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Byline: Linda Wells, Editor in Chief
Every spring, I turn over my bathroom and my pores to allure' s Best of Beauty testing. I expect no pity: I get to try $200 firming creams, scrubs of every flavor on each limb, and more perfumes than you'd find in an entire Moroccan souk. It's work; it's fun. Even the tedium of washing my face (a.k.a. cleansing) becomes an adventure.
This year, though, as I opened box after box of anti-aging creams, I became uneasy. Off came the cellophane wrapping, the outer sleeve, and the thick, embossed top. Into the garbage went the cardboard base, the flocked pedestal, the golden spatula, and the little plastic lid that covers the cream like a skin. (If I throw that away, I wonder, will it immediately become contaminated?) By the time I'd unwrapped three products, my wastebasket was filled. All that cardboard and plastic, all that vulgar excess--it made me feel guilty.
The packaging of expensive beauty products has gotten out of control. Some cosmetics companies seem to believe that all these layers create a sense of luxury, that they make the product look precious, like a Valentine's present from Harry Winston. But that idea is passe.
Diana Vreeland, the fashion editor, once said, "Elegance is refusal." Mies Van der Rohe applied the words "less is more" to architecture. As much as everyone rattles off these mottoes, it seems that ...