Dear Napoleon Perdis,

You can tell I've fallen off the whole 'writing things are not my thesis and cannot be presented to a room full of my drowsy peers' bandwagon when I can only summon the moral strength to write a series of sulky letters to people and things, a trope clearly stolen from McSweeneys,. However, it's late and I'm stuck in the office staring at a heart-achingly unwritten paper, and my whole body is throbbing in a way that can only be compared to the ticking sound a car makes after a long car trip, a sensation I get when I'm avoiding work, and I can't think of anything to say about fat people, but I do have a great deal to say about the ubiquitous cosmetics line. If I was being uncharitable, you could say I have a great deal to say about one fat person, not many.

I love a bit of lippie, yes I do. Lipstick is colourful, it's creamy, and the good ones come in attractive tubes of a satisfying size and weight. I read somewhere that in times of economic difficulty lipstick sales go on, and I can totally understand. At times of strife a lipstick is a reasonable bit of consumerish nonsense that doesn't require you to try on anything, and if you're lucky you get to have a chat with the counter staff, which I always enjoy.

Really, the counter staff are why you don't just pop into Priceline for some Super Lustrous and tampons. When you find the best kind of counter staff you can simply front up, gesture vaguely at your face and whimper that it needs some work, and they'll take you by the hand and bust out the testers and have a bit of fun. Indeed, the only reason I buy so much MAC is the comely, enthusiastic Lillian Gish lookalike at the Bourke Street David Jones, who once spent a full twenty minutes explaining to me how to do a pin curl when all I wanted was some concealer.

Herein lies my problem with Napoleon Perdis. In a crowded market with countless largely redundant brands continually jostling for attention, is it really wise to heavily promote this man as an expert on beauty?



Moreover, why would your small counters be staffed with women, apparently instructed to launch themselves indiscriminately at any passing customer, who largely look like this?



Of course I exaggerate. But only slightly. Honestly, are the Napoleon Perdis counter staff required to encrust themselves in bronzer, mascara, lip gloss and confusingly turquoise eyeliner? Next time you're in a David Jones or something take a look, you will see I am right. And I am also confused by their magazine ads. At a time when other schillers of lipstick and powder use the likes of Dita Von Teese and Monica motherchucking Belluci, why would you have the mildly attractive Melissa George with the expression of a woman looking for a friend in a crowded bar?

I do not get it, Napoleon Perdis, and it makes my brain hurt, and distracts me on evenings when there are other fat people more in need of my attention.

Kisses,
Rachael.

Dear Sun, or, as you may prefer, Lord Ra, the Sky-Bound Radioactive Ball of Radiation,

Today I caught sight of myself in a shop window, and the first thing I thought was who is that short elderly woman in my clothes, and why does she look so tore up? Then I realised it was me, and, oh, how I shook my fist at you. Enough already.

Love,
Rachael's Epidermis.

"Hey, I saw Amber* the other day."

"Oh rly? How was she?"

"Well. Great, actually. She washed her hair. She looks really pretty with clean hair."

"I like her unwashed hair."

"I don't, it just makes her look scrappy. You know, I very nearly said to her 'wow, you look so nice with clean hair,' but for once my mental filter worked and I didn't."

"Yeah. That would have been really bitchy."

"I didn't mean it in a bitchy way. She looked great. Radiant. It made me wonder if she didn't realise that her usual unwashed, stringy hair makes her look like ass on rat."

"I think she's gorgeous, anyway."

"Meh. I wouldn't rate her. It's not just the unwashed hair thing, it's the slouching."

"Well, she's quite tall."

"It doesn't matter. Is it some hipster thing to feign some freakish lack of muscle along your spine? It drives me mental, actually."

"..."

"So don't be surprised if the next time we're out and she's there and we're all drinking I just seize her by the shoulders and do this.

I put one hand on the shoulder of an imaginary person in front of me, and the other on an imaginary hip. I vigorously pull the imaginary sloucher upright. Lala is listening in the kitchen.
LALA
"And now for the restraining order..."


* name changed, naturally, to protect the innocent.

(a) I rather love rolling news, as it provides the world with important news stories like this. A hippo drinks coffee! A hippo hangs out in a nice South African woman's kitchen! Hippos are deadly, but also cute and fat!

(b) I do believe that I will end up, as a middle-aged woman, massaging a hippo to sleep. I could just see it happening.