Have you ever seen Seth Myers do his segment on SNL's Weekend Update, where he rhetorically questions the actions of famous people with the catchphrase "really?"? For example, "Really, Britney, did you have to wear that crotch-length micro mini sans underwear, REALLY?"
This begs my question, really La Mer, really?
A few weekends ago, my mom and I enjoyed a rainy Sunday afternoon at Tyson's Galleria window shopping and lunching. Before we left, I decided to make a quick run in to Saks for a survey of the makeup counters, ultimately seeking a new color palate for my eyeshadow. I, like everyone else, am constantly in search for the perfect makeup solution. The one that makes your skin look flawless, without being cakey, and makes you look like you aren't wearing makeup, even when you have loads on. This particular no-win situation was geared towards finding a neutral eyeshadow that I could swipe on before work in very little time, without having to work and rework my eyelids to get that noticeable contour between lid and crease shades.
I land at the Laura Mercier counter, because the Bobbi Brown (my go-to) girl was totally checked out and ignoring my obvious interest in their wares. I sit down for a quick transformation and settle on a great neutral "rose" color that accented my hazel eyes. Of course, I couldn't let it end there. I asked the LM girl if she had much experience with La Mer, the overpriced face cream that all the mags rave about. I explained my self-diagnosed Rosacea problem and my love for a heavy face cream and she only gives me a few short replies. She did confirm its "greatness" with a non-convincing nod, but the real deal-closer was what lies next. She rings up my order, and hands me a little white case that looks like one-half of a contact lens case and says "here's a sample of La Mer, it should last you a few days, try it and let me know what you think." Little did I know I was in the presence of sheer genius.
I got home and I smelled the white pasty cream in the jar. It kind of smelled like something my grandmother wore. "Now that can't be all the rave" were my first thoughts. Then I put it on. As the makeup counter gal explained, I had to put a little dab on my finger and then press it against my thumb to "activate" the essential ingredients before applying to my face. As I applied it, I began my hard fall. The next morning, same routine. I followed up with makeup application and went about my day. 8 days later, with two applications per day of this special tincture, I was finally out of my sample. I looked at my skin, that was glowing in the mirror back at me, and thought - wow, I HAVE TO HAVE this stuff. Within a week, the texture of my skin had changed. I looked hydrated and "dewy" without looking like I stood over a frying pan. The sales girl was brilliant. She didn't have to hype it up to me, she didn't have to lie or even put on the full-court press. She just gave me a sample, and knew that would be enough to make me fiend for the deliriously life altering cream.
Reality check. As my mother delicately put it, who do I think I am? I am just a working girl from Manassas, trying to get by on love and work my way up the corporate ladder. I am not a celebrity and I certainly am not independently wealthy to the tune of $132/oz. That stuff is for the stars, for people who have deep pockets for luxuries like face creams, not a person that checks their bank account daily to make sure I didn't overdraw.
But somehow, I am hooked. Somehow, I need to buy it. I may have to re-work my March budget to find a way. Or I may need to just cool my jets and get a grip with reality. As I apply my third layer of Oil of Olay tonight, I ask you, Really La Mer, Really?