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My day living Kate Moss's beauty regime
Kate Moss revealed her secret beauty tip is sticking her head in a bowl of ice. We asked Charlotte Ward to follow the hard-living model’s wacky regime for a day. Easy, right?
Kate always looks ready for a day’s modelling yet never stops partying. Sounds like the ideal beauty regime.
Kate is apparently ruthless about her appearance and has full-length mirrors in her bathroom she stands in front of naked, scrutinising her looks.
I don’t have a full-length mirror in my bathroom so I strip, stand on a chair and peer into the one above the sink. Catching sight of myself I wobble with shock and fall off the chair. Have a fag to steel my nerves.
I’ve heard Kate spends a fortune on treatments including oxygen facials, teeth whitening, hair protein masks, nail conditioning treatments and full body scrubs and wraps.
In my cupboard I find some old Pearl Drops toothpaste and a face pack. It’ll have to do.
Another fag.
Kate swears by waxing, saying “it’s better than shaving”. I dig out a home waxing kit I bought ages ago.
I grab a strip, stick it to my calf, then try to peel it off. OUUUUCH!
Painful – and it doesn’t seem to work. There is now a load of sticky gunk stuck to my leg and fingers. I try to wipe it off with cotton wool but it sticks to me like insects to flypaper.
Fag to ease the pain.
I get the last of the wax off – time to moisturise.
Kate uses Creme de la Mer which costs £163 for 300ml. Instead I opt for ‘Crème de la Credit Crunch’ at the local pound shop. I smother it on lavishly. Lovely!
Need to go out so I follow Kate’s instructions on how to travel stylishly. “I wear black, always trousers,” she says. “Stretchy black jeans and a flat shoe or boot.” Easy.
Pop on my sunglasses so everyone knows I’m a VIP. Kate usually travels first class by jet or is chauffeured about, but I have to take the bus.
At the bus stop, I pout profusely.
“Who do you think you are?” a bloke sneers. “Naomi Campbell?”
“Kate Moss actually,” I retort.
Sit at the back of the bus and worry about dry skin. Kate spritzes herself with rosewater to avoid dehydration while travelling. I do the same. I feel that I’m radiating a dewy glow and read a self-help book – Kate says ‘happiness’ is her beauty secret.
A woman gets on and stares. Bet Kate gets this all the time. Later I realise spritzing has made my eye make-up run down my cheeks.
Back home, and I’m hungry. My housemate has left a cake out.
Kate’s mantra is: “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels,” so after salivating, I do what Kate would do: push it aside and prepare an “alkaline rich” lunch – a few spuds, some asparagus and a sliver of chicken. I chew slowly.
Kate can relax in her own steam room but I use a bowl of hot water and stick my face over it. My face is very red within minutes. Not a good look.
Follow Kate’s method of tightening pores and brightening skin by sticking my head in a sink full of ice and cucumber. After one dunk I emerge shivery, gasping for breath. Think it was a 15th century way to make people confess to witchcraft?
I’m hungry. I ought to eat another alkaline-rich meal – Pringles will do.
My friend Leanne arrives. Like Kate’s bezzie mate Sadie Frost, she’s an actress. She applies my make-up, Rimmel of course.
We head to a bar. Kate loves champers – but it’s £50 a pop, so I order sparkling wine.
On our second bottle already. I talk with big hand movements and guffaws. I hope everyone’s looking at me.
I gyrate “sexily” on the dancefloor. A man approaches Leanne. “Care in the community is it?” he asks.
Fall out of club looking in vain for paparazzi. Tramp asks for a ciggie.
Wake to the mother of all hangovers. After all those beauty treatments I thought I’d look and feel radiant and beautiful. But I look and feel like Pete Doherty. Wonder if there’s any cake left?
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