For instance: Olay Regenerist claims it is "a deep penetrating moisturizer with Aquacurrent Science." Dyan Diaz, 30, says this means: "They are taking stuff out of the ocean like jellyfish and dissecting it and telling us it is good for your skin." Heh. Good guess! Actually, Olay claims, "Aquacurrent Science, the study of water movement in the skin and hair, helps create products with greater moisturization." Disappointing, huh, Dyan? Jellyfish gunk sounds way more effective.

What about Clarins Younger Longer Balm, "with advanced neuro-cosmetic technology and rare concentrated botanicals, skin is revitalized"? Yeah, that's right. Neuro-cosmetic. Soline McLain, a 28-year-old law student, says: "I would think it has to do with the brain. It makes you smarter? I will put it on when I am studying for constitutional law." (Hahahahaha! It actually has to do with nerve endings in the skin.)

As for Estée Lauder Re-Nutriv Ultimate Lifting skin care, "'Virtual immunity' means you’ll see a noticeably more lifted look, a brilliant clarity, a newly refined smoothness." Virtual immunity. Virtual immunity. Carmel Agdeppa, 27, wonders: "Is it better for your skin against any foreign bacteria?" Oh, Carmel! If only. Instead, Estée Lauder explains that if you use their cream, your skin "essentially appears almost as if it has been exempted from the signs of premature aging." Essentially. Almost. As if. Haha! The fact that they expect anyone to believe that is the most hilarious part of all.

Let’s Play Buzzword: Defining Phrases Used in Skin Care Advertising [NY Times]

Chamorro already has a convertible Mary-Kay Cadillac in pale pink, something Valdez hopes she can earn someday herself. But first she needs to sell $18,000 worth of cosmetics in four months. Valdez pitches her wares to 19-year-old Mary Lee Mejia, who admits she can't afford to buy the $22 lotion she craves. So Valdez recruits Mejia onto the sales team — which means Mejia has to cough up $108 for a sample kit.

Valdez works to support her children after leaving her husband of 33 years, a construction worker who once beat her so hard he broke her jaw. It's hard not to root for her — and it's also hard not to see that with her success comes with exploiting her poor recruits. Hennessy-Finke notes that Valdez often helps the junior sales team members, giving them free makeup kits and covering start-up costs. "Her generosity binds consultoras to her and helps her feel better about using them to achieve her goal." On one hand, Altagracia Valdez is working toward the American dream: Self-sufficiency, success, a new car. And on the other hand, her work exposes an American nightmare: Why is it that an impoverished woman can be so easily convinced that a new lipstick or handcream is all she needs to turn her life around?

Climbing A Ladder Made Of Lipstick [LA Times]

Facialists used to clean pores, apply masks and rub cream on your face — now they "berate clients who eat poorly" and decide what kinds of peels, light therapy and high-tech skin treatments a client needs. Customers "used to treat us like maids," says Aida Bicaj, an aesthetician on the Upper East Side. "Now they are treating us like medical professionals." Except, of course, they're not. Aestheticians do have to undergo 600 hours of training to be licensed, and surely years of examining hundreds of faces add to their expertise. But their training does not even come close to matching a dermatologist's years of medical school. Still, women flock to them and obey. Rebecca Johnson first visited Ms. Bicaj's salon five years ago. She said that she didn't want electrical stimulation or any acid-based products on her sensitive skin. Ms. Bicaj, who charges $475 for a facial, overruled her: "Do you tell the doctor what you need? A client cannot tell me what she needs." A dozen facials and microcurrent procedures later, Ms. Johnson, 57, just loves her! "With Aida, my skin is better than when I was 35," she says. But what's with the attitude?

Sonya Dakar, an aesthetician who counts Gwyneth Paltrow as a client, tells the Times: "You can't be a diva unless you really know what you are doing. If you are spineless and vulnerable, you shouldn't come to me. I will tell them they have skin like a Shar-Pei." Christine Chin, an especially-strict aesthetician who ditched client Naomi Campbell for her chronic lateness, says, "I tell them, 'Your face doesn't match your neck.' Sometimes they start crying. If you don't like our rules, then we say, 'Goodbye, you can go somewhere else and you can keep your zits.'" The crazy thing is that an appointment with these women does not come cheap. Why are their clients willing to shell out cash to be berated? It's obviously possible to get good results without a caustic lecture. Are women with money so used to getting what they want that they feel a thrill in being told what to do, like powerful businessmen who are into S&M? Or are the aestheticians power-tripping, since they have women lying there, at their mercy? And would you continue to see someone who told you your skin was "saggy" — and give that person money? Because we'd be out of there before you could say "mircodermabrasion."

Aestheticians Who Get in Your Face [NY Times]