Normally, we loathe:
*The New York Times "Thursday Styles" section (almost as much as the Sunday Styles section!)
*New York Times stories that involve accompanying moneyed NYC teenagers to places invariably described as "haunts"
*Moneyed NYC teenagers. (And also: New York. Fuck this place. Will it never stop generating stupid new trends we're supposed to know about? Or aren't we distracted enough from important stuff already?)
*Sephora (Oh my god, Sephora. Motto: "We have so much fucking makeup you'll be paralyzed by choice when you're stealing a few swabs before the interview you're late for!")
*Lip gloss. Because: Our hair sticks to it. So we look like we're those five year olds who eat their hair until someone tells them hairballs are growing inside their stomachs and they turn to ice cream instead. Also, when we were kids we liked sparkly white Cover Girl lip gloss that our mom called "sperm lips" and we unwittingly told everyone we loved "sperm lips" and they laughed and laughed and...
*The word "gloss." Esp. when employed in puns, music reviews aiming to intellectualize overproduced pop music, the URLs of websites aimed at women.
Yeah, well whatever, forget us, because we're not contributing anything to society in this lifetime. Lil Mama, on the other hand, is a seventeen-year-old rapper who makes us love our enemies — even those in the beauty industry! — so much we think she could be the real inheritor to the title "White Oprah," except she is not white. She is black. Her father "is known as True." We are fucking smitten. Lil Mama needs to, like, get involved in some border war truces or arms negotiations or the Kelly Clarkson/Clive Davis feud, stat.