30 Days To Holiday Beauty

The third Bridget Jones film was supposed to be in theatres by now, but it’s stalled at script stage. Typical. That dishevelled, disarming Bridget is always in dire need of assistance. I can sympa- thize. As a freelancer who works in my Lululemons every day—hair in a ponytail and face as bare, but not as smooth, as a baby’s bottom— I know there’s a red-carpet Rene´e somewhere inside, but she’s trapped behind fly-away hair and ragged cuticles. Lucky for the actress, she’ll be all svelte, bright-eyed and flawless-faced by the premiere, thanks to a highly specialized team of makeup artists, aestheticians and magician dietitians. But I’ve got one thing on her: As a beauty writer, I can assemble my own entourage.



So I, too, can present my best- me-of-the-year once holiday parties and judgy eyes roll around. I’m hitting the newest niche spots promising precision care—my planning as meticulous as a farmer tending crops. “The whole perfor- mance is so highly tuned, you only need to neglect it for a few days for the whole thing to go to seed,” wrote the fictional Jones. See, timing is everything—you don’t want to be that girl with fuzzy legs and clogged pores on the big day. So I’ve kicked into high gear for one month to create my own head-to-toe tune-up diary. Don’t worry, friend; you can borrow it.