There is a badass chick who writes at Elite Daily named Candice. Candice is a gorgeously “chill girl.” Candice breezily waltzes into work right at 9 am, with damp hair and little-to-no makeup. She has that beautiful honey-colored skin that doesn’t need any makeup (I know, I hate her too). Her hair air-dries into perfect, frizz-free, tousled beach waves. She doesn’t get overly worked up or stressed or freaked out by deadlines or anything. She’s from California, for Christ’s sake!
Then there is me. I’m not a chill girl. I strut into the office as if I’m stepping onto a catwalk modeling an anxiety disorder, clutching an extra large coffee, long hair blow-dried by experts at Drybar and half a bottle of Tom Ford’s “Violet Blonde” fragrance wafting behind me. I have that snow white pale skin that needs highlighter, blush and bronzer just to look alive. I’m high maintenance.
I have a therapist. I have a psychiatrist. I have a intuitive reader. A waxer. A colorist. A hairdresser. A tarot card reader. A nail artist. An acupuncturist. The team it takes just to get operation Zara just functioning like a basic human being is immense. I’m not from California. I’m from New York.
So yeah, I’m not the chill Cali girl. I tried to be when I took a brief stint living in West Hollywood, but really, I didn’t pull it off. I just spent so much time trying to pretend my trips to the therapist were trips to the yoga studio and spent heaps of money on “beachy” looking blowouts from the dry bar — it’s expensive for a Jewish girl to look like an effortless hippie.
But look, the neurosis wants what the neurosis wants. No amount of southern California sun is going to melt away a personality disorder. So I packed up my stuff and moved back to New York City and have accepted that I’m not the “chill girl,” but rather the crazy girl. I’m cool with it.
But here is the truth: I don’t like to screw up other people with my high maintenance tendencies. I grew up with a slew of Manhattan bitches who just recklessly toss out their high maintenance lifestyle into the universe and don’t care that it’s obnoxious and holds everyone up. I prefer to be low-key high maintenance. Especially when it comes to my love life.
When we’re dating, I like you to think that YAS QUEEN, I woke up like this, thankyouverymuch. Romance requires mystery and hiding your glam efforts is just part of keeping your magical mystique. As soon as she knows that I spend $800 per month on Ubers and $150 per week on blowouts, BAM, the fire is out. She doesn’t need to know that I’m an expert at contouring my face, I want her to think I was born with Kate Moss cheekbones. Part of keeping the spark alive is to let her think I that I’m effortlessly GLAM and CHIC, for as long as possible.
Now this is all well and fine until you travel together. It’s hard to keep things from bae when you’re alone together for 72 hours and you can’t just sneak off to the waxer when an eyebrow hair pops out unexpectedly. Oh girl, summer weekend holidays are when your “chill girl” cover is about to blow off and bae will know that all that hair is not indeed yours and that you clip in $770 Remy hair extensions in every morning. It’s the beginning of the end to any relationship.
And I don’t want that for you, I want you to be in a fiery, passionate relationship. So I’m here to give you all my top secret tips and tricks for traveling with bae and not getting caught being a total high maintenance bitch.
Get a professional blowout and invest in dry shampoo.
Blowouts are my saving grace, my lifesaver, my crowning glory. Head to the salon (preferably Drybar if there is one near you; they are literally the BEST in the business), dish out $50 and ask them for an award-winning blowjob (yes, blowOUT, sorry I couldn’t help myself. It’s Tuesday, and I know you’re bored).
Now, you need to invest in some dry shampoo and not some cheap drugstore product either. Get a salon brand like Oribe or Drybar (I know I’m annoying, but I just believe in the brand, baby) or Kerastase.
The number one way I will get busted being high maintenance is if I have to dry my hair while vacationing. All of us glam girls are obsessed with our hair and it takes time to make those locks shine like the top of the Chrysler building (especially if you have hair extensions). Hand it over to the professionals. A professional blowout will last you at least three days, which is perfect for the holiday weekend.
Get eyelash extensions.
Oh girl, I’ve done this before and you better believe I’m gonna do it again soon. If you have eyelash extensions you will wake up looking like a gazillion dollars, without having to deal with taking off your mascara and exposing your lover to your raw, spindly, skinny, broken little lashes.
Keep the mystique alive and rock those eyebrow-grazing extensions all weekend long. You don’t need any other eye makeup so long as you rock a full lash, girl. Also, false lashes really mask the hangover.
Have an organic spray tan.
Before you go away you need to get an organic, custom spray tan. Don’t screw around in those damn booths where a machine sprays toxic bronzer all over your precious virgin skin. It gets all ratchet-looking around your hands, not to mention it smells awful and you will reek of spray tan which isn’t cute at all. You will usually rub off orange all over the hotel room sheets and your cover will be totally blown when the hotel charges you $300 for new sheets.
What you need to do is get an organic spray tan that doesn’t smell and ASK, TELL THEM RATHER, TO SPRAY LIGHT. I think it’s chic as hell to be pale, but a light spray tan will just give you a tiny glow so you don’t have to eat up half of the day manufacturing a glow to your sallow complexion.
And whatever you do, don’t go to the tanning bed. Those evil little coffins will age you so fast and nothing will make you seem more high maintenance than having to laser off your sun spots. Ugh.
Get a gel manicure.
I think this goes without saying, but never, ever, ever EVER travel without a gel mani. Planes, trains and automobiles are the first to tarnish your traditional mani. You need gel. You need Shellac. You need a toxic polish that will stay on (natural nail polish doesn’t last. You need hazardous chemicals).
Don’t give me this “it’s bad for your nails” nonsense. Who the hell cares about your nail health? Give me a break. We have enough to deal with managing our mental health, we don’t have time to even think about nail health.
Invest in some DVF wrap dresses.
If you don’t have a collection of Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dresses by now, it’s time to start building your collection, baby. They are timeless, ultra-flattering, high quality and best of all, they wrap up into tiny little balls. You could bring six of them with you on your vacation and they will hardly make a dent in your suitcase.
And girl, we know you got emotional baggage, but you don’t need to have heavy literal baggage. You got enough issues to carry around. The DVF wrap dress is refreshingly light and your emotional suitcase is already too heavy. Plus they go with anything (you can dress ’em up or down), will keep you chic, but still be light and make you appear chill like our girl Candice.
Hide your meds.
Look, I know I’m going to get flack for this, but girl, your boyfriend or girlfriend doesn’t need to see your Prozac bottle shamelessly sitting out. I’m all about being open about your need for meds, that’s fine, that’s great, blah, blah, blah.
But you don’t need to incessantly advertise your personality disorders. A girl I once knew (me) used to keep her psychotropic drugs out on display in her bedroom and it was a dead giveaway that she was full of issues to anyone she ever brought home.
Don’t be that girl. You can be honest and open of course, you shouldn’t be ashamed for being beautifully complex, but you don’t need to rub the meds in everyone’s face by keeping them on the dresser of the hotel room. Have some class, keep it in your purse.
Text your BFF when you’re feeling like crying.
I get it, crazy girl. It’s hard to go 72 hours without having a nervous breakdown at least once. We glam girls are wildly emotional creatures. We need to get a good little water release out of our eyeballs every 48 hours or so. It’s healthy. I’m all about crying the crazy out.
However, text your BFF and cry to her. You don’t need to do that to your partner just yet. It’s their vacation too. You don’t need to make it all ABOUT YOU and your ISSUES (we crazies are notoriously self-involved). I know it’s hard. Let it all out to your equally complicated bestie, release the nutty beast and go back to your lover. Which leads me to my final point.
Sex, sex, sex.
Have as much sex as humanly possible. It will relax you better than your Xanax will and keep your partner happy at the same time. As my favorite singer Peaches sings in her famous anthem: “FUCK THE PAIN AWAY.” I’m living proof that it WORKS, BABE!
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