REVIEW: Zoeva Classic Brush Set! | Drumbeat Heart

(L-R: The face brushes from the Classic Brush Set - the 125 Stippling brush, the 105 Luxe Highlight brush, the 128 Cream Cheek brush, and the 142 Concealer brush)

Hello little friends ...

It was my birthday recently, (had I mentioned that? I didn't think I had. At all. Ahem). My brush collection had become deplorably dirty, so my sister convinced me, (tough task, I assure you), to let her buy me some new ones from Zoeva. 

Founded in 2008 by Zoe Boikou, Zoeva is a cosmetic line originating in Germany. The name comes from the Germany word for 'life', ('zoe'), and honours 'the first woman on earth', ('eva'). 

I didn't want to get a set specific for eyes or face, so I got the Classic Brush Set, which costs €60 on their website. The sets range in price from €35 to €185: all sets are cruelty free, and there are a couple of vegan-friendly sets too!

The eye brushes in the Classic Brush set

The face brushes in the Classic Brush set

The set contains four face brushes, and four eye brushes, which I will go into in more detail further on. The brushes came in a faux-leather wallet/bag/thing which I have found very convenient for travelling recently. The one thing I didn't like - only five of the brushes came with brush guards, and the ones for the eye brushes didn't even fit. It felt a little half assed, like someone gave up packaging halfway through.

Having never been in contact with the brand before, I was pleasantly surprised by the amount of positive reinforcement their products and their branding carries. It's not something you get with a lot of brands, and it feels very authentic.

But you don't want to read about the packaging, do you?

L-R: The 142 Concealer Buffer brush, 128 Cream Blush brush, 125 Stippling brush and the 105 Luxe Highlight brush

Starting with the face brushes - I was wary of the 125 Stippling brush, (I'm just wary of stippling brushes in general. How does it blend it in? Sorcery). No, but this is very good at both stippling AND buffing, and I think it will grow to replace my Real Techniques buffing brush. It applies product evenly and flawlessly, and the bristles are super soft on your skin. Be warned though - those thinner bristles will never be white again. Ever.

The 142 Concealer Buffer brush is an exact dupe for the Real Techniques Deluxe Crease brush. It is really stiff and dense (like every man I've ever encountered, amirite?) and it blends product out beautifully. I rarely applied concealer with a brush before, but I'm a convert now.

The 105 Luxe Highlight needs to be seen (and felt) to be believed. All the brushes are fairly soft but this might as well be a rabbit's tale, (it's not because that would be lousy). It is perfectly shaped for applying highlight, with the brush picking up a lot of product. It wouldn't make a bad contour brush either: the chiseled tip is perfect for creating your own chiseled cheek bones.

I'm not a blush person. Thousands of makeup tutorials later and I still can't apply the shite without resembling a whoopie cushion. It should be no surprise then that 128 Cream Blush brush was my least favourite of the set. I tried using it a couple of ways - highlight, contour and yes, blush - and the brush just wasn't effective at applying any product. The bristles are firm or dense enough, and it feels the cheapest of the lot.

Now the eyes ...

L-R: The 317 Wing Eyeliner brush, the 228 Luxe Crease brush, the 230 Luxe Pencil brush and the 227 Soft Definer brush

The 227 Soft Definer brush is your standard flat base colour brush. It's not rounded enough for blending, but that's ok. It's does its job. It's good at its job. My only crib is that I already have plenty of brushes that do that exact same job, just as well, I also found that it didn't wash very wall, and
there was some bristle fall out after.

The 228 Luxe Crease brush AKA THE PERFECT AFFORDABLE BLENDING BRUSH. This is beautifully soft and so rounded - great for softly defining the crease or buffing out harsh edges. I really really liked this product. When I washed it though, compared to the other brushes, it didn't keep its shape very well. Again, there was a tiny bit of bristle fallout after, but not enough to stop me loving it. (I am very sad).

I usually wear smokey eyes going out, and the 230 Luxe Pencil brush is going be really useful for those kind of looks. It's a good enough size that it can kinda of be used for everything - cut creases, soft creases, smoking out eyeliner, your lower lashline, highlighting your inner corners ... Multi-purpose wonderfullness!

Last but not least, the 317 Wing Liner brush is a basic angled brush. You could use this on your brows with gel or shadow, or for eyeliner - either applying or smoking out.

Eight brushes for €60, with only one dud, ain't too shabby - it roughly works out at €7.50 a brush, which is what you'd pay for most good quality ones in the pharmacy/drugstore.

Overall, I'm impressed, and I would definitely consider repurchasing again. In fact, I already have my eye on the Cocoa Blend eyeshadow palette! Pity you only have one birthday a year, huh?

Have you tried any Zoeva products before? Are you a fan?

x

This is not a test

"Graduation?" My mam snorted incredulously. "You graduate from college, not secondary school!"

For me, however, I felt the only way to describe this incredibly melodramatic transition from student to mere mortal as a 'graduation'. As we all sat in the dining assembly crying our eyes out, (No? Just me? It's not news to ye that I'm a massive loser anyway), I found it difficult to envision life beyond the classrooms, the teachers, the students and the school that had, essentially, made me who I am. Afterwards, I joked about asking if I could stay on permanently, hidden away in a supply cupboard, content with my life as a good student.

My graduation marked the end of an incredibly challenging year for myself and my fellow Leaving Cert students. It also marked the beginning of the exams themselves. From January onwards, the stress of school, as well as other factors, built up enormously. As someone who is renowned for putting herself under a great deal of pressure when it comes to tests, the Leaving Cert just didn't seem like something I would, in the end, be physically able to do. Months of exam papers, predictions, rants, oral examinations, practicals and scouring for universities would all boil down to a week's worth of exams for me. "These are the exams that will define you and decide your future!" they told us.

I'm sorry, but that is bullshit.

As much as the SEC, your teachers and the Department of Education wants you to believe that the world is going to spontaneously stop the day you and 1 get our results - it won't. Life doesn't begin after the Leaving Cert. It never has, and it never will. In that week in August, if it turns out that I have indeed fail Maths, there is no doubt that I will be exceptionally disappointed. But I know that life will go on, and in my final hours it won't be remembered that I failed Maths in my Leaving Cert. Sure, if you can tell me all the characteristics of a desert biome, I'm thrilled for you. But the Leaving Cert doesn't measure human qualities - how funny, nice, selfless or determined you are.

I am now at a point in my life where I believe I am facing an even bigger test than the Leaving Cert itself. I am approximately half a month into my summer break, and I have found myself teetering in the middle of some kind of emotional see-saw. I'm not entirely sure what's going to happen over the next few weeks. Summer is always given such an air of importance among people my age - between its temporary nature, the good weather and the freedom, it is truly a unique time where anything is possible. For the most part, my life is now limitless - no restraints such as exams, study or school work to hold me back. What am I going to make of myself? What am I going to become?

Scary prospect, isn't it?

I'm not asking much of this summer. I want to enjoy myself, after what can only be defined as 6 months of torture. I want to spend as much time with my friends as possible, as I will going to college in Dublin and they will be facing into exams themselves. I want to drink copious amounts and inevitably puke on myself - again. I wish to attend every concert under the sun, and travel: the thoughts of spending my summer in this small (and equally small-minded) shithole feels me with dread. I will work, and, in turn, waste spend all my money on frivolous items. I am not a person who buys into the idea of having 'no regrets'. My whole life is basically a tidy collection of regrets big and small. I can only hope that I won't add too many more to my list this summer. I want to laugh loudly and not have to be sorry about it. I want this summer to teach me more about the world and myself than 5 years of education ever could.

This summer will be the ultimate learning curve. As a 17 year old with a seven year old mind with a fantastic memory, but lacking in 'street smarts', I need to learn my place, and ultimately, make better decisions, in order to succeed in college and beyond.

Not entirely sure how I'm supposed to study for that, mind ...


Twitter
Instagram
Tumblr

Growing up won't bring us down

"His name's Tulani".

I corrected my nan on the name of one of her South African care-workers - she'd mistakenly referred to him as 'Carrigtwohill'.

"That's it!" She said, pointing and shaking her hand in his direction, as if she'd figured it out on her own. "I knew it had a T in it. I've gone terrible deaf Fionnuala girl".

My nan was now in hospital permanently - sound of mind, frail of heart and body, eyes as blue as a porcelain doll's. The same, however, could not be said about her fellow patients.

"Get out ... Get out ... Get out ... GET OUTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!" A pleasant old 'dear' had greeted us as we entered. Away with the fairies. "She's probably better off", my mam remarked. "Madame Butterfly", my selectively deaf grandmother had called her.

As I sat on the stiff mattress of the hospital bed, I allowed myself to take in fully this new environment. Shelves filled with adult nappies, assistance bells at the bedside, jellies on the table, the able patients' knitwork lining the walls ... Is this what awaits me? Is this what we wait for with bated breath? Is this really what I wish for when I complain about my life and long to be older?

In that moment, I felt like I had been wishing my life away. About the way I look, the people I spend my time with and where I spend it ... Yeah, growing is hard. Really hard at times. My secrets had spread faster than glandular fever at a GAA disco. Stress inevitably got the better of me at one stage or another. I was rejected, and in return, I rejected people. My whole landscape of friends had changed radically, to the point where I know longer acknowledge people who I previously invested all of my time into. I had complained previously about 'those people', 'this town', 'that night' ... All for what? For me to get old old and go loopy?

I sat amongst my family, in what was, essentially, an adult crèche and came to my conclusion: if growing old is hard, imagine how bloody hard being old is. I was suddenly overcome with gratitude for crappy school, drunken mistakes and horrible people who deserve to have their ears pierced with rusty nails. I have what my nan doesn't - spontaneity and diversity. I made a decision then and there to prolong monotony for as long as possible. Lord knows I can't stop the ageing process but, so help me, I'm going to slow the bastard down before I become my own Madame Butterfly.

"Are you working tonight?" My nan asked.

"Yeah I am".

"Sure God help us!" she said, shaking her head.

God help us indeed.



Twitter
Tumblr
Instagram
Google +

The dark rise of celebirty culture

I wrote this for my Leaving Cert Mock/Pre exam. Enjoy!



I woke a few mornings ago to find my social networking sites a-flutter. Torrents of Tweets and posts were sending cyberspace into a frenzy, as well as my phone. What could warrant such a response? I wondered. An end to war? A cure for cancer?

The headlines read:

"KIMYE'S BABY JOY"

If you have no idea what/who Kimye is, you are one of a lucky few. 'Kimye' are composed of Kim Kardashian - American 'socialite', 'actress' 'designer' and sex-tape star - and Kanye West - rapper and occasionally, Taylor Swift's award speech interrupter. The white-trash equivalent of Brangelina, they are Hollywood's most prolific power couple today.

And now, they have managed to successfully reproduce. How thrilling.

How did it come to this, in which, globally, people are celebrating that two run-of-the-mill people are expecting a child/ Since when is this more important that current affairs?

This shows exactly, the rapid, sadistic rise of celebrity culture - officially diagnosed as 'the Kim Kardashian effect'.

Stars without merit are beginning to have a greater influence in modern society. Celebrities dictate how we look, dress, eat, exercise and think. We are more exposed to Hollywood indoctrination than ever before. Products are bought for the face on the box - what else can you attribute to Jennifer Lopez having 12 different perfumes? Not her keen sense of smell, that's for sure.

Celebrities hold power reminiscent of Fascist dictators. We are bombarded with highly sexualised images of D-list celebrities daily, accompanying mundane stories such as, "How My New Puppy Is Changing My Life",  and "Being Filthy Rich Has It's Challenges, I Swear". In a recent straw poll of people agd between 18 and 30 years of age, a mere 10% could identify Nelson Mandela from a photograph. Surprisingly, (or perhaps unsurprisingly), 85% of the group could recognise Simon Cowell. If the children are our future, should I be worried?

So where does that leave us? Just how detrimental is 'the Kim Kardashian effect'?

For starts, we are significantly less intelligent. Recent studies from Cambridge University have show that a lowly 8% of your brain is engaged while watching reality TV. Imagine the potential of that 8%! It could be writing a novella, solving a sudoku puzzle or playing a game of chess, as opposed to "keeping up with the Kardashians".

On top of that, we are more easily manipulated. We are allowing ourselves to be sold ideas and products from shallow, plastic mannequins, who are lucky enough to have famous parents. I myself have been a victim of this. Recently, I purchased a pastel pink mohair jumper from H&M that I had seen singer Lana del Rey model for a recent campaign of theirs. Did I like the jumper? Not particularly. Did it make me look like Lana? Perhaps ... If she shared the same penchant for biscuits as myself. The point is, I bought it, because, sub-consciously, Lana del Rey told me to. Such levels of exploitations are on par with those in a Nike sweatshop in Bangladesh.

Celebrity culture has corrupted our minds. People hold notions now that talent is optional, morals are irrelevant  starving is sexy and dignity no longer exists. We as a nation have become a herd: people with no discernible, unique characteristics. We are sheep, sponging off the personalities of 'the next big thing', in order to satisfy our seemingly inherent and insatiable desire to 'fit in'.

I can only pray that this is a mild overreaction on my part, and this event will act as some sort of a turning point. I have my fingers crossed that the next generation with shun the shine of celebrity and embrace the new age of intelligent thinking. Maybe there will be the next great novella. Maybe there will be a cure for cancer. Maybe the malignant force that is celebrity culture will be eradicated once and for all.

Or maybe not. Glossy rags could continue to be worshipped, the 21st century equivalent of the Holy Bible, and I could continue to lose faith in humanity. After all, Kimye look set to pocket a cool $10 million from selling their baby's first picture.

Baby joy indeed.


Twitter Tumblr
Instagram

Not 'goodbye', just 'see you later': how emigration has effected me

How many of you, given the current economic climate in Ireland and abroad, have had someone close to you emigrate recently?

2 weeks ago, one of my closest friends for 10 years emigrated to America with her mother, stepfather, and two younger brothers. Hand-on-heart, it was one of the hardest things I've had to do in my short life.

The move was not motivated by the economy. There were many personal reasons for the move, and it would not be appropriate to discuss them here for public viewing. They found out shortly after Christmas that the step-father's name had been drawn for the Green-card Lottery, and had just under 5 months to prepare for the biggest move they had ever faced - individually and as a family.

To be quite honest, the enormity of it all didn't hit me until the following days. It was the little details that upset me most. It was seeing the driveway empty of the family cars. It was seeing the refrigerator stripped of the amusing fridge magnets that I was so familiar with. It was seeing the shelves bare of photographs documenting each stage of the childrens' lives. It was seeing my best friend's room turned into nothing but an empty shell, full of boxes. It was knowing that this would be the last time I'd ever be in this house with my 'second family', as I had so affectionately nicknamed them. It was realising that this was actually happening.

Emigration has far-reaching consequences, and not just for the family themselves. The childhood best friends are left with lingering memories. Their large extended families are left without nieces, nephews and cousins. An empty chair in a classroom. A cleaned-out office space. It broke my heart a little bit to see them go.

Nowadays, however, thanks to the beauty that is modern technology, I can remain in contact with my friend quite easily, (Viber, Skype, I am forever in your debt), and her step-dad's regular Instagram uploads allow me to 'oooh' and 'awwwww' appropriately at her little brothers living the American dream. I've told her I'll visit next summer following the Leaving Cert. That all depends on whether I save up enough money and get a job, which, in this recession, is proving near to impossible. The economy is clearly determined to drive me away from my friend!

I can't help but feel on edge as to who'll be next, as it is inevitable - she will not be the last of my friends to emigrate within the next year or two. Be it for financial reasons or not, more and more people are emigrating every day. Who will it be next? Maybe it'll be even closer to home? My brother or sister perhaps? I'm not sure my poor little heart could bear it. Why whether the exact same storm somewhere far away when you can do it in the comfort of your home, surrounded by the people that love you?

Perhaps I'm just being selfish. Or perhaps the grass isn't always greener on the other side of the fence. Take your pick.