The sceptic’s guide to make-up
It’s meant to delight, but it’s mor of leaving you in despair
Iwithrecently accompanied a friend to the gynaecologist’s clin nd myse seated beside a k a journal ‘Fertility and St thoughts abou discussed stat interrupted fr a well-turned furiously post on her fancy p bored and inapp figure she was the holding forth on all m with a confidence I can on
An unmarketable skill
It’s a relationship I can’t claim to h with any degree of interest or suc child, I too was interested in the c of my mother’s make-up case, secr slathering lipstick on my lips and whenever I could. School plays we where elaborate make-up fantasies played out – a legit chance to wear and mascara while playing, err, tree or dwarves on a wooden stage befo wooden audience. The excitement fi out pretty quickly. By the time I was i I’d surrendered to a kajal-only make-u via a brief and unremarkable dalliance w To this day, I pride myself on my accurate ka application in bumpy autos, unaided by mirrors or good sense. If only such skills were deemed marketable by the world.
This is not a critique of make-up or those whom it serves and delights; it is a lone woman’s reflection on a matter that is deemed every woman’s common inheritance and core competency. We’re expected to be well-versed in all matters cosmetic, expertly concealing blemishes or accentuating cheek bones as the occasion demands, and that’s, well, annoyingly inaccurate.
“You need this for the camera”
It’s not such a big deal in regular life. But get invited to a wedding or tasked with a photo shoot and you’re guaranteed to be dragged to the hs of despair by a judgmental mirror with a dozen sing lights around it. It’s where all manner eapons are deployed by a well-meaning ke-up artist who punctures every ounce lf-belief you’ve spent decades building. ing your face with foundation, they eed to inflict colourful wounds with ouciance that is chilling. As the es pass, you find yourself altering recognition in the mirror, trying le every cry of protest in the f being open-minded. By the time to form a coherent defence, it’s sue is being pressed between your ing moist being dabbed under
re is no turning back from here. u need this for the camera,” they rt. “You’ll look too dull if you
’t,” they warn. “This is just ight and natural look,” they omise. When you go through d pictures, in which you look ewhere between a burlesque former and a creature out of ce fiction, your mind goes to those fateful moments before ror when you still had a voice dn’t muster the nerve.
The joker school of make-up
THE MAKE-UP INDUSTRY RUNS ON DATED AND DANGEROUS IDEAS ABOUT THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN APPEARANCE AND DESIRE
de and it brings me much joy. I have s who liven up a room simply by wearing bright red lipstick. Others whose creative nail paint is an instant lift-me-up. And those whose smouldering eye make-up leaves me gaping in awe. But the make-up industry runs on dated and dangerous ideas about the relationship between appearance and desire, and advertising peddles every cliché in the book about femininity to sell lip plumpers and false eyelashes. As a fallout, it’s disconcerting to hear conversations between teenagers where everything from airbrushing pictures to having cosmetic surgery is scarily desirable and within reach.
To me, make-up is never as interesting or appealing as when it enables a break with tradition, like a young man with painted lips or an elderly woman with emphatic eyes. The gold standard, however, is Heath Ledger’s Joker in The Dark Knight. That powdered face with smudged kohl and lipstick, complete with the creepy vibe, is a terrific send-up to the classic school of make-up. Zombie chic, glam rock and goth brides are other winning looks, for whoever can pull them off. I, meanwhile, will stick to my organic kajal in a bumpy auto, hiding from make-up professionals with the zeal of a paranoiac.
just got ‘ICE’d’ in Switzerland! You would imagine that’s a common experience in the land of the icy Alps but it’s not what you think it is. In fact, in a courteous society like Switzerland, it’s a rare thing to happen. Not making sense? Let me explain.
Getting ICE’d means turning up at an EV charging station and finding the dedicated (for EVs) parking space occupied by an Internal
Combustion Engine (ICE) car. Imagine arriving at a charging point in your electric car with its low battery light flashing, only to find some gas guzzling SUV that shouldn’t be there, hogging your spot. There’s not much you can do except fret and fume and waste time looking for another charging spot. It’s situations like this that makes living with an
EV more of a miss than a hit.
Charging ahead
When I rolled into the basement of the Zurich Sheraton in my Audi Q5 Sportback plug-in hybrid with the small 14.1-KwH battery completely depleted, yes, I was pretty miffed to find a Ford Explorer marked in my spot. But not panicked. Because, even with a completely discharged battery I could fall back on the Q5 Sportback’s conventional 2-litre petrol engine. That’s the beauty of a hybrid. When you run out of charge you don’t get stranded.
Living with the Q5 Sportback 55 TFSI e for a week in Switzerland opened my eyes to the world of plug-in hybrids, or rather, the best of both worlds that this technology offers. It can run in pure electric mode for around 55km noiselessly and emission-free, which is just perfect want for short runs within Zurich and to nearby destinations. On longer drives, the petrol motor takes over so you never have to worry about running out of charge.
THE EXTRA MILE The Audi Q5 Sportback is a plug-in hybrid with a conventional 2-litre petrol engine
Whilst the environmental benefits of running in pure electric mode are quite obvious, what isn’t quite obvious until you actually use a plugin hybrid is the amount you save on fuel, especially in Switzerland.
If you think the cost of petrol has gone through the roof in India, in Switzerland prices are higher than the Alps! Petrol here is 1.8 Swiss Francs or `145 per litre! Thank God for the Audi’s hybrid tech which helped me dodge the wallet-busting fuel prices.
Charging is free at Zurich Sheraton, which meant short runs were almost free too. The plug-in hybrid system worked like a charm, seamlessly switching from petrol to electric drive depending on the conditions. On the last day, I said goodbye to the Q5 in fine style by hitting 300. Not kilometres per hour but kilometres per litre, which in today’s context of global warming is a bigger achievement. The engine was hardly used on the 40km run to the drop off point, which explains this unbelievable figure.
A driver’s paradise
Before I get too obsessed with range, battery charging and things electric, let’s get to what the Q5 Sportback is like to drive. Switzerland is a driver’s paradise because a breathtaking alpine road is never far away. This mountainous country is known for its passes and my favourite is the Susten Pass just an hour and a half from Zurich.
It was an absolute blast gunning the Q5, which obediently and smoothly surged from corner to corner. And sustenance at the top of Susten where the weather changed dramatically from sunshine to mist and rain, arrived in the form of a hot soup at one of the quaint restaurants there.
What was unbelievable was how the Q5 in this rather unique shade of military green stayed so clean after a week’s driving in occasional rain. There’s no dust, grime or muck in this pristine environment to dirty your car. Imagine how good that must be for your lungs.
THE PLUG-IN HYBRID SYSTEM WORKS LIKE A CHARM, SEAMLESSLY SWITCHING FROM PETROL TO ELECTRIC DRIVE DEPENDING ON THE CONDITIONS