Megan's 24-Hour Product Diary: Perfume Reminds Me That I Am Still a Human Being
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Now that my every day is basically a weird weekend during which we all have to work, getting ready in the morning is a different, more piecemeal affair. My usual routine, like so many other small activities I maybe took for granted, has been disrupted; the first week, I was still putting on makeup, executing a light glam for the three people I might see on the street during my daily constitutional. This week, that plan went out the window. But doing things to your face and putting stuff on the body is part of the remote worker’s toolkit for feeling like an actual human being, and so I have endeavored to do my part in making myself feel a semblance of normalcy.
7:10 a.m.: Getting ready to “head in”
I realized quickly that if I do not take a shower in the morning, I feel like a waste of space. So I showered, washing my hair with Kamedis Dandruff Therapy Shampoo, which came highly recommended to me by a dear friend who would not stop showing me the results he was achieving. This ersatz guerilla marketing worked, and I sense that it is doing “something” to my hair’s dandruff situation, though now that I sit in front of a computer and rarely get up at all, I no longer have the impulse to scratch at my scalp. The conditioner I use, SheaMoisture Coconut Conditioner, smells like a vacation that I hope to take once this cruel war is over. Once my hair is dry-ish, I mush some DevaCurl WaveMaker into it—pointless, as my hair will go into a ponytail halfway through this day, but you know what, it matters! I wash my face with whatever I see first: DHC Cleansing Oil, which is great for taking off makeup and nice for making me feel like I am doing something vaguely wellness-oriented to my face. I also brush my teeth and put in my contacts before leaving the restroom, because wearing my glasses all day makes me feel like I’m sick or extremely hungover.
Ah yes, time to “get dressed” for my “commute” to the living room. I have given up on jeans, even soft, stretchy, jeans, and all my leggings need to be washed. That means the Eileen Fisher silk lounge (?) pants I bought for $20 at Buffalo Exchange are my new best friends; they are too big for me and so I must roll the waist so they stay up, like a sullen teen in Soffe shorts. To complete this look, which I feel is chic, I select one of four sweatshirt options: today, a RealTree camo sweatshirt that is floppy and comfortable. For propriety, I put on the shittiest bra I own. Soon I will buy a bralette.
My apartment is very dry but my skin is thrilled that I am no longer putting makeup on and is still adjusting to its new life in captivity, much like the rest of us. My morning face routine is still unchanged: a dime-sized blob of Inkey List Niacinamide Oil Control Serum, some French Girl Organics Neroli Undereye Oil (I am out of eye cream, what do I do), and then a generous icing of Youth to the People Adaptogen Deep Moisture Cream, which is an inefficient moisturizer, but that’s ok. Sometimes if I’m feeling fancy, I will smear Glossier YouthDew all over my visage; if I’m not, I use Wander Beauty Glow Ahead Face Oil. Though it feels pointless, I am still wearing perfume? My usual is Diptyque’s Tam Dao, but I am experimenting with a small travel size flaçon of Maison Francis Kurdijian Rouge Baccarat 450, which smells like old money. This is the stupidest part of my routine, but it’s nice to be reminded that I still have a sense of smell, and test that ability routinely by sniffing my wrist just to see what’s up. I prefer this coronavirus compulsion over my other, which is taking my temperature when I feel “off” and freaking out while the thermometer is doing its thing.