Photos: Alena Ermishina
Interview: Margarita Virova
FOR THE HEADING "NALITSO" we study the contents of beauty cases, dressing tables and cosmetic cases of the characters we are interested in - and show all this to you.
Roxana Kiseleva
journalist and author of the telegram channel @godblesstheconcealer
My task is to educate people and inspire them to be creative
About the attitude towards criticism and your work
I can't see well, but overall it's not bad - I don't notice sidelong glances at all. I wear magenta hair, black lipstick or boots with a leather skirt - all the silent criticism passes me by. It happens that people show me strange signs of attention or impose their unwelcome opinion about my appearance, but for me it is absolutely unimportant. There is a difference between respect and worship: no one is obliged to love my taste in clothes, no one is obliged to choose me as a friend or sexual partner - but they are not obliged to speak out about the “appropriateness” of my outfit in the subway either. Although here I was cheating a little: before, I myself had a bad habit of attacking people on the Internet. Over the years, I grew out of this behavior - my anger never brought me happiness.
What really hurts me is the neglect of my work. I introduce myself to people as a journalist, and their eyes light up; I say that I am writing about cosmetics, and their interest fades away, and the joke about "signing up for nails" hangs in the air. Such situations do not happen often, but during my six months of work, I have heard more than once that smart emancipated women do not dye anything except hygienic lipstick, and real journalists are those who risk their lives in hot spots. They write book reviews at most, and do not choose the five best creams of the month on a leather sofa in Stoleshnikovy.
I understand the reasons for the self-proclaimed highbrow community's dislike for gloss. However, to complaints like “while Dadin is in prison, you are writing about lipsticks,” I answer that I am not the only journalist in Russia, and not even the best, but there is someone cool to write about politics without me. In the end, the beauty columns of some Russian magazines need salvation no less than opposition journalism, and a good beauty writer understands art, natural sciences, marketing, and history. It may sound immodest, but I would like to become one of those who will make Russian beauty journalism great again. A start has been made: at least I do not incite women to a senseless fight against cellulite, so my family already has something to be proud of. My task is to educate people about beauty and inspire them to be creative (and partly to bless them for hedonism).
About self-care
My work obliges me to follow the cosmetic market and try different things on myself, so my daily care is simple: I cleanse and moisturize my skin, occasionally use masks and, if I remember, apply a serum with vitamin C to invigorate. I am proud that no matter what state I am in, I will always take off my makeup and wash myself. Once in St. Petersburg, I went over so much with wine that I literally crawled into the hotel room. Smearing hydrophilic oil on my face, I managed to fall asleep, and while I was looking for foam on the sink, I fell twice. If I still have to learn from moderation in libations, then purposefulness is a reason for pride.
Sometimes it seems to me that everyone around is very conscious, and I am a punishment for my skin, and it's time to acquire boosters, starters and oils, but I am so lost in the range that I decided to postpone these global changes until twenty-five. By the way, I'm not afraid of aging, although I managed to gain a couple of kilograms, because my metabolism is no longer so fast. I am more saddened by the fact that you have to die - but there is nothing you can do about it.
About makeup
With makeup, everything is very simple for me: neither at school, nor at the institute, nor at any of the jobs I had a dress code, so I divide cosmetics according to a special principle. I count as everyday means for a quick make-up, and I take out everything that I fiddle with for more than five minutes when I am going to the cinema or to a disco. Most of all I like lipsticks, I have twenty of my favorites, but there is a problem with blush: only last week I magically determined where I needed to apply them, and exactly in this place I developed an allergy.
With the transition to freelancing, I practically stopped painting: to go out, I most often apply only a tonal foundation, and then more because of the fear of radioactive substances from the air, rather than the desire to decorate myself. To be honest, it even bothers me. I look at my mother: she is forty-four, and she never stopped being a berry - she doesn't even go to the bakery without makeup, styling and heels, wears ripped jeans and draws flowers on her nails. Someone will say: "Younger!" - and I will say that she does not lose her enthusiasm and that everything is fine with her. I left my enthusiasm in the tram, but I hope to return it one day.
