“But my dear man, reality is only a Rorschach ink-blot, you know.” - Alan Watts

I seem to have an internal calendar when it comes to nail polish...running on similar lines to the one that whispers to the bear that it's probably time to take a little nap and wake up in a few months...except mine is a lot more vain and a little less purposeful. In the colder months the i.c. urges me to smarten myself up a little by painting my fingernails (the theory being that although the rest of me may be a tad disheveled I won't look like a complete deadbeat if I have a manicure)...in warmer weather the concept is pretty much the same except my toe nails get the spit and polish treatment instead (as you may have guessed by now, this means that I am too lazy to attempt both hands and feet at the same time).

And while, in winter, I may add a cheery red or orange to the palette my summer polish selection tends to be dark...against the chalky paleness of my skin, and whatever footwear I'm wearing that day, somehow murkier tones are so much more appealing. Hitherto this has meant black...more black...and the occasional gunmetal gray...but yesterday I found myself at the Chanel counter with a bottle of Blue Satin in my hand. I know that I'm approximately a year too late with this one but...its inky depths called to me...and I just don't care.


...a by product of my expedition into make-up land was a reawakening of my desire for red lipstick. Why, as a confirmed pale gloss wearer, I should lust for bold, femme fatale lips I can't say...but Chanel's Passion may very well be the shade that pushes me over the edge and brings a touch more soigne-ness to my daily existence.


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