Stop Conjuring Yourself Up You can waste decades inventing, undoing, revamping only to find you are nothing more than a pile of high-heeled shoes and countless, groundless fears with little to rely on except decent cheekbones and good hair. Sure, those kinds of things will keep you afloat for awhile, get you to the front of the line, change your flat tire, move your furniture, fix your computer. But, cute is not forever and foundation should really be something more than cream you spread to fill cracks, lessen dents, smooth bumps, hide hormonal sirens trying to scream from your pores framed by eyebrows waxed into that perpetually perfect _expression of glossy coolness. Stop conjuring yourself up. Because, one day, we all go poof into the ethers of age. Wispy mounds of girlie smoke without substance or character or zing are likely to meld into hopelessly helpless messes of brittle, bitter, bitchy hardness while they watch their less synthetic sisters unfold into soft, solid accomplishments that can take care of themselves but rarely have to face the ethers alone