serotonin levels increase. So at that point I was advised to start taking anti-depressants. And, I have to say they have helped a great deal. I don’t regard anti-depressants as a cure all. I’m still seeing a psychotherapist, going to twelve step meetings and erratically practising ‘Lily’s Stress Reduction Programme.’ I’m glad that I didn’t take anti-depressants at the beginning. I’m glad that I’m taking them now.

With only a small amount of mental gymnastics I transpose the above logic to justify the current sitch. Here we go... The amount of weight I’ve lost and the amount of stress I’ve experienced have left my face looking drawn. I try to be cheery but every time I look in the mirror this miserable visage gazes back at me. Seeing my face looking so sad makes me feel sad, and so the downward spiral perpetuates. A spot of Restylane seems to be just what the doctor ordered.

To be fair, I have done some research. I spoke to an eminent dermatologist. “Hyaluronic acid occurs naturally in your skin,” he said. “It’s harmless.” I googled ‘hyaluronic acid side effects’ and ‘hyaluronic acid + cancer’ but found nothing alarming. I searched the Cosmetics Database. There was no information either way. So, two possibilities: either it is completely safe or there has been no research. With everything I’ve learned about the cosmetics industry so far I suspect that the latter scenario is the most likely. I cross my fingers and go with the former. Do I feel like a hypocrite? Of course I do.

I glance at the woman sitting opposite. She looks like a chipmunk that’s eaten a wasp. It’s not reassuring.

After a short wait of about an hour we are shown in to see Dr Madeleine. “She’s had a rough year,” Minnie tells Dr Madeleine, pointing at me, “we need to freshen her up.” Dr Madeleine takes my chin in her hand and tilts my face towards her. “Yes,” she says to Min, “she’s too thin. The volume has gone from her face.” It’s true. I weigh eight kilos less than I did at the beginning of this year. “Her bone structure is very good,” she tells Min, “but you see here,” she runs a finger diagonally down the centre of my cheek, “I think some filler in her cheeks will plump that out. And here...” Dr Madeleine traces the lines from my nose to the corners of my mouth.

I’m a little bit perturbed that Dr Madeleine and Min are having this conversation entirely above my head but they both have masses more experience in cosmetic therapies than I do, so I trust that they know what they’re talking about. I lie on the couch. It’s time for Minnie to hold my hand. Minnie spies someone outside the door that she urgently wants to talk to and skips. Dr Madeleine starts jabbing a needle into my forehead. “What’s that?” I ask. “Botox,” replies Dr Madeleine. Now, I have mentally prepared myself for the hyaluronic acid injections but Botox is another matter. I don’t know anything about it at all but the tox part of the name rouses my suspicions. My head is in a whirl, “Stop!” I want to shout but then I think better of it. I mean she’s already started it. If I stop this now I will be left with Botox in only half of my forehead. I bite my tongue.

“We won’t have time to do your cheeks today,” says Dr Madeleine. She injects some hyaluronic acid filler into the crease between my brows and then into the lines beside my nostrils. It hurts. “Oh my,” says Dr Madeleine, “you’re going to have a bruise. I’m so sorry”

I reel from the room. Minnie is still gossiping. I can see the bruise developing already. It looks as though I’ve been punched in the mouth. “I’m just going to run down to Ainsworth’s and get some arnica cream.” I mouth, pointing to the door.

The man behind the counter at Ainsworth’s gives me a knowing look. Harley Street is the Mecca for cosmetic surgery and facial procedures. I’m sure that well-heeled women of a certain age regularly stagger through their doors sporting bruised and swollen faces. Arnica cream on board I head back to the clinic. Minnie is ready to go.

To be honest I’ve found the last couple of hours less than relaxing. It’s now dark and pouring with rain. Minnie chats away to one of her friends as she drives, holding her phone in her left hand and reaching across to change gears with her right hand. Pretty soon we collide with a Mercedes. The whole street grinds to a standstill. I jump out and try to direct the traffic around the two scraped cars. Taxi drivers start yelling at me. “Don’t yell at me,” I yell. “I’m the passenger.” After Minnie and the other woman have exchanged numbers we crawl down Marylebone road and finally onto the White City roundabout. The roundabout is closed. Completely coned off. All the traffic is being forced in a nose-to-tail procession down towards Shepherd’s Bush. Minnie points her car at the orange cones and drives straight between them, scattering gravel left and right. With one hand I hold onto my hat and with the other I instinctively protect my black-and-blue face. We skitter through the road works and out the other side. We’re free.

I go straight home, knock back a cup of valerian tea and go to bed.

My verdict: having facial injections may be somewhat stressful, not to mention hypocritical. You might come home looking like you've been smacked round the chops. Is it worth it? Of course it is.