I hit rock bottom about six months ago. I entered the Union Street Sephora to refill a lip gloss I had run out of (NARS Angelika–it’s really pretty. You should try it). By the time I got to the register, I had over $300 worth of beauty products crammed into my basket. I was appalled at myself. How could I have gotten so out of control?
Instead of chastising me, the cashier encouraged my irresponsible behavior by upgrading my Sephora VIB account to the Rouge, the highest level. It caused quite a commotion, as I was apparently the first person she had ever seen reach this level.
With a small crowd of curious sales people gathered round, I was presented with a gift box that contained an iridescent VIB Rouge card along with a commemorative bright red lipstick. My status as a Sephora addcit was secured.
These days, I will only enter Sephora sans credit card, with exact cash needed to purchase the item I need OR with a friend tasked to keeping me on course.
To help with my Sephora addiction recovery, I’ve written the poem below. It’s an ode to Sephora, my unrequited love.
I came for a lip gloss
The siren’s song spills out onto the sidewalk
She’s draped in a black smock
Smiles at me from behind overdrawn eyes
Curling her long red nails to wave me inside
Toward colors, scents and samples
I draw near
She presses a basket into my hands
I cross the threshold
Eyeshadow. Nail polish. Lipstick. Perfume.
There is no escape
Black and white stripes across the walls; jail bars
Armani fluid sheers smeared across my hand
Dior eye shadows brushed on my wrist
Duo of Make up Forever HD foundation shades streak down my jaw
Beige railroad tracks to nowhere
Must fill basket
A new Bobby Brown palette
Pretty. Pink. Sparkly. Exclusive.
But I would get so much use out of it
I can’t afford it
But it has three a blush and two glosses
It’s such a a great value
Into the basket it goes
Josie Maran has a beauty line? Who is Kat Von D?
Two faced bronzer? Yes!
I’m spinning out of control
Discarded cotton squares lay in my wake
Soaked with makeup remover
But I can’t remove myself
The basket weighs heavy on my arm
I must get out
But the route to escape is laden with traps
I jump over a cascading wall of makeup brushes
Ignore the Lash Bar
Dodge an aggressive saleswoman
I reach checkout at last
Only to be assaulted by rows of sample size goodies
lining the path to the register
Singing to my unconscious desires
A purse-size L’Occitane hand lotion My hands are always so dry!
A trial of Frederick Fekkai texturizing dry shampoo I’ve been dying to try that stuff!
I arrive at the register with only a scratch
(a single carryon can of Evian facial spritzer)
Swing my heavy basket
Heaving it onto the counter with an unladylike grunt
Unload dozens of colorful items
I suddenly can’t live without
I can’t believe the total
Red tissue paper. Glossy black bag. Empty bank account.
My love for Sephora
The more affection I show, the harder she bites
I shuffle out the front door feeling dejected
And realize that I forgot to get the one thing I came to buy.
I turn around and walk back in
She is irresistible.