'Sh*t - I'm nearly 30' Skincare Wisdom ... (Part 1)

When you get past the 25 mark, your face starts to look a little ... different. Lines start to appear on your forehead that weren't previously there. A night on the town is like an anti-facial, you wake the next morning and look like you've been hit with a shovel. Pores get larger and more obvious - cue a whole host of blackheads swarming in like the plague. Eyelids get slightly baggier, dark circles more pronounced ... you get the picture.

I've started looking at girls in their early 20s and marvelling at their gorgeous, peachy skin (I missed most of the dialogue of Silver Linings Playbook - so entranced was I with Jennifer Lawrence's porcelain complexion, damn her). Then there's sales assistant Corina who works in Rachel Vosper's beautiful candle emporium in Belgravia  - which I was lucky enough to visit yesterday - who has the kind of flawless skin you only see in magazines. (I kept talking to her just to gaze and gaze ...)

Yes it's all very well for me to sit here at say how I'm glad to be out of my 20s (more life skills, less naive, better pay cheque yada yada yada) and I certainly am. But the one thing those girls in their early 20s have over us is bloody brilliant skin - effortlessly brilliant I might add. Seriously - at 21, once those teenage hormones have calmed down, I was left with the best skin of my life (sigh!).

My skin isn't looking too bad these days but I have to work at it a little more (with the addition of a flattering Instagram filter). And I imagine, in ten years' time, I'll have to work even harder. So what have I done?

Water = good; sugar = bad
The most important thing you need to know? Your skin loves water and hates sugar. So you best start chugging that H20 (sorry, in the middle of a Breaking Bad marathon ...) like a bloody pilgrim in the desert. Have a hot water with lemon in the morning and eight glasses for the rest of the day after that. It flushes out those toxins and keeps skin plump and hydrated. I've also cut out sugar wherever possible (it's a long story, but trust me - it's your skin's arch-enemy and will give you spots and wrinkles. ELLE wrote a good piece on it recently here).

Facial Massage 
I've been massaging my mush day and night to boost circulation, firm up the jaw line and prevent dreaded 'Churchill Dog' jowls (oh, no no no no....) I'm a big fan of SUQQU's Gankin Massage - and you can follow these handy instructions to learn how to do it. Another technique I'm fond of is to get your index fingers under one cheekbone and rotate them around each other (as if you were motioning to someone to 'wind it up'). It's also super de-stressing, which brings me onto ...

Stop Whining and GO TO SLEEP
Few things (aside from UV exposure) pile on the years as much as stress does. Aside from causing tension and frown-lines, it's all down to telomeres - found on the end of our chromosomes - which are responsible for cells (e.g. skin cells) reproducing healthily. These deplete with stress - which means our skin will look the worse for it. Some good de-stressing techniques I've found so far include yoga, decluttering, running, positive thinking, cutting 'toxic' people out of your life (think I might have to dedicate a whole separate post to this one later on). And of course getting a decent eight hours' sleep speaks for itself - nothing makes your skin less hydrated and more spotty than a bad night's kip. (Calling all insomniacs - a great book I've come across recently is called The Sleep Book - which tells you everything you need to know about getting some shut eye).

Hope this advice proves useful - more to come ...

Rant: Established writers helping younger writers

Oh everyone loves a rant post don't they? I however, shall keep it short and sweet as I don't want this to become a moany negative blog. But I recently read a piece by another blogger and fellow journalist which got my goat. It basically was complaining about the many young hopeful writers she gets emails from, asking for 'free advice'.

She says 'it's rude to pick someone's brain for free' unless it's 'mutually beneficial', because despite helping people out occasionally, she also gets paid to do such things and that she'd probably give them a wrong answer anyway. I find attitudes like this somewhat irksome, as when I started out in journalism, I was advised to get in touch with as many industry professionals as possible. Some of them ignored me - but a few were kind enough to reply and I won't forget that. One particular journalist was quite brutal in her criticism of my work, but then finished with saying she thought I had talent, which spurred me on to pursue a career I might not have otherwise done. Another editor whose work I admired took the time to write me a long email about breaking into beauty writing, which proved to be very useful advice.

Now at the grand old age of 29, I'm starting to get young writers e-mailing me for feedback on their work, which I'm more than happy to give. I appreciate what this other blogger says, that writers don't always have time to reply, but I wouldn't go as far as saying it's rude for anyone to ask at all. As long as you're polite, courteous and patient, then it's not a massive ask to presume an established expert in the field you want to go into might give you a few pointers here and there. After all, it doesn't take long to send a few sentences or glance over an article.

From my own experience, if someone is truly passionate about what they do, they would enjoy talking about it and get a lot out of using their wealth of experience to help others. To say it has to be 'mutually beneficial' really depresses me, as it paints a really sad picture of our industry. Established writers should take it upon themselves to nurture and mentor growing talent - and it may actually benefit them in the long run (you don't know where these people might end up in say, five or 10 years time).

I think professional people - especially women-  in industries should be helping each other up the ladder and not looking for what they might be getting out of it. Yes we might be too busy to respond sometimes, but if the person is polite and courteous, there's something really fulfilling in replying to someone and getting a response along the lines of 'thank you so much, it really means a lot.' And as most of us learned as kids back in Primary School - there's just something nice about helping others isn't there?

How to celebrate turning 30?

This is a question I've been thinking about for a while. Not to sound like a Scrooge but I've never really got on with birthdays. I think my dread of them started when I was about 11 and I stopped getting Lego and Barbies to play with and instead got ... bubble bath and Dream Phone Game. 11 was the worst birthday ever. That day I got more bath products ('smellies') than I knew what to do with - I could have opened my own mini spa) and after a few hours of playing Dream Phone I couldn't give a shit whether it was Paul, Todd or any of the other chumps who 'fancied' me (seriously, were the feminists all on annual leave when 'child's toy' came out...?).

I know my well-meaning relatives were probably struggling with what to get me, seeing as I was too old for Lego but too young for make-up, but seriously - there's only so many baths a girl can take ... I spent the whole day bored out of my mind and the evening celebrations at Deep Pan Pizza with some girls from school wasn't enough to lift my spirits. I know this makes me sound like the world's most ungrateful brat - and kind of ironic since I now write about beauty products for a living - but compared to the excitement and fun-filled days birthday once were for the first ten years of my life, they've been the biggest let down ever since.

Milestone birthdays are ten times worse - like my 16th birthday in a local Italian place. They'd just brought the cake in, my friends had sung a round of 'Happy Birthday', when a drunken, balding middle aged man looked through the window, saw the number 16 on the balloon and made shagging motions at us ...

18 wasn't much fun either - my friend and I ended up bunking off school, going to Tesco (the glamour!) and buying some dodgy-looking 'cayenne pepper shots' with my new found freedom. Then later that week I had a joint family 'do in a scout hut, with another 18 year old whose parents were friends of mine. Again, not the raucous affair I'd been hoping for.

But my 21st was the worst. It fell on a Friday - couldn't be more perfect right? Wrong. In my last year of uni, I'd had a massive falling out with my main social group and all of my other friends were busy studying for their finals. Hence it ended up just being me and one loyal housemate who probably felt incredibly sorry for me. And we went ... to the cinema. Rock n' roll lifestyle. (I seriously wish I hadn't given up studying French and had spent my third year abroad - I could have celebrated in Paris, dammit!)

Since then I've had a series of friends meeting up for a meal and a few drinks but haven't seen fit to push the boat out. I find birthdays fairly stressful in general. Worrying that people won't turn up. People who say they're coming, who then drop out at the last minute (I know, I've been guilty of this myself). Friends who insist on bringing their 'other halves' who I haven't met and who then spend the evening snogging in a corner and not talking to anyone else. Then there's the odds and sods who arrive on their own and don't mingle, so as the guilty hostess you then feel obliged to babysit them all night. Then there's those who leave early/turn up late or just don't bother turning up at all. Also the fun usually just extends to a civilised meal - I avoid making a proper night of it. (Being January, everyone's skint - plus having to queue up outside a pub in the freezing cold is never fun).

So yeah - birthdays and me have never really coexisted harmoniously. But when I don't do anything, I then get all forlorn, a bit like my 11-year-old self with nothing but bath salts and a fictional admirer named Todd for company.

Hence, how to celebrate the big 3-0 is a tricky one. It seems like your final chance to have a last 'hurrah' before you're officially an adult. And given the fact that many of my friends have moved out of London and are settled with kids, it makes it more difficult and costly for them to come on a wild night out, let alone go away for the weekend. And where best to go? New York or Las Vegas sound fun but it's tricky getting people to shell out over a grand and go away with a load of strangers for no other reason than that It's Viola's Birthday.

Then I feel guilty trying to organise too much of a big bash, lest it becomes like that episode of TOWIE where Chloe Simms has a 'fake wedding' (complete with bride's dress) to celebrate her 30th and make her feel better about being single. Hence why I batted away my mother's suggestion of having a 'big family do' in case it seems like a surrogate engagement party. Plus, turning 30 in the company of my parents and their pissed friends (as much as I love them) wasn't exactly the glamorous soir ée I'd envisioned.

I think people feel like they need to push the boat out when celebrating their 30th (i.e. 'look how far I've come!') But do I really need a party on a rooftop pool in Beverley Hills to show that I'm Finally Successful? No. But I'd rather not sit at home with a box set either. So what to do? (Any suggestions or successful '30th birthday' stories, please feel free to pop me a comment in the box below ...)

When people talk about my age ...

The other day I was texting a 24-year-old prospective date He seemed a really sweet guy, unpretentious, with none of those naff chat up lines or lame ‘banter’ you get with most guys in London.  We were talking about our respective jobs, so I mentioned that I was a journalist which brought the predictable comparisons to Rebekah Brooks (‘oh you won’t be hacking my voicemail, madam’ etc.) He seemed a nice enough lad. Then I got the question that hit me like horse-kick to the stomach.

‘So are you looking forward to being 30?’

Uh… what am I meant to say to that? Mind your own business, you cheeky young whippersnapper? I tried to laugh it off but hoping he would take the hint and move away from the topic.

‘Well you shouldn’t ask a lady about her age.’

His response?

‘I thought there was a mistake when I saw how old you were.’

Again – thud! I mean seriously?

‘Well, I didn’t realise 29 was old ...’

Does he quit while he's ahead? Nope. He keeps on digging …

‘I don’t mean that. I mean you look a lot younger than you are. More like 21.’

It struck me that I’ve officially reached an age that can’t be talked about. 20 years ago, if someone asked how old I was, I would proudly state that I’d reached the grand old age of nine. (Almost a teenager!) Now the question, indeed even the topic of age is somewhat of a hot potato. One to be greeted with the same derision my menopausal auntie showed when I used to ask her about her age. ’18!’ she’d snap back. (Mind you, that’s not as bad as when, aged 6, I innocently asked her why she cared so much about what colour knickers she bought: ‘It’s not as if anyone’s going to see them anyway, is it?’)

Have I got to that age now? Am I basically my highly strung auntie, who blows a fuse if the subject of age comes up? I’d always felt happy about reaching 30 and for the most part, I still am.  I don’t have the hang ups I did at 19, I’ve achieved most of the milestones I set out to achieve – plus I can now afford that dress in Whistles and not just dream about it. My face looks, not wizened exactly, but slightly less plump and more defined. And in a way, I like having a few lines and looking like I’ve lived a little, as opposed to the naïve little hamster-cheeked undergrad I was back in 2004.

So why should I be getting so tetchy about the age issue? I did feel a bit bad for the guy, he probably didn’t mean to offend, but it does still touch a nerve when people talk about me ‘not looking my age’ as if I’m Madonna or Helen Mirren (as fabulous as those ladies are). I guess I’m just not ready to admit that I’m not 'young young' anymore, and although in many ways I’m bloody happy to be out of it, part of me is still sad to wave a part of my life goodbye.

However, last night, made me look at the situation a little differently. At a press event, I bumped into an ex-colleague who I first knew when I was a work experience girl. Fresh out of uni, it was my first job in London. I was a bit of a loose cannon back then, didn’t know how to behave in an office and basically made an absolute tit of myself the whole time I was there (snogging the skinny stoner who worked in the post room was a particular career low).

Unsurprisingly, my time at that place (and in TV in general) didn’t last long and after my unceremonious exit from the company, me and the ex-colleague - lets call him Ben - would message each other over Facebook and occasionally talk about ‘hooking up’ (I didn’t fancy him, but again I was young, feeling along living in London and insecure). Luckily this never happened, but nonetheless made it rather awkward to run into him again yesterday evening.

Luckily after a few drinks, the awkwardness dispelled and we managed to have a good chat - despite him making a point of telling me he had a girlfriend (‘cheers mate, will try to restrain myself!’) Ben also delighted in reminding me about a certain vile woman we both used to work with, who smoked so much that she sounded like Frank Butcher in a blonde wig and had a creepy obsession with Howard Donald from Take That. She also took it upon herself to make my life a misery (screaming at me down the phone and at one point actually threatening to beat me up). Ben talked about how well she was doing and how successful she’d become. I managed to politely smile and nod, as opposed to getting wound up and spitting venom - which 21-year-old me probably would have done.

He then mentioned another ex-colleague of ours who was on the same level as me and with whom I’d had a massive screaming row in the middle of the office (not a good idea, but he was so lazy and had only got the job on having 'the gift of the gab'. He also had one of the most punchable faces I'd ever encountered). ‘You guys really had it in for each other, didn’t you?’ Ben remarked knowingly. It was an embarrassing moment in my life, one I didn’t like to be reminded of, but again I didn’t rise to the bait. I told him about my writing career and he seemed a bit surprised that I had since morphed into a half-decent, moderately successful human being myself – and more importantly, one who was less of a tit.

With that in mind, I’m really not sure why anyone my age wishes they were younger. Looking back at my 21-year-old self, I’m slightly embarrassed and relieved that I’m not that person anymore. And yes, the next time someone asks if I'm looking forward to being 30, I’m going to respond as loudly and proudly as I did aged 9 (but hopefully won't celebrating my birthday at Quasar ... ). 

Why Sleep-In Rollers are the best thing since sliced bread

Hilda Ogden eat your heart out ...

I've always said that if I had someone come round and blow dry my hair every morning I wouldn't need a PA. I just wouldn't ever get stressed at having to organise my life, I'd instead be basking in the joy of having swishy, shiny locks that fall back into place just so, as I whip my hair back n' forth like a Pantene girl. Some people say stroking animals lowers stress levels. I say running your fingers through your perfect, swooshy Claudia Schiffer-standard locks has the same effect (I know that sounds narcissistic, but so be it).

However I've recently discovered Sleep-In Rollers and have grown an evangelical enthusiasm for them, as they're the next best thing to a salon blow-dry. Also ...

1. They don't scorch your hair like straightening tongs, hence it stays in a better condition.
2. As you're meant to pop them in the night before, you don't have to set aside half an hour of your morning routine faffing about with straightening tongs.*
3. They make your hair a whole lot bouncier than straightening tongs
4. They're less heavier and easier to take on holiday (no having to look for adapter plugs)
4. They're just better than straightening tongs m'kay?

*Ok so you could straighten your hair the night before, but I find when I leave it loose all night, it always looks a little flat and greasy the next morning, when I require height of Lana Del Ray proportions.

Going to sleep in them is a little weird at first, I'm not going to lie. You have to lie like a Geisha, flat on your back with the pillow slightly scrunched under your neck for support. But I've never woken up due to them digging into my head which is always a good sign. Otherwise if you're going out on a weekend afternoon/evening, you can always cheat and put them in several hours earlier, blast them with a hairdryer and hairspray, then take them out just before you head out the door.

£13.99 at lookfantastic.com

*PR Sample

A letter to my mother at my age

Mum even manages to make a penguin jumper look cool

Mum, I've always wondered what it would be like to be you at my age. At 29, you’ve got a 10-month old baby and living with your parents. I’m guessing you’re feeling more than a little freaked out about being a single parent and feeling more than a little pissed towards my dad at the moment. But on the upside you're looking smoking' hot, as photos of you will attest. If or when I’m a mum myself, I intend to crack out the red lipstick and spritz on the Rive Gauche as you did, come hell or high water.

You and dad were never a match made in heaven. But further down the line, you become good friends and do a great job together as parents, even though you’re from vastly different worlds and different backgrounds. Despite no longer being a couple, you bring great value to each other's lives and are extremely caring and supportive together.

The next few years are going to be difficult, you’re going to feel a little lost as you see other ‘perfect families’ with dads, complaining about how your life isn’t like theirs.

But you, your own mother and I, we’re like a perfect little family in our own way, although it may not seem like it at the moment. We manage to have fun the three of us, in our little flat. Although things might seem up in the air and you have down days when you don’t want to get out of bed, as a mum you’re going to do an amazing job.

  

As the decades pass, you and that relentlessly wailing infant become close friends. While many daughters avoid telephoning their mothers and are embarrassed by their parents'  dowdy appearance, she's immensely proud of you and always enjoys calling you up.  You’re a good laugh and ‘get’ her more than anyone else. Even when your own mother isn’t around anymore, you both go on to cherish that little family unit you once were, even though you're both now part of a bigger family. 

You have another daughter a decade later with the person who is your soul mate. You give your children hope that happy marriages do exist and teach them never to 'settle' for anything less. You never let them feel that they’ve failed you in any way. Your second daughter is just like you, drawing people to her with a magnetic personality and vibrant energy that I’ve always been in awe of. 

So enjoy being 30, you’ve got some fantastic years to come.

First off ...

In a very British manner, I'm going to start off with an apology. The design of this blog, as you can see, isn't quite, ahem, there yet, so you'll have to make do with the words for now, as that's what I'm more or less good at. Trying to work out how to make it look pretty and sparkly will have to come later ...

I've started many blogs and find it difficult to post every day so whoever is kind enough to be reading this, I won't be posting All The Time. That's what professional bloggers do - and do very well I might add. I'm not out to gain a massive readership, it's rather just a little space where I get to write what I want once in a while, let off a bit of steam momentarily and shout about products and places I might not otherwise get to write about elsewhere.

But the main reason I decided to have one last stab at this blogging schtick is that - as the title would suggest - I'm now creeping up to the big 3-0. I've noticed a lot of things change when you reach this age. The most obvious difference is physical.

You start to have less energy, your pores get larger, frown lines more pronounced. Thighs seem a little bit bumpier than before. Having been on the pill for most of my twenties, I've decided (as many women my age are seemingly doing) to come off it and give my body a rest from being pumped full of hormones. Which means my once-flawless (if I say so myself) skin has gone haywire, with my pores pumping out oil like there's no tomorrow. Hence a whole load of spot-causing bacteria has been having itself a big old party on my skin and causing all manner of mischief - tsk.

But on the upside, I've finally managed to carve some sort of career out of doing something I love, namely writing about beauty (and lifestyle-related shenanigans). I don't have half the hang ups I did 15 years ago, when I was desperately trying to get the body of Sarah Michelle Gellar (in the years since, my curves have yet to garner a single complaint). 'No,' I have to tell my 13-year-old self eagerly doing sit ups in front of Buffy The Vampire Slayer. 'You will never have washboard abs, but your legs are alright - plus you do eventually Get A Boyfriend anyway. Guess what? Being bigger than a Size 8 (or having that little roll of fat under your bra strap that you hate so much) does not make you repulsive to the opposite sex.' Yes, one plus point to getting older is not finally being able to afford liposuction, but instead mastering the art of Not Giving A Sh*t.

So this is about my attempts to be a bit healthier (not skinnier) and recommend products that work a little harder (but won't necessarily turn me into a peachy-faced 20 year old). This is an edit of my six years as a beauty writer - and almost two decades of using beauty products. Hence, while not strictly a 'beauty blog', you might find a scent or a lipstick that floats my boat. There might also be some snaps about my favourite places in London - where I've spent the majority of my life - especially since I've recently become a West Londoner (having left my beloved stomping ground of Finsbury Park last year).

Added to this will be my general thoughts and feelings on approaching the big 3-0. No I never took a 'gep yah' to travel the world, nor haven I jumped out of a plane (and don't have any inclination to ...)  but there are other things in my life I'm proud of or am looking to get around to in the next few years. I might even resurrect an odd post from previous blogs you might want to have a little look at. Do pop in occasionally, or tweet me if there's a beauty query you'd like some advice on or if you think this blog's just a bit crap (sob!) Until next time ...