Beauty and the beastliness

Snaffling free samples. Cadging complimentary makeovers. Why do so many of us see cosmetics counters as a licence to plunder? Former in-store consultant Freya Barnes Webb raises an eyebrow at such bare-faced cheek

December 2018, and the festive rush was in full force at a busy department store. I was 18 years old and, even though I had no retail experience, my recent qualification in TV, film and theatre make-up had secured me a job as a beauty consultant for a well-known cosmetics brand.

After a brief induction I stood dutifully before the counter with my sparkling new brush belt, ready to make people feel beautiful. On cue, a customer made a beeline and requested a foundation match. I got to work finding her perfect shade, then applied it all over her face to ensure she was happy. She examined herself in the mirror.

‘I look a bit flat. Would you mind adding a little more bronzer, dear?’

Eager to showcase my skills I was happy to oblige, complying further when she went on to ask for concealer, blusher, lipgloss…

‘Your eyeshadow looks amazing,’ she said, looking up at me with puppy-dog eyes, ‘I wish I could do mine like that for my date tonight.’

It did the trick. I applied the eyeshadow and she walked away eventually with a full face of make-up.

I resumed my position by the counter as one of my colleagues, a veteran of the brand, wandered over. ‘She does that to all the new girls,’ she explained. ‘If she does it again just tell her she’ll need to book an appointment and purchase some products…’

I hadn’t even noticed that the woman hadn’t bought anything.

Regardless of ulterior motives I was happy to help those who were nice, as a welcome respite from curt Christmas shoppers. Their demands – ‘Get me this’, ‘I need one of these’, ‘Can I have a free gift?’ – would ring in my ears long after my shift.

Some characters came in to do their make-up for the day, every day; treating the counter as a personal vanity; smearing on unsanitised lipstick testers; applying mascara straight from the wand instead of using a disposable one. Perhaps they’d have refrained if they knew the units of bacteria per square centimetre on the average beauty tester: 200 times that of a typical toilet seat.

The department store I worked in is a shopping destination for the super-rich. It was eye-opening.

Soon after I began there, a clearly wealthy woman ordered me to demonstrate some make-up products on her assistant. No sooner had I begun applying heavy black kajal eyeliner than the woman nodded her approval and pointed to the till. Quickly I tried to remove my work but she held up her hand with a sharp ‘No’.

Having made her purchase, she stomped off with her poor assistant in tow sporting one smoky eye.

When not dealing with the entitled uber-rich I was staffing the tills, the hub for all chancers. Customers would flock for refunds on counterfeit

AMAZINGLY, SOME PEOPLE TRY TO GET REFUNDS ON COUNTERFEIT MAKE-UP

versions of our products, or foundations they had emptied and refilled with a cheaper version. Often I would sniff, tell them I knew it wasn’t genuine and wait for their reaction. Momentary embarrassment would turn to demands to speak to the manager, who would usually give them the refund to avoid complaints to head office.

Something I never got used to was vandalism: a certain woman would, routinely, saunter through the hall, extend her arm and knock the foundation bottles and designer perfumes to the floor. As they fell like dominoes, the din of shattering glass would silence the whole floor. The security guards would escort her out, only for her to return the following week and do it all again.

Recently I caught up with a former colleague to reminisce about those. We recalled the woman once caught pumping foundation from a tester vigorously into a sandwich bag; the feral children who’d chew lipstick testers while their mothers got a makeover.

But it wasn’t all bad. Many people were wonderful, reminding me why I loved make-up in the first place. My favourite was a glamorous older woman who would waft in most weeks and ask for me. She would give the best life advice as

I dolled her up, trusting me and always loving the look.

Customers like her were the reason I stayed for 18 months. But eventually even her visits weren’t enough to make up for rudeness, the thieves and chancers. I resigned.

To all the beauty consultants still at it, I salute you – as we know, it’s not as glam as it looks.