Before: Limp, four-day-old blowout.

Hey ladies! Yesterday I had the distinct pleasure of visiting Ojon’s Treatment Triage Suite, backstage at Milk Studios (where tons of shows are happening). Basically, it was a cute little suite where the wildly restorative, genius-for-healthifying-hair brand was styling editors’ hair between fashion shows. Let me start by saying that I stan for Ojon’s products. Every last one of their damage-reversing treatments is blended with a golden elixir extracted from an obscure Central American tree (natives have been dousing their hair in it for like 500 years…hence, their long, impossibly glossy, slow-mo shampoo commercial manes). 800 nuts off the Ojon tree produces only 3 cups of this stuff. It’s very, very special and rich and decadent.

Elixir of the gods.

So in celebration of Fashion Week, where all I’ve seen are textured, braid-y ‘dos, I asked Ojon Lead Stylist Gwynne to hook me up with one of these ‘dos! Really, I wanted my hair to look exactly the opposite of how it always looks: down, straight, kinda limp. First, to give my hair some sheen and life, she massaged a couple drops of Ojon Instant Restorative Hair Serum from mid-shaft (tee-hee) to ends. THIS IS MY NEW FAVORITE PRODUCT. Look at how glossy and healthy it made my hair look! Frizz-free, as far as the eye can see.

AFTER: My swirly, braided updo.

Starting at the crown, she brushed small sections straight up, spritzed Ojon Volume Advance on each (smelled like cake…omg I was so hungry while this was happening) curled with the curling iron, and created pin curls. After they all cooled, she undid the pin, finger-brushed and then created a loosey-goosey, haphazardly twisted French braid (pinning the ends up randomly), and left out face-framing tendrils. Cuuute. My Met Ball hairstyle for next year! Yep, securing an invite was one of my New Year’s resolutions.

MO’ AFTER: Look at the detail up in there!

I was obvs waayyy into the touch screen photo booth thingie at the suite. Technology is sexy! Listen, I go to a zillion of these FW beauty suites, but this one was such a treat. I never really try new styles with my hair (I’m so much more of a makeup girl), so my pickle was tickled. Thank you Ojon!

xoox, Tia

Let’s back up from Fashion Week and the Grammy’s and Beyonce in general and talk beauty for a sec. Not makeup. Beauty. At FW festivities over the weekend, I ran into ThisThatBeauty.com’s Miss Felicia, who looked totally stunning in mascara and a bold red lip, nada mas. I was serving up little more than skin and neutral bronze effects that day, too. So we took a selfie, mutually admired our low-key cuteness, and then bemoaned the new trend of international pop star-level lashes, wigs, and contouring…for day. By normal women. For no reason.

Beyonce can do this, because she was about to perform…not run out to the bodega.

Listen, I love glamour. I’m not afraid of glamour (and that’s a direct Jerry Hall quote, darling). Twiggy lashes and Dynasty hair. A lip so epic it enters the room before you do. It’s my stock and trade! Drag, honey. Barbarella bodaciousness, Diana Rossian splendor. But I need it to be in its proper place…ie, a stage, a magazine cover, a runway, or a red carpet. New Year’s Eve, the prom. Unless you’re Beyonce Carter, Kelendria Rowland, or currently starring on RuPaul’s Drag Race/Real Housewives of My Ass, you should not have a visible contour line running down your nose at noon. I’d suggest skipping the lace-front, as well. These are exaggerated looks, performance looks…and sorry, it just looks weird when you’re wearing massive, ticky-tacky drugstore faux lashes while working your shift at the DMV.

[The outrageous lashes-for-day thing has to stop —unless they’re extensions (love) or individuals (subtle, chic). That thick-as-fuck faux row is just depressing].

Try this, instead. So clean, so stunning.

God knows I live for beauty…the ritual of application, the endorphins, the female-bonding, the mystery of transformation. The hoodoo, the armor. On some days, the low days, putting on your face may be the sole thing giving you the strength to face the world. But stage hair and makeup is a mask. Stop hiding! And what about men? Put yourself in their shoes. Would you want to fuck a mannequin? How can he even find you underneath all that? Give a man a chance to be awed by your skin. Experience him running his fingers through your hair, burying his face in it. Let him see/feel you bare. Hell, let you see you bare.

I am not suggesting you pull a Kim K., where you suddenly think porn hair is corny ‘cause your queeny fashion boyfriend thinks its un-chic. I’m just saying, dial it down and see what happens. No lashes, maybe — just a major lip. Big hair, but temper it with sheer shadow and gloss.

For the past month, I’ve been blending this onto damp skin with my eff-you finger every single night…and my complexion’s never been more supple and glowy. The only reason I let this man see me sans Origins’ or Iman’s BB Cream.

#HG is super-into my makeup-less face, and up until recently, this terrified me. I’m the girl that sets her alarm at 5:30am to apply concealer before her man wakes up. My undereye circles are both hereditary and horrendous…but he doesn’t see them. He sees glowing skin he can touch (thank you, Philosophy Oxygen Gel Cream Moisturizer, above), that won’t rub off. He sees a naked, unadorned mouth, meant for kissing…and stuff. Listen, it still freaks me out a bit and if I ever leave the house bare-faced you’ll know I’ve lost my mind (I only play those no-makeup games indoors, be clear). But in seeing my unadorned face through someone else’s eyes…adoring eyes…well, I’ve kind of never felt prettier.

“I’d make a mask out of my face because I didn’t realize I was quite beautiful…I had to wear heavy black eyelashes like bat wings and dark lines under my eyes. Cut all my long dark hair off, stripe it silver and blond. I’d freak out in a physical way and it was taken as a trend.” — Edie Sedgwick, on her Warhol-era makeup

Marianne Faithfull, Mick Jagger’s late-60s lover/muse, once described showing up at Mick’s house right after they met. She found him having farewell sex with his ex, a full-on Swinging London dolly bird. Her wiglet was askew, bouffant deflated, lashes peeling off off, penciled-in lower lashes blurry…you know, from boning. And there was Marianne, with her loose hippie hair, freckles and wind-whipped cheeks. Two eras colliding – the Mad Men Sixties and the Bohemian Sixties – and suddenly the ex, who looked plucked-chicken exposed without her artifice, also looked as old fashioned as if she were wearing a corset. There was no competition. Please lawd, let that day come again soon.

Hi Ladies! Happy Inauguration Day! I will not bore you with my not-unique feelings regarding the dawn of Obama’s second term…the relief, the historical significance, #MichellesBangs, Sasha and Malia’s unparallelled adolescent chicery. You can read all about it, and far more eloquently, on political blogs. No, I’m here to discuss my point of entry, which would be The Root’s totally glamorous Inauguration Ball at the National Museum of American History! I scored a ticket only because my baby sister Lauren is The Root’sDeputy Editor (bossed up, bossed up), but I still felt like a very glamorous DC insider being there.  The Ball was, truly, a ball.

My glam parents (get into my mom’s snatched waist!). And Dr. Williams, dancing for his life after a few cocktails. Minutes later, he spotted Chris Tucker and called out “Silver Linings, man, Silver Linings!” Tucker was like “Yeah man!” and threw up a black power fist. It was as random as it sounds.

I saw a ton of old media friends, chatted up Skip Gates, and dodged a couple UVA crushes who hadn’t aged well (I hate that sinking, sad feeling you get when you see the musclebound football god you worshiped in 1994 devolve into the chubby black mayor on Nashville). I also strenuously ignored the circle forming around my dancing machine of a father (can’t take him anywhere), and the cater waiter who asked if he could refresh more than just my drink (sir, you have ASAP Rocky cornrows…no).

Michelle and me.

And now for my look. I was super-inspired by Michelle Pfeiffer in Scarface (the pristine bob, the clavicle)…but also, oddly enough, Kate Middleton. When I found out I was going to the Ball, I knew instantly that I wanted to rock the lowcut, hot pink Issa gown I’ve seen Duchess Kate rock at least three times. So I hit up RentTheRunway.com, and rented the slinky, swingy, disco-era confection for only a hunnid bucks!

The dress was kinda major, so I kept my makeup minor. Kohl-lined eyes along top and bottom lashlines, Kevin Aucoin Creamy Moist Blush in Liquifuschia and my favorite sexy-pop-of-pink lipstick, Kat Von D’s Painted Love Lipstick in Backstage Barbie (yeah, Ms. Von D is that random tattoo artist with the reality show, but her lipsticks are truly a gift from the Greek Goddess of Beauty, Cosmetiqua).

The bubblegum pink lipstick to end them all.

Lauren, Devon/Brownie, et moi. I got all my sisters with me…

Speaking of lips, just in case you wanted to know what my fierce-ass sisters were wearing, here you go: Laur was wearing Stila Long Wear Lip Color in Paramour, a femme fatale crimson with wine undertones; and Brownie had on Philosophy’s legendary Lip Gloss in Kiss Me Gloss, a sheer berry glaze. Hot!

All in all, it was a lovely event! I got tipsy but didn’t slip in my sky-high heels, I drove a few boys wild, and Obama is still our fearless leader. I will sleep well tonight.

xoxo, Tia

Norma Shearer, The Divorcee (1930)

I don’t know if it’s the fetching, wind-whipped flush the cold has brought to my cheeks…or my crush on my clingily epic Inaugural Ball gown…or Downton Abbey…but I’m in such a romantic mood. Like, beauty-wise. I want a lit-from-within, “just received a proper boning” complexion! Impossibly long, battable, inky-black lashes! Hair that leaves a faint trace of fragrance in my wake! I want to be Norma Shearer in “The Divorcee,” languid with illicit love, murmuring things like “one more great romance will kill me, darling” while draped across a chaise lounge in a satiny robes and marcelled waves. I feel that the key to this moment are these three products. Try them. I DARE you not to feel like a romance novel heroine with a song in her heart and fire in her loins…

Talk to me, Talika.

Forget floppy, uber-obvious faux lashes…I add leading lady oomph to my lashes with Talika Lash Extender ($28). This pot of rayon, hair-like fibers adds crazy length to even the eensiest lashes. To use, you simply swipe on a coat of your fave mascara. Then tap the very ends of your lashes with the wand, adding the fibers to the ends of the hairs (this creates the illusion of length). Add a final coat to seal the fibers to your lashes, and you’ve got a wingspan that would rival Liza and Diana in their heyday. So romantique.

Just YES.

A pop of color on one’s cheeks is a must when rocking that “love goddess” thing. It denotes health, radiance, and three hours of game-changing sex. The late Kevyn Aucoin managed to encapsulate all of this into one perfect blush (and get into the name): Kevin Aucoin’s Creamy Moist Glow in Liquifuchsia ($24). I just got this last week, and I’m wondering how I’ve survived without it. Using my ring and eff-you fingers, I blend the color right onto the apples of my cheeks, and I swear I’m 25. Perfect on all brown skintones, too.

Mmm-mmm good.

Yes, Chanel No 5 Hair Mist ($58) is an extravagance. No it’s not necessary in life. But you know what? I work my ass off and I’m a damned good mother and I wash the dishes sometimes, so I deserve to pamper the fuck out of myself. This was my Christmas gift to me…and it was so worth it. Every morning, I flip my head upside down and spritz a little of Marilyn Monroe’s favorite fragrance at the nape of my neck (this is a hot zone…a pulse point, so it radiates the scent throughout my hair for hours), and voila, my hair smells like money and decadence and high class sex in Paris penthouses all day long. Worth every cent.

Love you guys! I’ll be back on Monday with tales from the Inaugural Ball…

All hail.

Kerry Washington is having a fine, fine year, ladies. From Scandal’s HMIC (head mistress in charge) to Django’s achingly plucky slave-in-distress, she’s proved that her talent runs the gamut and that we’d watch her in anything. Even a live reading of my apple TV’s excruciating instruction manual. And at tonight’s Golden Globes, she simply radiated. I got the hair-and-makeup rundown from my Kerry connects, so quickly, I wanted to fill you in:

MAKEUP

Here’s how superstar makeup maven Carola Gonzalez hooked our girl up: the caramel-kissed nude lip was courtesy of Giorgio Armani Lip Maestro in 500 Blush. The bold purple eye and candy-pink flush? All Lancome, all day: Teint Idole 24 Hr. Foundation in Suede, Color Design Infinite 24 Hr. Shadow in Evermore Lilac and Mochaccino, Artliner in Smoke, and Blush in Pommettes d’Amour.

HAIR

Celeb stylist Marcus Francis whipped up the perfect blowout-and-blunt-bangs moment using John Frieda products (I love fancy by way of drugstore products). Here’s how:

He sprayed Frizz-Ease 3-Day Straight Semi-Permanent Styling Spray ($9.99), throughout wet hair and combed through to distribute the product evenly.

Next, he blowdried Kerry’s hair straight. Using a flat iron, he straightened hair section by section–the heat activated 3-Day Straight, which ensures that her style stays sleek all night.

Lastly, he applied Frizz-Ease Secret Weapon Flawless Finishing Crème ($5.99) throughout hair to give a smooth, shiny finish.

Hola ladies,

So the other day, I was having a lazy, long lunch at Cafeteria with my ooollld friend Kibwe. Old. Old enough for him to remember me tumbling out of Key Club (a late-Nineties NYC staple), shrieking 112′s “Only You” at the top of my lungs and then walking smack into a “No Standing Anytime” sign (#blackoutdrunk).

This might’ve been the night, actually.

Anyway, out of nowhere, we had an extremely illuminating conversation about black men and their relationship to their hair. Actually, let me back up. It wasn’t entirely out of nowhere. I hadn’t seen Kibwe, a crazy successful designer, in awhile — after working for every major house on the planet (the likes of Michael Kors and Oscar de la Renta), he left NYC to get a fab advanced degree at Brown U. When he showed up to lunch, I was shocked to see that he had a good three or four inches of starter dreadlocks sprouting from his adorable head. He had long locks back in high school, but had basically had a variation of a low cut (ceasars, fades, teeny weeny ‘fros) since then. Cute!

And this was the convo that transpired:

Me: Kibwe! Your hair! Are you growing locks again?

Kibwe: Yeah, but it’s not for style, it’s part of a broader, more global cultural conversation.

Me: Oh Jesus, have you been reading Audre Lord or something? Did you become Rasta at Brown? Walk me through this.

Kibwe: Listen. As a black man…a black man who’s hair doesn’t wave if I rock a du-rag to bed…your hair is this thing coming out of you that you have to hurry up and get rid of before everyone sees it. If I have even a millimeter of new growth, I look like a slave. It’s “peasy,” “beady-beads,” “taco meat.” It communicates “urban,” there’s no other option.

Me: Fair enough.

Kibwe, today. How about that canvas bag?

Kibwe: I’m sick of the Ceasar. I need to see my hair. I need to learn to react positively to it, because the culture is not affirming me. If i keep cutting it, no one will adjust their thinking…including me. It’s like when you’re a woman who feels gross without lipgloss or something. You should try skipping it to learn to love yourself without it.

[In my head, I'm like "umm...never, buddy."]

Kibwe: Also, just from a fashion point of view…I always wanted to have the “scruffy” option. White culture has the “scruffy guy you still wanna fuck,” like Johnny Depp. Black culture doesn’t. Locks and twists are just starting to kinda become cool, like with 2 Chainz and Wayne and Wale. There’s Lenny, but he’s always been the exception.

Me: Yeah, it’s like the whole dirty chic thing never works on black girls. We can’t wear fucked-up Uggs, or super-messy ponytails. We look homeless.

“White” scruffy.

Kibwe: We’re expected to be clean cut, so as not to offend non-minorities. There’s no lane for a non-conventional black man (especially not for a gay one). Not if you wanna keep your job. Fuck that. I’m all over the new natural hair YouTube videos and shit. Have you heard of co-washing?

Me: Totally! It’s when you skip shampoo, ’cause it’s too drying. You use  conditioner to both clean and moisturize you’re hair.

Kibwe: It’s everything, right? At first I’m like, co-wash? Like you need an extra set of hands? Like community-wash? As in you’re calling your girl, like “come get in the shower with me, bitch…I need support staff to wash my shit!”

Wale. DC stand up!!

And then we both fell out laughing and the conversation went way left. But it’s interesting, right? You tend to think that the black hair conversation solely belongs to black women, but it really doesn’t. Just thought I’d share. Love you, Kibwe. And I love you guys, too.

Like you, I’ve spent the past two weeks flitting about from holiday party to holiday party, nibbling on rubbery crab cake hors d’orvoures, mainlining rum-soaked egg nog, and freezing in high-waisted sequin short-shorts and sheer tights while waiting for a cab (inside the taxi, I pick tinsel out of my hair and idly rummage through gift bags, hoping some generous PR girl thought to include chocolate). One party runs into the next, and after having the same conversations with eleven different people, the only thing that starts to stand out are the outfits. The sparkly little body-con numbers in candy-bright hues, the disco-era rompers pulled together with a festive gold belt. Silky tops, strapless satin cocktail confections. I’ve spent the past two weeks watching the chicest girls in the city dazzle in their holiday party best – and I couldn’t help but notice, yet again, that everyone was sleeveless. It’s really such a moment!

Suffice it to say, I felt super-on trend wearing Dove’s go sleeveless Soothing Chamomile Deodorant all holiday season (silky-smooth underarms in just five days, hello!). In Jamaica, go sleeveless allowed me to rock my eensiest bikini with ultra-confidence — I felt so fab knowing that I got 48 hours of protection, and smooth, even-toned skin, that I had to shout it from the mountaintops (yet again!). Cheers to all the fabulous sleeveless fashions this season, and to Dove, who made us all look hotter while wearing them! Check out www.facebook.com/Dove for more info

Hi girls! So this is not a holiday post, for a couple reasons: A.) you can find those anywhere, and B.) my SYB Babes are demanding that I answer a very specific, non-Christmas-related question. Over the past week, I’ve gotten several tweets/emails from you guys, sweetly demanding details re: my everyday makeup regimen. Okay muchachitas, here it is…my daily face in five simple, straightforward steps. I’m all for the quickest way to get from ho-hum to HOT, so don’t be alarmed if my steps seem a bit pared-down. Here goes!

Step 1.) CONCEALER: BECCA DUAL COVERAGE COMPACT CONCEALER IN MAPLE

So very important. Who are these freshman out here applying eyeshadow or gloss or something without putting on concealer first? Girls. You are not ready for color if you haven’t perfected your skin yet. To get flawless-looking skin, I apply an oil-free moisturizer and then, using my eff-you finger, I pat this creamy, yellow-based concealer over shady areas (ie, under my eyes and around my mouth). The trick is to dab it on, almost like you’re pressing the concealer into your skin — if you rub, you’re actually moving the color away from where you need it to go. I set the cover-up with a light dusting of translucent pressed powder (meaning sheer or colorless) so it won’t settle into my fine lines, and that’s it!

Step 2.) GOLDEN-CHAMPAGNE SHADOW: BOBBI BROWN RICH CAVIAR EYESHADOW PALETTE

Next up is eyes. Yeah, I’m totally boring…I’ve been wearing the same shadow shade since 1994. But listen, golden-champagney-peachy hues dazzle against my skin, so if it ain’t broke I refuse to fix it! Right now, I’m deeply crushing on this new Holiday 2012 palette from my girl BB. I wear the top middle shade for my everyday look (I swipe it on from lashes to crease, nada mas). But when I need to smolder dahling, I add the palest hue to my browbone, and blend the deep, golden-pewter shade into my crease (bottom far left). The smudgier, the better.

Step 3.) BLACK MASCARA +LINER: BARE ESCENTUALS BIG & BRIGHT MINI MASCARA & LINER DUO

I got this mascara and eyeliner set in a gift bag somewhere, and now I can’t live without it. The liner goes on SOOO smooth…no need to tug and pull at my skin to get an even line (don’t do this at home, creates wrinkles, bad). So, to add extra definition to my eyes, I create a veddy veddy skinny line along my lashline, and then swipe on two coats of mascara. Btw, the wand is so extra-big and luscious, your lashes won’t know what hit them.

Perfect for faking that post s-e-x glow.

Step 4.) CORAL-ISH BLUSH: NARS FOREPLAY PALETTE

Sam Fine once told me that black women look fabulous in orange-tone blush. I balked, and he assured me that even though it might look Crayola-crazy in the packaging, bright coral tones leave a warm, healthy, radiant glow on brow skin. He’s right. Thus, this new cheek palette from Nars is everything! I dip a big, fluffy brush in each of the vivid peach, tangerine and fucshia shades, and then blend it over the apples of my cheeks. I finish with a lightweight swipe of the shimmery golden highlighter (for extra afterglowiness). The wonders this palette does for my complexion cannot be overstated.

Step 5.) PINKY-NUDE GLOSS: BUXOM BIG & HEALTHY LIP POLISH IN MUDSLIDE

I tend to skip uber-bright lip colors for day in favor of neutral, pinky-nudes with a major gloss factor. This gem from Buxom is all I’ll ever need in a daytime lip. It somehow stays seriously glossy for hours…plus it’s shot through with peppermint tingliness, moisturizing vitamin E, and special hyaluronic spheres that plump up your pucker. I have one in each purse. Yep, it’s like that.

The end! Holler at me with your daily makeup regimen, I’m dying to know. xx, Tia

Okay, so I’m going to Jamaica over the holidays. It’s imperative that I look totally devastating – which for me, right now, means I’ll be packing like 32 tank body-con dresses, like the one above from ASOS (when you’re a skinny like moi, these itty bitty clingies give you curves). Which is super-on trend, since sleevelessness is ubiquitous this fall/winter — hello, Michelle Obama and forever-in-a-tank Rihanna (I did some research: apparently, over half of US women will go sleeveless this season, frigid temps be damned, apparently).

Enter Dove’s new Go Sleeveless Anti-Perspirant Deodorant…I’ve been test-driving it for two weeks now, and it’s ridiculously brilliant. It’s loaded with ultra-moisturizing vitamins E and F and Dove 1/4 moisturizers. In under five days, my underarms were velvety-smooth, silky and sexy dress-ready. The other perk? It doesn’t sting after you shave or wax and promises 48 hours of protection.  It’s a mild, delicious-smelling, invisible little soldier, keeping me looking fab and staying dry. Learn more on Facebook.com/Dove. You’ll love!!

Heyyyyy. So it occurred to me that I haven’t properly written about beauty (capital “B” beauty) in a minute. Which is unfair, cuz that’s what I do. This is a quickie, I just wanted to draw your attention to a little something that recently set my world ablaze.

I just had another migraine surgery. My face is swollen, my cheek is fashionably color-blocked a bruise-y teal and amethyst, and I’m generally disfigured. And ornery. I’ve been avoiding mirrors for the past week, but last night I had insomnia and stared at myself for a good fifteen minutes (try doing this…your features slowly become distorted and funhouse mirror-like. After two minutes you’ll appear to be melting). I needed to feel pretty again, and fast. Confession: I haven’t worn makeup in almost three weeks, and I have a whole pile of new stuff to try. So I grabbed my new L’Oreal Voluminous Million Lashes Diamonds Mascara in “I’m Blackety Black and I’m Black Y’all” (kidding, just “Black”) and swiped it on. I don’t know if it’s just ’cause I’ve been off makeup for a minute, but this stuff made my lashes snap to attention and reach for las estrellas. Thick, lush, long. Sexy separation, tons of volume. And the shade isn’t just black, it’s spiked with a faint spray of silver shimmer that’s hardly detectable until the light hits it the right way. Gorgeous. Truly. Get it.