As we enter a new year, Laura Reynolds looks at how the dating game differs from previous generations.
Laura Reynolds looks at the freedoms of festive singledom
Join Jason Rose for a peek behind today's door.
Lauren Tabbron writes about the difficulties of spending Christmas away from a loved one.
Day 1 au naturel
Horrific is the only way to describe it. Although I did enjoy the extra 10 minutes of sleep that going natural afforded me, as soon as I left my house I felt naked. And not the good, sexy kind of naked. The awful, exposed, cringing, trapped under a microscope kind of naked. My Annoyingly Nice Friend asked whether I was feeling alright because “you look dreadfully tired!” Splendid.
Not only did I look tired, pale and greasy, I FELT tired, pale and greasy. This had such a mental effect on me that by the time the day had finished, all I wanted to do was mooch around the house in my pyjamas like some malevolent troll, resisting all of the Other Half’s efforts to tempt me into the bedroom.
Day 2 au naturel
Mildly better. Starting to notice small benefits in not wearing make-up, like not having to worry about rubbing your eyes in case of smudging and not getting powder all over the mantelpiece like I usually do. The Other Half pointed out how “fresh-faced” I looked, and whilst I’m not entirely sure whether that’s a compliment or not, I felt better about myself.
But that night, it was difficult to feel very sexy without make-up. Wanting to, ahem, “dress up” for the Other Half, I felt a little lost without my usual sex kitten eyes. Feeling instead like a wholesome choirgirl or simpering milk maid, unfortunately it went a bit...vanilla.
Day 3 au naturel
A lot better. On the third day I was invited to a night out. The route sounded perfect, a few civilised ciders in Pivní, a couple of Milky Bar Kids in Dusk, straight on to Reflex to flail around to 80s synth beats clutching vodka Monsters and then on the home run to the Willow, for tequila shots and a bit of S Club 7. Look, I don’t pretend to be cool.
But this was the type of invitation I’d been dreading. Going out without make-up seemed unfeasible. But I said yes (in the name of the experiment of course) and once I’d got a few drinks in me, I’d forgotten all about it. That night the Other Half and I happily drunkenly snored the night away.
The verdict
I don’t think I’ll be giving up make-up anytime soon, but it has encouraged me to wear less. However, due to general low self-esteem and appallingly bad looks, I find it difficult to feel sexy without make-up. There’s nothing quite like a slick of black eyeliner and a bit of red lipstick to make a girl feel like donning some stockings and heels.
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I went along to Central Hall Musical Society’s performance of Jekyll and Hyde a few weeks ago and feasted my eyes upon Victorian prostitute after Victorian prostitute. It’s slightly worrying that I seem to love this look so much – why is it that the “bad” characters are so much more tempting than the "good"? Ripped fishnet stockings, corsets, red lace vs. high starched collars, prim dresses and floor-length skirts. I know which one I’d choose.
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