From the Met Gala to any place she might run into her ex!
The Lipstick This Vogue Writer Wears for All Seasons and Occasions
At any given time, I am in possession of three to five Tom Ford Pussycat lipsticks. I don’t admit this nonchalantly, as they cost 56 dollars. Each.
Yet every few months, I throw fiscal responsibility to the wind, stroll into Sephora, and buy a new one. Then, I squirrel it away in my apartment like a little haute horcrux— in my makeup bag, or favorite going out clutch, or even a carry-on suitcase. “Just in case,” I mutter, like the crazy lipstick lady I am.
Currently, there’s even one in my fridge! Why? Because two weeks ago, I had a random flashback to that time Armani discontinued Kim Kardashian’s favorite foundation in 2015. She tweeted at them: “I'm on my last bottle & everyone I know uses this!!! Please make it again!”
Since she’s, well, Kim Kardashian, Armani helped her out. But guess who isn't Kim Kardashian? Me. If Tom Ford ever got rid of Pussycat, I’d tweet desperately into the social media void for years, my pleas passed over because I’m an unverified account with only 867 followers. So now I preserve one in a chilled, controlled environment next to my soy sauce, where it can hypothetically live for years.
“That’s. . . so weird,” a friend recently said when they opened my fridge. “I know,” I said back.
But in my defense, I use every single stick all the way to the end. In fact, for the past five years, I’ve worn Pussycat nearly every day, and for nearly every occasion. A random list, from the mundane to the momentous:
- This morning, after I realized I had to be on camera for a Zoom meeting 30 seconds before it started.
- The 2018 Met Gala.
- Any time, any place I think I might run into my ex.
- At dinners ranging from Jackson Hole, to Shanghai, to Miami (Pre-covid).
- My last four Instagrams.
- In my Clubhouse avatar (side note: can someone tell me if we’re still using this?).
- That night where I went to a secret club in Meatpacking where you needed a password to get in, and Chase Crawford was there, with whom I tried and failed to make flirty eye contact, which was probably for the best because I ended up blacking out, telling my life story to the bouncer, and losing my debit card. Then, the next morning, I almost missed my plane to. . .
- My grandma’s funeral.
This story originally appeared on: Vogue - Author:Elise Taylor
