Australia’s cosmetic industry is typically cut-throat, but when beauty companies put aside their differences for a cause, they can do enormous good, as Josephine Brouard reports.
It’s amazing what a bit of foundation and lippie will do for a girl. It doesn’t matter how old you are, or how you’re feeling, it’s a dead-cert one’s mood will lift dramatically once one starts titivating in front of a mirror. Deftly pat in the moisturiser; define the lips and brows with pencil; experiment with a few different hairstyles; and, for a brief moment in time, it’s pretty much guaranteed that all your other problems will be swept aside.
The dozen women here at Prince of Wales Hospital for the two-hour beauty workshop look anything but happy however. They’re here for a pick-me-up cosmetic session, but the atmosphere is funereal rather than fun. Trepidation hangs in the air like a threatening cloud, alleviated only by the sunlight pouring through the windows of the expansive high-ceilinged room. There’s a quite a few pale, sad-looking faces; one or two baldpates, a few droopy turbans, one or two wigs atop eyebrowless visages; a smattering of grim expressions. Everyone looks like they’re just – well – holding on for dear life.
And that’s the point, of course. If ever there was a bunch of women that needed cheering up, it’s this lot. Take Joanna , for starters, an exceptionally attractive occupational therapist. The youngest of the group, 31-year-old Joanna still boasts a full head of hair. While her compatriots look either wary or dispirited, she looks unashamedly fierce. What’s her story?
“I felt a lump in my breast about two months ago and my doctor said it was probably nothing serious. My aunt had just died of breast cancer though, so I wasn’t taking any chances. I insisted on having all the tests right away.” Sure enough, a tumour showed up on Joanna’s left breast as well as calcifications in both breasts, suggesting more tumour cells could proliferate in the future. Joanna didn’t hesitate: she opted for a double mastectomy. Radical stuff for a single girl who met a new love only five weeks before her diagnosis and who has never married or had children, but what can you do?
Joanna is clear that she’s not here today seeking sympathy – what she’s looking for are useful beauty tips. “I want to stay attractive,” she says firmly. The mature-age student also plans to shave off all her hair before she starts her chemotherapy sessions in a fortnight. “I’m not going to wait for my hair to fall out; but I’ll get a wig for those days when I haven’t got the energy or confidence to go out with a bald head.”
Seventy-two year-old Frances, recently diagnosed with bowel cancer, is distinctly less cheery than Joanna. Accompanied by her daughter, the former jewellery consultant listens po-faced as the video goes on and buxom Julie Joyce, Look Good Feel Good’s facilitator, introduces the cosmetic industry ‘angels’ who’ve come today to support the cancer patients. Octogenarian Luciana and a pal, Sylvia, in a wheelchair, insist on stepping out in front to act as demonstration ‘models’ while the motley group of women looks on warily.
Julie begins a presentation she’s done countless times over the past eight years. Her audience listens intently as she ticks off the ideal beauty routine for those about to become eviscerated by chemotherapy. “Warm your lotions before you apply them to the face,” she advises, “that way they last longer.” With a table full of free cosmetics to play with and take home, the women gingerly begin their routine: cleansing, toning, and moisturising.
Because cancer patients’ skin tends to burn more than the average due to chemotherapy, Julie advises that it’s especially important that patients spread on extra sun block before they apply a moisturiser. When Julie then demonstrates on Luciana how to tone down red skin with a green concealer stick, there’s an audible buzz in the room. Each woman can clearly see for herself what a difference the concealer makes to a complexion burnt by chemotherapy. As the mood of the room lifts, the cosmetic consultants glance surreptitiously at each other. Slowly, the magic is beginning to work.
Julie then explains to the group how to create the illusion of eyelashes by shading a semi-circle of eyeshadow on the outer edges of the eyelid. Everyone starts blending furiously and murmurs of approval pervade the room. “We want happy eyes, not droopy eyes!” exhorts Julia while Molly, 57, from Singapore, cannot suppress a chuckle. “I don’t recognise myself, this technique is making my eyes ‘pop’,” she says, obviously beginning to feel that she’s getting what she came for. “I want to keep up my confidence; and I want to look good,” the mother-of-two explained at the session’s start. Recently widowed, Molly has a strong network of support from friends, but the one she’s relying on most to keep her strong, she says, is herself.
Once the group’s eyebrows are softly smudged in to frame their faces, and lipstick and blush are correctly applied, it’s time for a few tricks with hairstyles and headgear. While the real estate catch-cry is “location, location, location”, for bald cancer patients it’s all about “volume” to avoid that sad, hangdog look that chemotherapy and radiation can produce. With this goal in mind, Julie twists a multitude of scarves in natty knots around a variety of turbans, plumps them cleverly with shoulder pads and transforms a handful of wide-eyed women with a range of berets, cloches, caps and wide-brimmed chapeaux she produces like rabbits from a hat.
When the wig lady then brings out an assortment of wigs, both synthetic and natural, for the group to try on, the camaraderie deepens. Frances, becoming more adventurous by the second, dons a short blonde bob and, with her smoky blue eyeshadow, soft pink lips and pencilled-in brows, looks instantly about 15 years younger. Everyone gasps and, for the first time, the septuagenarian smiles. “I like this wig a lot,” she says, eyeing her ‘Coco’ headpiece with mild shock. “I’m so glad I came – this has cheered me up, but it’s also been so informative.”
Julie smiles. She’s heard these sentiments before. Some women are so depressed, she confides, they can barely bring themselves to participate. But, like Frances, there is rarely anyone that leaves without feeling a great deal better about what they’re going through. Says Tracy, a make-up consultant turned full-time mum who’s been a ‘Look Good, Feel Better’ volunteer for five years: “The patients get a lot out of this program, but believe me – so do we.”
