Who Me?

"You have a nice face," says the lady at the Ageless makeup counter.  "Not everyone does."  Well said, m'lady!  If there's a better way to get this Short Jewish Gal to unload obscene amounts of dinero, I have yet to hear it.  Of course, she catches me at a vulnerable moment.  I'm looking for the Delusions counter.  This is meant to be a strike attack:  Get the foundation powder.  Get the lipstick.  Get out of Macy's alive.

"Delusions?" says Nahid, leaving her post.  I detect a hint of distress in her voice.  Now she's standing in front of me, smiling earnestly.  She touches my arm, as if we're old friends, and delivers the news.  "Oh, honey, Delusions went out of business." Say what?!  The uber-fluorescent makeup department, harshly lit to magnify every facial flaw, begins to spin.  In shock, I sit down in the comfy makeup chair.  I feel right at home.  "Are you alright, dear?" asks Nahid.  I don't answer.  Nahid spritzes me with a fine Ageless mist.  I'm magically revived.  "I just... I can't believe it.  I've been a Delusions customer for a while now and..."  I collect myself.  I don't wish to weep in front of my newly-appointed beauty consultant.  "It was all over the Internet," Nahid tells me.

She goes in for the kill, but I'm still grieving, so I don't even notice.  Well played, m'lady!  "Tell me what Delusions products you used.  I have a list I can cross-reference. We'll find you something compatible."  And ridiculously more expensive.  She neglects to mention price, but it matters not.  I'm now under Nahid's spell.  She's told me I have a nice face.  Not everyone does!  I will purchase whatever she recommends, even if it means the sons must forego their inheritance.

This is so much better than the majority of makeup encounters I've endured over the years. Just try walking through a makeup department in New York.  "I have something for those fine lines," doesn't ignite my spending gene.  "I have something for those dark circles," doesn't inspire my credit card.  Au contraire.  These gals and occasional guys who deal in skincare should recognize those of us whose epidermis runs on the thin side.  Insults are not the way to my wallet.  Skip the trauma.  Try some good ol' American flattery.  Whether it's sincere or a reasonable facsimile, go ahead and fawn.  That's the ticket to ca-ching.  Tell me my skin looks great, omit "for someone your age" and we're talkin' commerce.  Nahid gets that.  She gets me.  No wonder we click.  She says, "Try this lipstick."  And, "This blush matches your cheeks perfectly."  And, "Look at that glow on your face."

Not once does she hurl a posthumous dig at Delusions. Nahid is too subtle, too skilled, to sink that low.  Before I know it, she's ringing up the bill.  The amount takes me by surprise.  I grip the counter to steady myself.  She reaches for the spritzer again.  "It's okay, I'm good," I tell her.  "Any samples you can throw my way?"  Nahid winks.  "I'll be right back."