You can wear high­lighter with­out look­ing like a disco ball.

Sunday Star-Times - Sunday Magazine - - BEAUTY, HARRIET PUDNEY - nzirish­fest.co.nz Novem­ber 15-18 Sarah Cather­all

Mod­er­a­tion is bor­ing, but you re­ally can have too much of a good thing. The ne­groni is a per­fect cock­tail, but en­joy too many and you’re con­tact­ing ev­ery­one you ever dated to tell them ex­actly what you think of them.

I en­joy two or three cof­fees a day, but more than that and my hands shake. It’s about know­ing your lim­its.

The same is very, very true with makeup, as any­one who’s ac­ci­den­tally gone full Wine­house while try­ing to even out their winged liner will tell you.

Pre­vent­ing those mo­ments is a mix of tech­nique and prod­uct choice, and to­day I’d like to talk about them both in the con­text of that oft-abused sub­stance known as high­lighter.

While so­cial me­dia has democra­tised the beauty world, it’s also given rise to a style of makeup that looks great in photos and ex­tremely high-key in real life. You know the type, and I’ve whinged about it be­fore: carved out, su­per-solid brows, matte lips, a heavy con­tour, and high­lighter that can be seen from space.

Ev­ery­one should wear ex­actly as much or as lit­tle makeup as they feel best in, but I think il­lu­mi­nat­ing prod­ucts are much more flat­ter­ing when used spar­ingly.

One of the true orig­i­nals here is Bobbi Brown, and that brand’s High­light­ing Pow­der works hard for its $110 price tag. That’s too much to spend on a prod­uct you don’t ab­so­lutely love, so do try it in store first, but there’s a very good chance its su­per-smooth tex­ture, build­able ap­pli­ca­tion and flat­ter­ing glow will win you over. Pop this on with a mid-size fluffy brush and step back reg­u­larly so you know you’re not go­ing too hard.

Sim­i­larly lovely and sig­nif­i­cantly cheaper is Stila’s Heaven’s Hue High­lighter, $51. This is pop­u­lar with the In­sta­gram set, so it can do the disco ball ef­fect, but ap­plied lightly, you’ll just get that lit-from-within look we’re all af­ter. It’s avail­able in eight shades, and is also great as an eye­shadow.

For fans of a cream prod­uct, RMS Magic Lu­minizer, $60, is a must-try. Cousin to the brand’s hugely pop­u­lar Liv­ing Lu­minizer, this is a rosier, warmer shade. It’s just as blend­able and nat­u­ral, though, so tap on with fin­gers and fill your boots.

Sun­days in Ire­land are as big as a Fri­day night. Ev­ery­one goes to the pub in the af­ter­noon. Maybe it’s the fear of a Mon­day. Af­ter I left school here, I jumped on a plane and re­turned to Ire­land. I was there for 14 years – in Dublin, then in Gal­way for six years. Ev­ery Sun­day morn­ing, I would get up and have a great big Ir­ish break­fast – ba­con and eggs, and black and white pud­ding. I’d of­ten have a dip in the har­bour to shake off the night be­fore. Around 2pm, I would play a tra­di­tional mu­sic ses­sion in an Ir­ish pub. I started this event called the Salt­house Sun­day ses­sions at a pub in Gal­way, where mu­si­cians would gather and play. It’s still go­ing to­day. In the evening, I’d find a mu­sic ses­sion to go and watch.

My Sun­days in Welling­ton are com­pletely dif­fer­ent and all about fam­ily. On Sun­day, I let Josie have a sleep in. She gets up early dur­ing the week to go to work and I do the morn­ing shift with Odie be­fore I go off. Odie and I are usu­ally up by 6am on a Sun­day, and we start the day watch­ing spearfish­ing videos on YouTube. Odie loves any screen time so

I save it for spearfish­ing videos with Dad on a Sun­day morn­ing!

I’ve been ob­sessed with fish­ing from about the age of 4, when I made my first rod with a bam­boo stick, a thread and a pa­per clip.

I started free­d­iv­ing when I was about 14 here in Welling­ton, go­ing out into the har­bour with one of Dad’s friends. You hold your breath and go down with a spear gun, at­tached by rope to a buoy at the sur­face. You dive down as far as 20 me­tres plus. It’s like an en­forced med­i­ta­tion in a way be­cause ev­ery­thing is about the breath. You’re down 20m and gasp­ing for breath, you’re not think­ing about tax re­turns. At the end of the day, I feel so calm and I sleep so deeply.

I’ve got three younger broth­ers and they all dive like me. We might be out there for six hours. I come back with king­fish, john dory, cray­fish, ka­hawai, scal­lops, de­pend­ing where we go. On the way home, we usu­ally sneak in a beer at the Par­rot­dog Bar in Lyall Bay and then head home to fil­let the fish. In the win­ter, I cook up the fish in a red curry and in sum­mer, maybe fish tacos with some chipotle mayo and fresh let­tuce from the gar­den.

At 9am on a Sun­day, we’re first at the door when our lo­cal cafe Zany Zeus opens. They do these $5 hal­loumi sand­wiches. They are the best. Odie eats a big hal­loumi scone and drinks a fluffy. When we get back home, we try to get out for a fam­ily walk, ei­ther down the Hutt River, or up the new track be­hind Te Whiti Park in Wai­whetu. It’s a 4km walk up to the top through stun­ning na­tive bush and views of Te Whanganui-a-Tara. Odie loves go­ing to the park or chas­ing seag­ulls on the beach. She loves hav­ing both of us home at the week­end.

Mum loves spon­ta­neously invit­ing half the coun­try for din­ner. She has this open door pol­icy so of­ten we’ll go to her house on Sun­day and there’ll be 20 peo­ple there for din­ner, and a sings-song af­ter. For her 60th birth­day, Mum and I did an al­bum to­gether.

I’m a bit of a night owl. When bubs goes to bed, we usu­ally watch an episode from a cur­rent series on Net­flix. We’ve just fin­ished Ozark. I’ll go to bed around mid­night or 1am, and plan my week. I’ll lis­ten to some new bands I am check­ing out for CubaDupa or Coast­ella or the NZ Ir­ish Fest. I look through 500-plus ap­pli­ca­tions for bands each year, of­ten in a con­densed pe­riod.

Mu­sic is a huge part of my life – it’s my job and my hobby. I’ve got a cou­ple of Sun­day playlists. We’ll lis­ten to Lou Reed or Bil­lie Hol­i­day. Some­times I’ll have a Bob Dy­lan Sun­day. Odie will say: “Is that Bob Dy­lan, Dad?” And I’ll say: “Yeah.” And she’ll say: “Can we lis­ten to Alice the Camel?”

Leav­ing is one of your op­tions but, chances are if you do that, you will find your­self in this sit­u­a­tion again. It de­pends on what mat­ters to you: sure you want a plea­sur­able love life, but will it be OK to have a series of shorter-term re­la­tion­ships through­out your life? If not, then set your mind to learn­ing about your­self or selves if your part­ner shares your sense of bore­dom. I think the seven-year itch term comes from the dis­cov­ery of many cou­ples that in­ti­mate re­la­tion­ships don’t look af­ter them­selves. Stella Resnick, au­thor of The Plea­sure Zone, says vi­tal­ity comes from the will­ing­ness to take plea­sure in mo­ment-by-mo­ment ex­pe­ri­ence. It sounds like you’re only half

Kow­tow Panel dress, $279

Photos: Robert Kitchin

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