Dear Eloise: About your Goddess Palette

 

Hello, Eloise. We need to have a talk.

In fact, the truth of the matter is: I need to apologize to you.

I received the Goddess Palette as a free gift from IPSY. I opened it. I snorted.

Look.

I know you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but the shades were… intense. Out there. They had names someone would give a show poodle. Majestic. Empress Elegance. Divine Aura.

I snorted again.

And then I tossed you into my makeup drawer without a second thought.

Here’s the thing, Eloise.

A few days later, I was headed out. I looked good — I always look good — but I wanted something… more. I wanted brightness. I needed an eyeshadow topper.

There you sat, in your demure pink‑and‑gold glory. I sighed. I opened you up. I selected Regal Radiance and tapped it onto the center of my lid.

Just a tiny bit. A little wiggle of the brush. A soft blend.

I looked at it.

Stunning.

Just stunning.

I did the other eye.

And I fell in love.

Eloise, your Goddess Palette is my topper now. The colors are amazing. They blend beautifully. They last beautifully (a miracle on my skin), and they do exactly what I need them to do. They are the perfect accent to the symphony my makeup creates.

I am a woman of harmonies. My makeup is usually built on a common undertone that winds its way through bronzers and blushes and bases and lippies. There is always a unifying connective thread that allows the whole look to make sense.

But toppers? Toppers are the counternote. The pause. The sparkle that rises above the harmony and makes the entire composition sing.

And you, Eloise — you and your Goddess Palette — this is where you shine. This is where you are in your glory. And for that, I adore you.

So please, Eloise, accept my humble forgiveness.

I will never doubt you again.

IPSY ULTIMATE Spoilers for August 2026

 IPSY usually trails out spoilers like Hanzel leaving breadcrumbs in the forest, dropping only a few at a time until the month ends. This time, they put up an image that had a lot of stuff in it. I had to take a screenshot and enlarge it so I could see some of the labels, but I found them. I searched websites to find the exact shapes of some of the other items, and I found them. Now I have a pretty comprehensive list of what we're in for as summer winds down.

PART ONE: WHAT I KNOW I’M GETTING

MERIT Shade Slick Gelée Tinted Lip Oil

MERIT lip oils and I have a long, happy history. They’re beautiful on my lips, they feel good, and they give that soft, plush shine that makes me feel like I’m starring in my own summer montage. Do they last a long time on me? Absolutely not. But honestly, that’s part of the charm. A lip oil that disappears quickly is a lip oil I’ll actually finish, and finishing a product in this economy is practically a spiritual achievement.

I already own one of these—yes, technically this will be a duplicate—but I’m not even pretending to be upset. Depending on the shade they send, this could easily end up being one of my favorites for the entire month. MERIT rarely misses, and this formula is one of their best.

Makeup By Mario Master Mascara

I feel like I say this every single time IPSY tries to hand me a mascara:

I do not need another mascara.

Universe? Are you listening? Hello? Bueller? I do not need another mascara.

But here we are again.

Having said that, this is an excellent mascara. Mario knows how to make lashes look good, and this formula is one of the few that consistently gets rave reviews. My hope—my dream, really—is that they send me the brown shade. It’s supposed to be the brown mascara. The one everyone loves. The one that makes people say, “Oh, you’re wearing brown? It looks incredible.”

If they send me brown, at least it’ll be different from the army of black mascaras already living rent‑free in my drawer. And if they don’t… well, I’ll still use it. I’ll just sigh dramatically first.

PART TWO: WHAT I HOPE I GET

Korres Kyma Eau de Toilette

With the exception of one night cream that tried to set my face on fire, I have loved everything I’ve ever gotten from Korres. Their scents are bright, clean, and always have that interesting twist that makes them feel like a story instead of just a smell. They tend to bloom beautifully on my skin—Korres and I have a very stable relationship.

Top Notes: Lime, Mandarin, Orange

Heart Notes: Marine, Watery, Pepper

Base Notes: Cedar, Vetiver, Nutmeg

I respond extremely well to citrus and pepper. Vetiver and nutmeg? Two of my favorite base notes. Cedar surprised me—I didn’t think I’d like it, but in perfume it adds this crisp, clean backbone that I really enjoy. The marine and watery notes will be new territory for me, but that actually makes me more curious than nervous. If anything, it feels like Korres is handing me a little adventure.

This is easily one of my top hopes for the month.

Patrick Ta Major Headlines Double-Take Blush Duo

This is supposed to be one of the best blush formulas on the market. And as a self‑proclaimed blush slut, this is basically a soulmate situation. Cream + powder? Long-lasting? Celebrity cheekbones in a compact? Yes, hello, sign me up.

Now, will it be long-lasting on me? My skin absorbs makeup like it’s trying to win a competition, so we’ll see. As always with shade-based items, you pray IPSY actually reads your profile instead of letting some giant pink glamourbot’s robotic arm randomly select a shade based on pure chaos energy.

But if they get it right? This will be a home run.

Indie Lee Stem Cell Serum

When I first saw this, I twitched a little. “Stem cell serum” sounds gimmicky at best and unethical at worst. But the stem cells in question are plant-derived, not animal-derived, which immediately made me feel better.

As for the viability? Surprisingly good ratings. Shockingly good, actually. It’s the most luxury item in the entire spoiler list this month, so if it shows up in my box, I’ll be very curious to see how it performs.

ILIA Skin Rewind Complexion Stick

This is a natural-matte formula with medium coverage that claims to last up to 12 hours. Again, with my skin? We shall see. Longevity claims often crumble the moment they meet my face.

But ILIA builds skincare into their complexion products, and that tends to work better for me. Anything with a smoother glide is a blessing when your skin is nearing 53 years and has decided it prefers hydration, kindness, and a little structural support.

Shade, of course, is the gamble. IPSY runs out of “does not go out in sunlight” shades very quickly. Hopefully the robot arm will snatch something appropriate for me instead of tossing me a shade meant for a beach volleyball champion.

MUTHA Up All Night Eye Cream

I have a lot of eye creams. IPSY loves giving women over a certain age eye cream. At the moment, I’m staring at three of them—two still sealed like tiny, expensive secrets.

But this one? This is a fabulous eye cream. A luxury eye cream. It has pearl powder and caffeine in it. Pearls and caffeine are two of my favorite things, and frankly, two of the only things that can convince my under-eyes to behave.

If I get the $90 eye cream? Yeah. I will be just fine.

Skin&Co Summer on the Riviera

Sometimes I browse IPSY’s shop.

And when I do, I always pause on this product and give it a little consideration.

Top Notes: Bright fruit, coconut, lemon

Middle Notes: White florals, green pistachio

Base Notes: Vanilla musk, golden amber

This is such an interesting blend. I do very well with whites, greens, and ambers. Lemon is always a fun addition to whatever scent stack I’m wearing. And I can already think of several things I own that would pair beautifully with this—layering possibilities galore.

If this lands in my box, I’ll be delighted.

PART THREE: WHAT I’M PRAYING THEY DON’T SEND ME

AREY Goodnight Grey Serum

This… does not have great ratings. It does not work for most people. And I’m still stuck on the existential question of its very existence. Why are we doing scalp serums for grey hair when hair dye exists? Why are we pretending this is a thing?

WILL they send it to me?

Sigh.

Probably.

I am a woman over 50. IPSY will likely bank on me having some kind of aging‑panic meltdown that renders me submissive to their offering of the anti‑grey potion. They imagine me clutching it in my humbly withered hands, feeling a faint rush of grateful acceptance.

Let me be extremely clear:

1. I am not.

2. I will not.

3. My hands look great.

Do not send me this stuff. I do not want it.

CONCLUSION

Ya know? This lineup is actually great. There is only one thing I truly do not want. The mascara they’re forcing on me is at least a stunning one, so I can’t even be mad about that. In fact, this lineup is so good that I’m a little apprehensive about the round two spoilers. What if they give us all this great potential and then follow it up with off‑brand palettes in avocado and matte gold? Palettes with reviews like, “Do not purchase! Burned my skin before it even touched it.”

We shall see.

As for now?

Yeah. I’m excited for August.

The Multiplicity of the Creative Spirit

I will always, on a very visceral level, have a problem with traditional religious restrictions. All of them. I'm not singling anyone out here. This is a problem I have with them universally. Traditional religions all follow the same kind of ideas. There is a Creator or maybe more than one. Stuff was made. This is how you should behave. Yes, exactly like this.

I'm not talking about the general idea of decent behavior. A Creator asking people not to be a pack of assholes to each other is fine. It's all the limited paths part that sets my teeth on edge.

The idea that a Creator would create something and then only want one very narrow version of it is the antithesis of my being. Creation, to me, is not about a perfect thing; it's about the possibilities of what something can become. 

 You give me five filters on GIMP and I'm going to make thousands of variations. Adjusting this and that, tweaking any buttons it has, running the same filter over what I just filtered to see the next level of what will happen.

 If your nature is Creator, then that is your basic drive. You don't settle. You don't pick 'on these two paths will do, but you can only follow one, and only the one your birth gender says is okay.' You delight in the change, in the unexpected, in the unpredictable, and often the best part of that is finding the flaws and seeing how they yield a kind of unexpected newness and beauty to your original design. One you never would have considered on your own.

 Creativity can be very lonely. You long for feedback. You long for engagement. You long for the things that push you in new directions. Even in order, even in structure, you still look for how that can be altered. You still look for the changes. You learn to honor the mistakes. Often, you save them because you know they can be used in some other creative piece later on.

 Because otherwise? You're just playing an unglitched version of Sims. And Sims gets boring after a while, because it's just the same thing over and over again. That isn't life. That isn't creativity. That isn't exploration. That's just very simple programming that will eventually frustrate you because you've seen it before. 

Meet the Fans

 These are the darlings that will keep me alive during the summer.

BEDROOM CREW OF DOOM

1. Grizzled, Ye Elder Fan
Alignment: Lawful Stubborn
Age: Older than the Berlin Wall coming down
Aesthetic: Beige Industrial Despair (the color of Reagan‑era hopelessness)
Traits:
•  Metal cage bent like it survived a bar fight
•  Duct tape scars that tell a story
•  Four speeds, each with a personality
•  Emits the energy of a Vietnam vet who listens to classic rock and doesn’t talk about the war
•  Will outlive you, me, and the concept of summer itself
This fan is not a machine.
This is a survivor.

2. Philip, StandyUppy Fan
Alignment: Chaotic Useless
Age: Toddler
Aesthetic: “I was $19.99 at Walmart and I know it”
Traits:
•  Buttons that work only when the moon is in Pisces
•  Four speeds, all of which are lies
•  Moves air the way a depressed Victorian child blows out birthday candles
•  Will die in two years, but only after inconveniencing you deeply
Philip is the fan equivalent of a coworker who “tries their best” but should not be in charge of anything.

3. Magnolia the Fair
Alignment: Neutral Murderous
Age: 2008, but spiritually 1888
Aesthetic: Looming Gothic Ceiling Apparition
Traits:
•  Two speeds: High and Also High
•  Whirs like a genteel lady fanning herself on a porch
•  Occasionally makes a noise that suggests she is about to drop from the ceiling and slice your jugular
•  Will absolutely kill you one day, but politely
Magnolia is the Blanche DuBois of ceiling fans.
She depends on the kindness of strangers and the structural integrity of two screws.

4. Taz of Metal
Alignment: Chaotic Exhausted
Age: 5 years but has lived 50
Aesthetic: Industrial Wind Demon
Traits:
•  Three speeds: Wonderful, Not Bad, and Kinda Meh
•  Currently stuck on Kinda Meh like a washed‑up rockstar
•  Held together by paper clips like a middle school science project
•  Vibrates like it’s trying to escape this mortal coil
•  Will die this year, and everyone knows it
Taz is the fan equivalent of a biker with emphysema who still insists on doing one last road trip.


THE LIVING ROOM WIND COURT

1. Jazz from Amazon
Alignment: Chaotic Pretty
Age: 2020, but spiritually a 1920s lounge singer
Aesthetic: Dark bronze, seductive, unreliable
Traits:
•  Looks sturdy but is actually held together by hope and a loose blade
•  Three speeds, all of which blow your hair into your eyes like a dramatic music video
•  Requires constant tightening, like a diva needing her corset adjusted
•  Will die this year, but will do it glamorously
Jazz is the fan who says, “I may not work, but I will look stunning while failing.”

2. Roommate’s Box Fan
Alignment: Lawful Disposable
Age: 0–5 years, but emotionally already retired
Aesthetic: “I was made in a factory that does not believe in quality control”
Traits:
•  Light blue metal body, white plastic face
•  Three speeds, all of which are theoretical
•  Falls forward like a fainting goat
•  Cats treat it like a wrestling opponent
•  Will last two more years out of spite
Rommate doesn’t name things he knows will die, which makes this fan the equivalent of a doomed NPC.

3. Trudy
Alignment: Neutral Sturdy
Age: 2 years
Aesthetic: Walmart Gothic
Traits:
•  Black plastic, metal stand, takes up the space of a small refrigerator
•  Three speeds, all of which blow your hair into your eyes from across the room
•  Annoying, but keeps you alive-ish
•  Will last two more years because she’s too stubborn to quit
Trudy is the dependable but irritating aunt who always brings potato salad you didn’t ask for.

4. Unnamed Window Fan
Alignment: Chaotic Temporary
Age: Installed two nights ago
Aesthetic: “I am new, but I will disappoint you soon”
Traits:
•  White plastic, suspiciously clean
•  Two speeds: Mid and Also Mid
•  No reverse, which defeats the entire purpose of a window fan
•  Exists only because the previous window fan died dramatically
•  Will last two years, tops
This fan is the intern who was hired because the last intern quit mid-shift.

5. Ginevra the Beautiful
Alignment: Lawful Elegant
Age: 1 year
Aesthetic: Angel of Ceiling Breezes
Traits:
•  White metal, white wood blades, tulip shades
•  Gorgeous, refined, polite
•  Three speeds, none of which are allowed to be used
•  Wears long metal pull chains like chandelier earrings
•  Too polite to kill anyone
Ginevra is the debutante who was invited to the ball but told she must not dance because the floorboards are old.

Deep Betrayal Masked as Choices: My June 2026 IPSY EXTRA CHOICE DAY

June arrived with heat, humidity, and the faint hope that my IPSY bag might bring me a little joy. Instead, it delivered a full‑scale beauty betrayal. This month’s curation wasn’t just off; it felt like IPSY spun a wheel labeled “Chaos,” “Disregard,” and “Pink Lip Products She Will Hate,” and then proudly mailed me the results.

The no‑choice items alone were enough to make me sigh into the middle distance. First, they sent me a TYS Beauty Lip Butter in Passionfruit—a sheer vibrant pink, the exact kind of shade I consistently rate low and never request. Do you know what I look like in vibrant pink? A woman in her 50s with stupidly bright lips. This would have been annoying on any month, but this was the month they were offering Tower 28 lip products, which makes the choice feel almost spiteful.

Then, as if to double down, they sent a brow gel right after I literally got a brow tint last month. IPSY, my beloved nemesis, if you had looked at my recent products for even five seconds, you would have known I did not need another brow product. You keep a LIST of recent products. Use it.

The choice items didn’t improve things. The first selection forced me to choose between the Dieux Air Angel Peptide Gel Cream and the Glow Recipe Watermelon Dew Drops—two excellent products that should never have been pitted against each other. It felt like choosing between two kittens. I picked Dieux, but I resented having to choose at all.

Then came the true betrayal: the second choice group. IPSY lumped together the Rare Beauty blush, the Rodial drops, the Tower 28 Lip Jelly, and the Tower 28 LipSoftie. All in one group. This wasn’t a choice; it was psychological warfare. I knew they would put both Tower 28s together, but I didn’t expect them to also throw Rare Beauty into the same pit like a sacrificial lamb. My soul left my body. I ended up choosing the LipSoftie because my lips are a desert wasteland in summer and because I was already being punished with that Passionfruit Lip Butter. I wanted that blush too. I was looking forward to having that blush. 

By the time I reached the final choice group, I was too tired to be angry. My options were a Dew of the Gods cleanser, the Moonslice 1980s drag‑queen palette I refuse to let haunt my home, or face masks. FACE MASKS! REALLY? Really. I chose the cleanser because it was the only item that didn’t feel like a dare. At that point, I was simply trying to survive the experience.

And then, as the final insult, I tried to contact customer service. I normally do not do this. As a middle-aged woman, one is always very hesitant to contact customer services as to not appear a Karen. Ironically, the only ones who don't worry about this are the True Karens.

Once upon a time, IPSY had a simple “Contact Support” button.

Now they have GlamBot—a sparkly pink AI creature with long fake eyelashes who guards the gates like a glitter‑covered Cerberus. You ask for help, and GlamBot smiles, blinks slowly, and offers irrelevant articles. Then asks you for information that should be already accessed as you're doing this from your profile that you are logged into.

Eventually, after enough pleading, it tells you to “submit a ticket,” which is the modern equivalent of tossing a message in a bottle into the ocean. There is no email. There is no direct contact. There is only the Ticket Portal of Mild Desperation. I ended up sending my complaint to both Instagram and Facebook because IPSY has made contacting them a side quest.

So that was June IPSY: poorly curated, profile‑ignorant, choice‑group chaotic, and wrapped in a customer service maze guarded by a sparkly robot. I am tired. I am moisturized (thanks, Dieux). I am lip‑buttered against my will. And I sincerely hope July is kinder.

Though at this point, I'm considering just quitting completely. 

The Six Commandments of the Air Conditioner

 Hey! Welcome to June! As we are headed into the hell months, I thought I would share the hostage situation I happen to be in with my air conditioning. 

The Gospel of the Ancient Window Unit AC

1. “It shall not awaken until the land reaches 90 degrees.”

This is not a temperature threshold.
This is a summoning requirement.
At 89 degrees, you suffer.
At 90, the fridges begin to mutter ancient curses, and only then does the AC stir in its cave.
If it's 88 and the humidity is over 60, your life is basically hell.

2. “Its mercy is not for you.”

You are but a mortal.
Human suffering is a natural state. 
The AC serves only the Cold Boxes, the sacred guardians of milk and leftovers.
Machine suffering is not a good idea.
You are collateral.
Your suffering does not alter the House.

3. “You will feel the lack of mercy.”

This is the part of the scripture written in sweat.
And you do. You know, when it comes to the AC, you're just a dog getting crumbs.
The summer heat is there to humble you.

4. “It is old and may perish at any moment.”

This AC is a war veteran.
It has seen things.
It has fought summers that would break lesser machines.
Every time it turns on, it’s rolling a D20 for survival.
And you know this.

5. “The Cycle: 45 minutes on, 45 minutes off.”

This is not a schedule.
This is a breathing pattern.
When the AC draws in its silent breath, you will suffer.
When the AC exhales, you will find relief.
But only then. And there will be no compromises.
If it runs longer, it screams.
If it rests longer, you scream.
But your screaming doesn't matter.

6. “At 10 PM, the AC sleeps.”

And so begins the Night of Suffering.
The air becomes thick.
The fans become your only allies.
You lie in bed like a Tennessee Williams tragic heroine, praying for a breeze.
You listen to the whining of the fans and pray they don't go out.

Lestat: Why Too Much Polish Does Not Work for Messy Characters

There are bad movies, and then there is Queen of the Damned, a film so spectacularly misguided that it loops back around into being wonderful. It’s a disaster, yes, but it’s a beautiful disaster — the kind that feels like it was made by a group of goth theater kids who were dared to adapt Anne Rice after drinking absinthe in a mall parking lot. The plot barely exists, the acting is chaotic, and the whole thing looks like it was shot through a fog machine someone forgot to turn off. And yet, somehow, it’s sexy. It’s hypnotic. It’s the cinematic equivalent of a glitter covered feral cat hissing at you from a velvet chaise. You know it’s wrong, but you can’t look away.

And the soundtrack? The soundtrack is the reason this movie still has a pulse. Jonathan Davis basically said, “What if Lestat fronted a nu metal band and it actually slapped,” and then delivered exactly that. “Slept So Long” remains one of the most vampirically perfect songs ever recorded — all swagger, menace, seduction, and that immortal boredom that only a centuries old narcissist can pull off. It takes all the love and hate one would have about the vampire that made them and pours it into a growl/snarl of a delivery. So hot. The soundtrack understood Lestat better than the script did. Better than the movie did. Better than the new show does. It captured the hunger, the ego, the theatricality. It captured the too much of him.

Which brings me to the show. The show is… fine. And that’s the problem. It’s beautifully shot, well acted, and emotionally grounded. It is prestige television doing what prestige television does. But Lestat is not prestige television. Lestat is not “fine.” Lestat is a cathedral sized ego in leather pants. He is glam rock arrogance and divine hunger and glittering narcissism wrapped in a French accent. He is a fallen angel with a microphone. He is not meant to be contained by tasteful lighting and careful pacing. He needs excess. He needs spectacle. He needs a medium that can handle a man who would absolutely ruin a band just to make it about him.

Louis, on the other hand, fits perfectly into the prestige TV mold. He is introspective, tortured, morally conflicted, and beautifully miserable. He is the patron saint of sad men staring out of windows. Cable loves that. Streaming loves that. Louis belongs in a slow burn drama where he can monologue about guilt for six episodes straight. He fits the format. Lestat does not. Lestat is bigger than cable, bigger than streaming, bigger than any platform that requires subtlety or restraint. He is a force of nature wearing eyeliner.

And honestly, when Anne Rice sat down to write him as a protagonist, she wasn’t thinking about television at all. She was thinking about glam rock. Spiritually, if not literally, she put on Ziggy Stardust, turned the volume up until the windows shook, and listened to it six hundred times. She wrote “making love to his ego” on a piece of paper, underlined it in red lipstick, and whispered, “Oh yes. This is him.” Because Lestat isn’t a vampire. He’s a glam rock god who happens to drink blood. He was born from glitter, ego, and theatrical excess — not from the quiet, tasteful suffering that prestige TV prefers.

So yes, Queen of the Damned is terrible. And yes, I love it. The soundtrack remains undefeated. The show is fine, which is the worst possible thing to be when dealing with a character who is constitutionally incapable of being fine. Louis belongs on cable. Lestat belongs on a stage made of starlight and bad decisions. Anne Rice summoned him with glam rock and lipstick magic, and no adaptation has ever fully recovered from that.

Anyway. That’s it. I’m tired now.