Wow, she was right, this is a perfect replacement. You blink twice, watching your long lashes flutter against your cheek. Mascara has always been the ace up your sleeve, your secret weapon. Well, your whole face is a weapon, but your lashes are the nuke in your arsenal. Your fakes look less like something you bought at the boutique and more like you were born looking like a cover girl. Adding mascara has always been a surefire way to amp it up to an eleven.
You were really worried too. What sort of makeup store gives away reserved product of their signature line? Who gives away a regular's reserved product?
Your favorite store apparently. As angry as you are, you can't find it in your heart to stay mad. The saleswoman had found a perfect dupe that was ten dollars less, and she gave you a discount. Combined with the free dark eye shadow, your eyes looked as big and beautiful as ever. Not that you needed it. The handouts that is. Your purse is so heavy that if you don't switch shoulders soon, your arm is going to hurt.
You resist the urge to bite your lip as you fondly remember payday. This morning you managed to put on your lipstick with two perfect swipes. It'd ruin the feeling of victory if you had to reapply it.
You glance in a mirror as you hear hushed whispers behind you. Years of practicing poise keeps you from whipping around and telling the two little girls to mind their manners. You really couldn't blame the salespeople when there are so many catty, bougie babies around. A different trio swarms around a salesman, talking in fake posh accents as they wave fat stacks of cash in his face. One of them whips their head towards you and stick out their tongue.
It's a shame too. Women have to deal with enough nonsense already, petty infighting is so last year.
The duo is draped in the latest and greatest, but none of it goes together. You can tell they bought the labels because they're labels, with no regards to quality. They're a weird faux undertone to everything their wearing. Their hastily done roots seem to hint that they really are blonde, but the rest of their rushed platinum job makes it all look fake. The leftmost's incredibly crooked bangs remind you of something, and suddenly you're reminded of that new pop star you saw on the marque the other day.
Cringing, you start to remember line after line of obnoxious bragging about things you know the singer doesn't actually have. She performs in this odd sort of half rap, where everything she says is off beat but she still sounds winded from trying to keep up with the baseline.
The girls look blown away. You recognize your doctor as she passes them. Theresa's got a gorgeous mane of hair and rouge that makes her cheeks look positively rosy. Her pantsuit looks fairly simple. The most elaborate thing she's wearing is a huge faux fur coat that makes her look small. Niiicccee.
She lets her walk speak for her as she glides through the crowd. There's an air of youth around her, and a sense that things come naturally to her. One of the girls twirl the giant ring on her finger and the fake diamond pops off.
You refocus on yourself, gently running your fingers against your hair. Money, in your opinion, is better spent on other things, like your blowout. Your hair is as silky as a newborns.
Sliding off the stool, you thank the saleswoman and head towards the counter, taking your time. Your pink, ruffled blouse and culottes gives you an air of innocence that far too many people fall for. Theresa might have her coat, but you have your big pearls, a purchase whose classiness actually makes the price tag worth it. You would've paid pull price for the blouse and culottes too, but you didn't have to. If the thrift shop wanted to give you designer for twenty bucks, why stop it?
You're more proud of your little socks though. They're ankle length with lace trim. Cute!
You smile politely at the duo hovering near the exit as you start to leave. The heavy smell of expensive perfume clings to both of them, which is a little surprising considering how many layers they're wearing. All that fabric didn't do anything to smother it?
"How much do you think he's giving her?"
"She probably has an allowance."
They're legitimately trying to whisper. Both of them look too intimidated to want to actually start a fight. You feel a little miffed that they think someone must be funding you. You make your own money, and no one's ever had to teach you how to spend it with class.
Do you like looking petite? Do you like labels but hate paying ridiculous mark ups for them?
'Daddy's Girl' isn't really a fair label for this kind of style, but if you like it you've probably been called one a lot. It's probably because you can afford so much despite looking like you just started college. People assume you're on someone's payroll.
You're not though. You just know where to spend your money. This sort of style prioritizes clothes that bring attention to the face. Shirts of this kind aren't usually flashy, and the most ornate thing you wear is probably going to jewelry. There are a lot of brand names, but followers of the 'Daddy's Girl' style usually get them at bargain price. Just because something is pricey doesn't mean it's high quality, and why pay more when you don't have to? Common fabrics include lace and cotton. Put into enhancing your features, and collecting items that make you look small. Coats are fairly common.
You're going to love Lauren Conrad. Her upscale clothing pops up the most in thrift stores. Most of her stuff has the classy, understated look you're looking for. Have fun!