Plastic Fantastic?

I love myself a bit of fakery. The extensions, the tan, the lashes, the nails.... I indulge in them all and I bloody love em. I'm not a Barbie anymore; I exchanged my blonde locks a few months ago now and am now a chocolate brown lover.

Someone asked me a few weeks ago why I bother with all the fake shit. It’s expensive to say the least: £30 on a bottle of tan, £60 hair treatments etc. I can't really afford it all to be honest but it’s an addiction. I couldn't imagine going out on a night out without a layer of fake tan hiding my true colour or my hair extensions making everything look thicker and longer. I suppose I'm just another prat who is subject to falling head over heels in love with the stick thin celebs in the glossy magazines that I choose to read weekly. They're just so bloody perfect it makes me sick, it makes me want to spend 2 hours getting ready just so I can look even half as good as they do. I'm not a size 6, far from it. So maybe subconsciously I feel that I need to compensate my lack lustre figure with the hair and the tan, maybe...

Or maybe when I look all fake I'm not actually myself, I'm an alter ego and when people say bad things to me when I'm all dressed up it doesn't matter because it’s not actually me, just me in a mask. Does that make sense....? Hopefully.