A couple nights ago I was coerced…er, rather persuaded to attend a makeover party, for a company that shall remain nameless, at the request of a friend.
Now I would do just about anything for my friends, but I have to say that the bonds of friendship are severely tested when it comes to these types of parties. Letting you cry on my shoulder for hours on end for love gone wrong? Yes. Going to yet another party so you can get a discount on candles or interior decorations or cookware? No.
Yet there I was after a long day at work, going without makeup and trying out different skin creams, cleansers and age-defying moisturizers. So my friend is either better at sales than I gave her credit for, or I’m a sucker.
Now this wasn’t just any makeover session. This was some sort of monthly conference. So after the cleansers but before the makeup is applied my friend goes off to a training class while me and the other trusting souls were left at the mercy of those higher on the food chain.
And what an experience that was! It had the feel of cheerleader camp or maybe one of those teambuilding workshops corporations are famous for – not that I would know.
There was lots of clapping and shouting for folks that had achieved their goals and lots of people that were absolutely committed to the product – more than seemed natural, if you ask me.
There was talk of having a personal relationship with their customers and showing they love them and care about them. Love? I’m not sure if I’m ready to commit to a relationship like that with my makeup consultant.
It seemed like whatever they were doing to entice the poor saps dragged here by someone else was working, because all the participants couldn’t say enough about how well the product worked for them. They had seen the light of their cheap makeup ways.
So I was feeling pretty high and mighty at this point, glad that I was not a chump like all the rest of these people and yet so sad that they were all so easily deluded.
Then I commented to the people at my table that the last time I went to one of these things, Reagan was still in office.
Next, my whole world fell when the lithe fifteen-year-old at the table piped up and said, “Oh, did they have (insert product name here) back then?”
My age-defying cream should come in within a couple weeks, I’m told. Another true believer was born.
Heather Taylor is a Messenger staff writer.