Coke. Zip. Blow. Snow. Gutter glitter. Tardust. Candy cane. Base. Riding the white horse. Petting albino bunny rabbits or whatever you or your grandma calls it — I, as your drug addict’s beauty editor, was admittedly nervous to bring up the topic of cocaine as it pertains to beauty regimes because of our admittedly chic, cosmopolitan and fashionable readership. I understand. Coke has become, for many, a social necessity. Your fabulous life does not allow for boredom or sleep. Your fabulous life also can’t afford you rolling around the city looking like party girl garb. You need me. Just like cocaine.
As always, I’m not here to judge; I’m here to help. And while I personally stay away from the stuff because I don’t want to look 40 in two years (that horror will come soon enough), you can do whatever your strained, palpitating, arrhythmia-plagued heart desires. I’ll be here for you, holding your hand while we wander the aisles of the local Duane Reade, picking up the perfect products for your little habit while you prattle on endlessly about something neither of us will remember the next day.
Herewith, a Beauty Guide for Cokeheads.
Arm & Hammer Advance White Fluoride Anti-Cavity Toothpaste
You know that battery acid tang you get in the back of your throat after you’ve ripped a great line? (Or so I’ve heard.) Now imagine that chemical taste taking hold of your tooth enamel and stripping it off like when that lady at the nail salon redoes your mani/pedi. You’re going to want to be extra vigilant when you come home at night and brush counterclockwise with high-fluoride toothpaste so you can keep your real teeth after years of substance abuse. Veneers are great if you’re Ben Affleck, but, you probably don’t make as much money as Ben Affleck so your fake chompers aren’t going to be as nice. Then again, you’re doing blow, so you must have at least some money.
Kevyn Aucoin Blood Roses Nail Polish
To match your bloody nose. DTM is very N-O-W.
Smashbox Photo Finish Foundation Primer
When I first started modeling, they never used this stuff on me. Primer was for the old bitches, the ones with the crow’s feet and laugh lines, even though most of them were a bunch of aged, humorless old bags climbing a stairway to nowhere. Double downer for the ones who hadn’t scored a rich dude yet. Sucks to be you, Vera Aleksandrov! Anyway, if you’re not familiar with foundation primer, it’s basically like spackle for your face, filling in the unsightly evidence of your decay and providing a smooth base for additional layers. Trust me, you’re going to need some of this, because pretty soon you’re gonna look pretty old, and that expensive Armani foundation isn’t doing anything for you anymore.
Diurex Water Pills (Note: Probably won’t help but worth a shot)
Coke bloat is real! I’ve watched my friends turn, over the course of five years, into overweight shadows of their formal svelte selves. You know, the kind of shadow that is like the chubby version of you when the sun is just nearly overhead, not the lean and sinewy kind that develops over the course of the day. I can’t be for certain that these will help you, but, hey, something is better than nothing when you stop being able to fit into your J. Brands.
MAC Sculpting Powder
This is for the serious user, whose been on the daily dose for so many years their face has begun to collapse into itself like those inflatable Christmas lawn ornaments. Combat a “smushed in” look with contouring powder. Or, you know, do whatever Kate Moss did. That bitch’s nose only looks better, IMHO.
Maybelline SuperStay 14Hr Lipstick
Because god forbid you shut the fuck up for two minutes.
Trojan Pleasure Pack
Okay, so this isn’t necessarily a beauty recommendation so much as it is preventative skin care. Kind of like eye creams. Getting knocked up in the bathroom of the Soho Grand because you were just, ugh, feeling really fucking randy and amped up, will lead to a fetus, which will lead to a shift in your hormones, which will cover you in unsightly zits, leading me to another beauty editor column about products for knocked up drug addicts which, at this point in my life, I am 100% unqualified to talk about. So don’t fuck without a condom and you won’t need concealer when you’re pregnant with some investment banker’s baby. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. This, of course, is assuming the dude didn’t do so much blow he can’t get his dick hard.
NARS The Multiple Blush Stick in G-Spot
After you’ve started losing all that weight (pre-coke bloat, of course), you might have that deathly pallor thing going for you. Depending on your occupation, this may or may not work in your favor. PR, fashion, and some entertainment industries are best served by keeping the whole “Death Becomes Her” look (“OMG! You look amazing! You weigh, like, 14 pounds!”). Doctors, lawyers, and people who are generally paid to be trusted and intelligent should rouge it up with reckless abandon, layering on the lifelike goo as a protective layer against accusatory fingers, ready to point at you and scream, “Hey, man! Your life is running away from you! Also, I don’t feel like paying you this month, you fucking junkie!”
Neosporin Antibiotic Ointment
Many swear by swabbing the inside of their noses with Neosporin before hopping on a flight on the pretense that it kills everything going up your nose. I’m going to go out on a massive, completely unscientific presumptive limb here and say that this might be a good strategy before you leave the house tonight for a fun night of drug abuse. Line your nostrils with this anti-bac goo before the party begins. It will protect you from that flesh-eating levamisole stuff they’ve started cutting coke with that make people’s ears fall off. Maybe.
Clinique Happy Perfume
“A hint of citrus. A wealth of flowers. A mix of emotions.” You’re in luck: They still make this shit. After that burst of energy from the first few rails comes the inevitable crash, kind of like what donuts do to blood sugar. Confuse your brain via your nose with this noxious scent, which will make you think you’re running in a field full of daisies and not sitting in the middle of some stranger’s apartment on the LES talking passionately about where we think we go when we die.