Memo: Duchess of Cambridge

When you are fortunate enough to have the world at your feet and the eyes of said world are going to be upon you:  Do Not Do Your Own Bridal Makeup. Not to mention, the “professionals” who did your hair (not even a slight bump) and manicure (a pale so pale as to seem bare) apparently did not realize it was for your wedding ceremony, either.

Hot Pants insisted I was, as I often am, wrongwrongwrong when I reported that you had undertaken your own matrimonial face painting. She has since apologized, but her daze of horror lingers.

Duchie, there’s a reason makeup artists are called artists. They understand tone, light, shadow. They paint with more than one color (or, colour) out of the Crayola box. They sweep on multiple shades to enhance the eye. They create a nude lip that will not disappear on camera. They contour one’s nose to magically narrow it down.

I’m just saying.

And, hey, what was with that dinky bouquet? The River Edge Flower Shop adorned me with more blooms than that, and I was married in a French restaurant in Tenafly, N.J., not an Abbey.

There’s understated, and then there’s just…plain.


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