![]() And even when you were done with the makeup-temporarily, of course you were never done with the makeup-there was still a whole lot of sitting around drinking lattes. “You could even get sick of chocolate,” she’d told her mother on the phone the night before.īeing an actress on a TV show, even a moderately good and successful TV show, involved a few minutes of acting for every few hours you spent in the makeup chair. She’d read an article in Time magazine about it. ![]() Sitting in the makeup chair in early October in a trailer parked on the corner of Bleecker Street and the Bowery in the East Village of Manhattan, getting her hair blown out for the seven millionth time by a girl named Rita and the foundation sponged onto her face for the eight millionth time by a girl named Genevieve, Carmen knew it was just another mile on the hedonic treadmill. ![]() Once, when she was thirteen, Carmen remembered turning to Tibby with her CosmoGirl magazine in one hand and her eye pencil in the other and declaring that she could never, ever get sick of doing makeovers. ![]()
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