That time was college. It was pre-Celtic Tiger; students did not drive to lectures, no one toted a designer handbag and a tenner was a fortune for a night out. It’d enable you to have five whole pints, thus getting completely bollo before you headed to McGonagles for the indie disco. If you had 15 of our old punts you could pitch up to someones pre-property developer flat, located in a dingy gaff off the South Circular – the bathroom was always out in the hall, covered in strange mens’ wee – and knock back a two litre of cider before the off. My memories are hazy, to say the least. And I can’t touch cider these days.
Fun times. Actually, they were. But they were also pretty broke times and having a laugh, band t-shirt buying and gig-going were top of my agenda. Makeup spending wasn’t. I remember the brouhaha over Rouge Noir poginantly – there was no way I could afford Chanel, so I made do with a knock-off from No7. Foundation came courtesy of Max Factor, pressed powder was a Rimmel job (and much abused) and my lipstick was Black Cherry. Shadow was Bourjois’ little round pots, with Gris Pailettes (or its 90s equivalent) being a firm fave. That was my lot – blush didn’t get a look in, and I was sorted.
Could I go back to it now? Could I buggery. I’d have to give up my By Terry Light Expert, my Dior foundation, my huge stash of YSL, Chanel and Shiseido lipsticks, my Lancome mascara habit, my Bobbi Brown shadow and blush palettes and my MAC everything.
Wah! No – there’s absolutely no way. Could you?