My partner and I recently organized a neighborhood block party. Although we know some of our neighbors quite well, there are proportionately more that tend to keep to themselves unless someone in the community plans an event. Of course, when adults meet for the first time in a social setting, a common question is what one does for a living. I often state that I’m a writer. Or that I manage a Web site. Sometimes that generic answer works, but sometimes follow-up questions occur, such as what type of writing do I do? That’s where things can get sticky…
I don’t mind being more descriptive, but sometimes I find myself reluctant to elaborate because, well, I’m not quite sure why. It may be because I feel the need to over-explain what I do and how Paula and I go about reviewing products, or that I immediately think the person I’m speaking to will question my credentials or think we’re running some rinky-dink operation. After 25 years, even Paula still gets the occasional “who do you think you are?” or “what gives you the right to review products this way?” emails. Would a 40-something female attorney I just met be convinced that her 30-something suburban neighbor (a male, no less) could offer her meaningful, potentially complexion-changing advice about her skin-care routine? And why didn’t I just state that I work in retail, something I can easily converse about?
As it turns out, the female attorney I was speaking with was fascinated by my job. I briefly explained my background and the set of criteria Paula and I have established that form the basis of our reviews. But I was feeling increasingly self-conscious, and begin to wish that either the wine I was drinking would kick in or that someone would ask me to, oh, I don’t know, grill something. I suppose it’s at this point where I felt the need to say something impressive, perhaps to further convince the person I’m speaking with that yes, I really do know what I’m talking about. My attorney neighbor asked what I thought of the Origins line, which she’s been using for a couple of weeks. She stated that she was drawn to the line because they use natural ingredients. I must’ve had a sour look on my face because she took a step back as I explained to her that Origins has more problematic products than helpful ones. Uh-oh…now she was really intrigued.
Adjusting her stance, she leaned forward and exclaimed something I’ve heard time and time again: “But I thought natural ingredients were better for our skin!” I replied that nothing could be further from the truth, though there are some very good natural ingredients in skin-care products. She said “But not in Origins products?”, to which I responded “Sadly, no.” She looked horrified as if I told her that clumps of her hair had just fallen onto the potato salad. I mentioned that Origins was a Lauder-owned line, and although their skin-care products are loaded with fragrant plant irritants, the Estee Lauder and Clinique brands happen to offer some of the most brilliantly-formulated moisturizers and serums anywhere, and neither of these lines make a huge deal about natural ingredients. That perked her up, but it launched us into a discussion about eye creams (she’s a fan of Lauder’s). 20 minutes later (the wine had kicked in now) we were still talking, though I was being a bit more candid. As it turns out, she left vowing to check out our book and subscribe to Beautypedia. And for the next hour or so I fielded a dozen or so “What do you think about this product? “questions.
My job may be unusual, but as it turns out, talking about it can be a great ice-breaker, not to mention an opportunity to educate more people about the staggering amount of false information perpetuated by the cosmetics industry.







