On with The Show, As They Say...

I apologize for being so remiss with my blog posts of late, but given the subject of my last post as well as my weekly Glamanomics contribution over at She's So Savvy and all the plans in the works for the future of apotheKerri beauty, I do hope that you'll forgive me. Will it help if I tell you that one of my resolutions for 2012 is to be a more attentive blogger? 

When I say there are plans, it's not a convenient excuse. And while it's not something I can openly talk about just yet, but once I am able to you will be the first to know. But there is one thing that I can talk about...

If you live in the TO and are looking for something to do on a Friday night, why not come out and join us? There will be a prize draw, as well as food to eat and makeup to play with - first you have to fill out this questionnaire which will be entered to be drawn at random. The winner will receive a selection of the items that they've chosen. What could be simpler than that? And as if that's not enough to entice you, here's a sample of one of the limited edition gift sets available for purchase exclusively that evening.

You can RSVP on our Facebook page.

As for the other developments, as they also say - good things come to those who wait.

Beauty Icon Wednesday: For My Mother

Name: Eleada Anne (Britton) Thomson, born October 7th 1931

passed suddenly November 5th, 2011

Known for: being a consummate teacher, mother to everyone, and in possession the biggest heart of anyone this world has ever known.

Girls have always seemed to have an interesting relationship with their mothers. When you're just a little girl, your mother is the one person you can always count on. She's always there for you, the main female role model you have. Later on, in those awkward teen-aged years, you start to think of her as annoying, embarassing, old-fashioned, 'uncool'. And you spend as much time trying to distance yourself from her as you had previously done emulating her.

It's not until you get much older, usually after you've had kids of your own, that you start to appreciate your mother again, to respect her for everything she's done in making you who and what you are. You become friends again, even closer than before. What's sad about this is all the time that was wasted while you were busy convincing yourself that she was the enemy determined to ruin your social life and cool factor between the ages fourteen to twenty. Because despite what you may have believed when you were four, your mother is not an invincible superhero who will live forever...anymore than she was your arch nemesis.

I lost my mother this weekend. She had just turned eighty last month, and the only thing she wanted for her birthday was for the whole family to be together. Between my sister and her partner, and my brother's son, all of us are spread over hundreds of kilometers, but we picked a spot somewhere in the middle. And took some family pictures, since the last time we had been together like that was for my parent's fiftieth wedding anniversary. Eight years ago. Yeah...who stays married for 58 years anymore?!

Despite the three and a half hour driving distance, we were able to compromise by meeting in the middle and so I've seen my mother and father more in the past couple of years than I had previously. This was out of necessity, since they had both taken turns scaring the hell out of their three children with a variety of heart attacks, strokes, and other various ailments. As much as she enjoyed spending time with me, her youngest daughter, I realize that I was just as much a vessel for her to see her grandson. One of her biggest regrets was that she wasn't able to spend as much time with him as her first grandson who'd been born about twenty years ago, when she was much less frail and lived far closer than the massive field just south of Owen Sound they had since retired to. Believe me, it's been one of mine too.

I got the call late last Friday night that she had been rushed to hospital, and that it 'didn't look good'. In the morning, my sister called to say that her condition had worsened and she had been air-lifted to another hospital, and that she was flying into Pearson so we could meet and drive down together. Although worried as we drove the two and a half hours to the hospital, my sister and I had been done this road before. And my mother had pulled through. But that was a few years ago, and she was much stronger then. The past few months we'd seen her get smaller and smaller. And as soon as we walked into the ICU and saw her lying slumped on the bed hooked up to a ventilator, we knew that this time was different. The doctors told us that she had zero brain activity due to a massive stroke she'd had the night before, and that a surgical attempt would be futile as so much damage had been done to the brain tissue. The only thing keeping her alive was that machine she was hooked up to, and as a family we had a difficult decision to make. Except that what the doctors didn't know was that it wasn't really up to us, that the decision had already been made long ago, by my mother herself. She had always been adamant that she was not to be kept alive by a machine because, according to her, that wasn't living. And so, it was done.

My mother breathed on her own for almost two hours. Then, at around 9:20pm on Saturday, she took her last breath while I held one hand and my father the other. And she was gone.

Next came the whirlwind of preparations - making phone calls, cancelling appointments, coordinating funeral homes in two different counties, planning a funeral service that would be worthy of such a wonderful woman who had been loved by so many. It was almost enough that you were too busy to cry. But cry I did. I still do.

We buried her today, in the cemetery of the church she'd gone to for a good portion of her life. The reverend there said it best when he commented that it was almost like she was coming home. The church was packed, standing room only. And surprisingly, after already spent two days of visitations in a 'Pam-induced haze, I made it through the service pharmaceutical-free and with far fewer tears. Until the casket was closed, and she was being lowered into the ground. That's where I admit I'm still struggling.

I expect I'll be struggling for quite some time.

Goodbye, Mommy. As much as I will miss you, at least I know that you aren't in any pain anymore. With any luck, as your grandson says, you're up there with Johnny Cash and Elvis Presley.

Beauty Icon Wednesday: Are you a Ginger or a Mary Ann?

Names: Mary Ann Summers (above, left) and Ginger Grant (right, obviously)

Known for: All-American girl-next-door and sultry sex kitten starlet, respectively. Both known for not having much like when it comes to three hour boat cruises 

And the love affair with the Sixties continues with one of the decades most iconic television series, Gilligan's Island. Most of my after-school memories are made up from reruns of this, Happy Days, and Scooby Doo cartoons. The other two programs I will get to in due time, because Pinky Tuscadero and Daphne Blake are each deserving of an Icon Wednesday post of their own, but that's neither here nor there. 

Today's is dedicated to that age-old debate: Ginger or Mary Ann? 

I think if you're a regular reader of this blog, you would know my answer to this question. It's modern day equivalent would be Team Aniston or Team Jolie - I think it's fairly clear whose side I'm on in that particular debate. I've never been fond of the saccharin-sweet, wholesome as Mom's apple pie demeanor that 

Mary Ann embodied, even at a young age. I have always preferred the ice queen, man-eater types; they often had the best clothes. And Ginger, swanning around the island in her fur stoles, sequined gowns and kitten heels with her elaborately coiffed hair and flawless makeup, was my hero. Well, it was a more of a cross between her and Miss Piggy...but then again, that is another post entirely. 

What about you? 

Which one would you be, if you had to make the choice?

Change... It's in the air, and I'm not just talking about weather!

I'm not known for being particularly fond of change in my everyday life. I like what I like, most of all the comfort of the familiar. When my routine is disrupted, I'm not happy about it. That's probably why I'm just as prone as anyone else to becoming stuck in a rut. 

Late last year, after a bit of a health scare, I decided that 2011 would be my year for change. Change on my own terms, finally, change that was long overdue. Since then, I think I've made considerable steps toward achieving that. But, as with most things, it hasn't been easy. And it's nowhere near close to being where I would like it to be. There have been times when I've been tempted to just throw in the towel, that I was just kidding myself if I thought I could pull this off, that I should crawl back to the comfortable and familiar - if somewhat soul-crushing in nature - before it's too late. And then I remember that I'm not patient by nature, that I tend to want what I want when I want it, and from there manage to talk myself back from the ledge.

I realize that I'm rambling - I would hope that you'd be used to it by now and just find it 'charming'. 

In March, I found what I was hoping would be the perfect solution. Relatively risk free, I would be able to open my dream retail space and have the luxury of not having to quit my day job to run it. Sounds like a dream come true, am I right? Well unfortunately, as with most of those situations, it didn't turn out all that dreamy. The shop itself was gorgeous, but the area it was in was just not quite right for my particular product at this time. Perhaps in the future that will change, and I hope that it does - that way, I can turn what felt at the time like a failure into a second-time-around success. But for now, I did the only thing that made any economical sense and pulled out of my dream. I closed my beloved shoppette. 

I took it a little harder than I thought I would. For the first part of the week, I felt lost and really uncertain as to what my next move was going to be. I was worried sick - almost literally - about my first Beauty Summit that was held Tuesday with a group of women that, really, I knew nothing about and probably couldn't have had less in common with. I was convinced that it was going to be a complete flop. 

I've never been so happy to admit I was wrong.

My first Beauty Summit was the opposite of a flop. And although I didn't have a whole lot in common with my hostess and the group she'd gathered, that did not prevent us from chatting and laughing and learning a lot from each other. And I think in the end, I may have come away with more than they did. Because it was precisely that evening that all of my ideas for apotheKerri beauty began to come together in a way that I could finally process and understand. 

Now I'm not going to say much more than that, for fear of jinxing myself, but I will leave you with this: there's going to be a lot going on behind the scenes at apotheKerri beauty over the next couple of weeks. So keep an eye on Twitter, Facebook, or wherever you get your aK beauty fix and I will let you know how it goes. 

Beauty Icon Wednesday: The World's First Supermodel

Name: Jean Rosemary Shrimpton, born November 7th, 1942

Known for: being 'The Face of The Sixties', helping launch the mini-skirt, and for bringing Audrey Hepburn's gamine legacy to the Swinging London scene.


There are times, and I'm sure a few of you would be inclined to agree with me, that it feels as though I were born in the wrong era. I don't worship at the altar of the Kardashians or Jersey Shore. I prefer the more refined, almost classic beauties of days gone past. Some may look at this and think it's too dated or old-fashioned but for me, this is what timeless beauty looks like. And when it comes to iconic faces, this is definitely one that tops the list.

But I won't type a novel - so unlike me, I know. I'd rather leave it to these pictures, and more specifically this face, to say everything that needs saying.

Monday Moments in Makeup History - The 1960's

This post is inspired mostly by the new series, Pan Am, which celebrates the glamorous Golden Age of air travel. Bouffant hair-dos, Mack the Knife, adorable little hats...really, what's not to love here?? Forget the poor rating on IMDB and reserve judgment for yourself - to me, it was kind of like a Mad Men but for chicks. Anyways, enough of my prattling; on with the show!

The Sixties were a tumultuous period in history - the Civil Rights movement, the Vietnam War, the Stonewall riots, the first man to walk on the moon...the list could, quite literally, go on and on. It seems only natural, given all that was going on throughout the world, that the makeup and fashion would change and vary so radically throughout the decade as well.

It started out beautifully enough, with the adulation of that famous First Lady, Jacqueline Kennedy - all pill box hats, cropped jackets with matching knee-length skirt, capri trousers or 'clamdiggers'. The makeup and hair was just as elegant, with beehive or chignon hairstyles atop dramatically done-up eyes and nude or pale, frosted lips. Ladies wore gloves, and crossed their legs delicately at the ankle.


Then came Mary Quant with her mini skirt, which just happened to coincide with the onset of the Sexual Revolution. Hemlines and hair lengths shortened, much as they had done in the 20's, whilst the conservative prohibitive views about sex were loosened almost to the point of being non-existent.

By the end of the decade, all hell had broken loose - both fashionably and (some would say) morally speaking. Both women and men wore their hair long, with elaborately patterned tunics over bell-bottomed jeans and sandals, not to mention a whole lot of patchouli. They practiced 'free love' as well as experimented with conscience-altering drugs as part of their protest against the rigid Puritanical roots that had so long formed the basis of American culture. But that's enough out of me and my half-degree in Sociology... let's just say that, glamorously speaking, it was a dark, dark time.


I could probably write an entire dissertation on the effect that the Sixties has had on almost every decade that has come after it, such was its impact on every level of society on a global scale, but neither of us have the energy for that. But if you are interested in learning more about the looks that had become popular - and frequently come back round into fashion again and again - click here for some great information and resources. And with that, I will leave you with what is probably the most recognizable face from the Sixties.

The Original Waif herself - Twiggy.

Beauty Icon Wednesday: Veronica, The Bad Girl of Riverdale

Name: Veronica Lodge, created April 1942 by Bob Montana for the Archie comic series

Known for: glossy black hair, legs up to her neck, and an inexplicable affection for a freckle-faced ginger named Archie

I'm not gonna lie - this week has not been the best, and as early as this afternoon I was still at a loss as to who to feature for today's Icon. But inspiration can hit at anytime and often where you least expect it, and thanks to a certain idea planted by a simple Tweet from Chick Advisor I found my girl.

I've never been a fan of the goody-two-shoes, girl next door. So far as I'm concerned, evil knows how to dress and therefore automatically wins in my opinion. In the decades-old chick fight between the annoyingly perky, saccharin-sweet Betty and glamorous Veronica, there was no question; it was Team Ronnie all the way. She was beautiful, snobby, an unapologetic shopaholic, always got her way and had absolutely zero interest in such menial tasks as cooking or cleaning - that's what servants (or men) were for. She represented everything my younger self aspired to be when I grew up.

If I'm being honest, I still do.

Incidentally, in case you're curious, I'm also one of those Angie over Aniston-types. Now that I'm thinking about it, one can draw quite a few parallels between the two. Am I right?

Beauty Icon Wednesday: Portrait of A Lady...?

Name: Wallis Spencer the Duchess of Windsor, born Bessie Wallis Warfield June 19th, 1896; died April 24th, 1986

From Madonna's new film, W.E.

Wallis Simpson and her former King

Known for: most recently, the real-life inspiration for Madonna's film contribution to this year's Toronto International Film Festival (she not only directed but also wrote the screenplay); but mainly for being that American woman - twice-divorced - that somehow managed to steal the heart of the King of England.

I’m not ashamed to admit that I am a total Anglophile, as well as an avid fan of the Royal Family from a very young age. When I was seven I got up at 5:30 in the morning, as most people did, to watch Diana walk her 40-foot dress train down the aisle to marry her Prince. But I’m not sure that most people had named their goldfish after the new Royal couple, which was one of my main reasons for watching. It was a fairytale at the time, but one that did not have a happy ending for couple or goldfish. 

But, as usual, I have strayed far from my original point.

I can remember first hearing about Wallis Simpson from a book whose name has long been forgotten. Some fluffy teen novel from the Eighties whose main character was some shy mouse of a girl named for this woman whose powers of seduction were so great as to have caused a King to abandon his throne. Naturally, my preteen self was completely enthralled.

From all accounts, Wallis Simpson was not what one might consider a great beauty. The pictures here seem to attest to that. However, what she may have lacked in 'beauty' she more than made up for in charisma, charm and presence. Personally, I'm a big fan of any woman who can sweep in and make a man worship at her feet. That goes double if that man happens to be royalty. But it would seem that this epic romance was also without its happily ever after - after his royal abdication, Edward married his beloved Wallis without any members of his family to support him, and the couple were treated as social pariahs for much of their lives together. 

Still, you have to admire Wallis for her sheer ambition and ability to claw her way from obscurity to one of history's most infamous women. 

If you're just as intrigued by her story as I am, you might want to check out this little article from our friends over at the BBC.

Monday Moments in Makeup History - The 1920's

Ah...the Roaring Twenties. The Jazz Age. Regardless of what you want to call it, for many it was a turning point in history. Most of all, for women. 

For the first time, women were finally granted the right to vote in the US in 1920 - a freedom enjoyed by Canadian women since 1917 - and were beginning to enter into the world of work. For the first time for many of them, women were finally making their own money. And with money, came freedom. It was a period where the last vestiges of rigid Victorian values where shaken off - quite literally - in favour of a new liberal attitude all around. The economy was booming: the Great War was over, and it was time to celebrate. 

Clara Bow, the quintessential Flapper Face

Louise Brooks, Flapper prototype

Off came the corset, up went the hemline. Their hair was cropped and their cheeks were rouged. The Flapper was born. 


The Flapper was the epitome of excess: she wore 'too much' makeup and 'too little' clothes; she drank and smoked, danced with careless abandon and treated sex in much the same way. Once exclusively the domain of prostitutes and stage actresses, makeup began to be used on a daily basis for the first time during this period. Lipstick painted on in the characteristic 'bee-stung' shape, heavily lined eyes, and blush were the order of the day. It offered a nice contrast to the cropped, almost boyish haircuts and shapeless shift dresses. 


However, as with all things, what goes up must come down. Prohibition came along to try to kill the party from 1920 to the early Thirties, but only served to drive it further underground in the form of bathtub gin and speakeasies. Then came the Wall Street stock market crash of 1929 and the Great Depression of the 1930's, which soon gave way to the Second World War. All of which killed the party for good. 


However, the spirit of the flapper continues to live on in the writings of F. Scott Fitzgerald, in the silent films of the silver screen, and in the fashion and style of last week's Beauty Icon, Mme Coco Chanel; all of which continue to inspire beauty, fashion and culture to this day.