Photo courtesy of sephora.com

I always see women on the MARC and Amtrak trains rummaging through huge bags, extracting an arsenal of cosmetics and un-selfconsciously applying a full face of makeup en route. I must admit that I occasionally participate in this ritual too, but I feel tacky and disorganized when I do. My lovely grandmother (may she rest in glamour) would never have dreamed of applying anything in public other than her "liprouge", always delicately applied with a pinky finger, which was wiped discreetly on her perfectly pressed handkerchief after the dirty deed was done. Quite a departure from dumping the contents of my giant purse onto the seat beside me and diving for wayward eyeliner beneath the seat in front of me on a moving train.

Grammy would have seen this as unspeakably rude; a blatant declaration of disrespect to my fellow passengers. She would have told me and my commuting sisters to set the alarm fifteen minutes earlier and be ready to walk onto the train platform looking polished and mysterious, not exposing our secrets and messiness to the world. And she definitely would have approved of subtly touching up her always-perfect lips with Nars' limited-edition J. Mendel lip palette.

The esteemed fashion house teamed with Nars, one of my absolute favorite lines (they really have the best reds) to create my perfect commuter tool; the modern-classic, pretty-ugly rubberized black compact houses three lipglosses, in colors ranging from glistening sheer white to a deep, juicy grape and three lipsticks, from sheer rose to rich wine. I use the white gloss as highlighter for my whole face, the sheer rose lipstick as blush and the reds, of course, I dab on my lips with a pinky finger. Starched hanky optional.

Obviously I stopped to put on some lipstick, but I don't remember using the door; I think I may have left an Arika-shaped hole in the wall in my haste. I knew this package contained nothing I hadn't really seen before, just a bunch of unassuming-looking bottles and jars, but I also knew what I always know with absolute certainty when these boxes are delivered: There is magic inside.

Photo courtesy of Nordstrom.com

For those afflicted, the sound of that vacuum when you open a new jar of moisturizer can elicit sighs of pleasure. My mouth actually waters when I read of the miraculous transformation that will occur when the contents of the jar are massaged into my face or body. Now, I'm not delusional about this stuff. Judging from my experience working with acres and acres of human epidermis, I maintain that at least fifty percent of what your skin ends up looking like is due to genetics, most of the rest is sun exposure (or lack thereof), and there is little scientific evidence to support the idea that it is necessary to spend boatloads of cash to care for your complexion. But I have been a lifelong, willing participant in a love affair with this possibility, the chance that this one might really be magic.

"Hello, Lover," I heard myself whisper as I pulled the chunky, translucent jar of Trish McEvoy Beauty Booster Anti-Fatigue Enriched Cream Primer and Mask out of its crisp, glossy white box. Several weeks later, I am pleased to report that there is evidently magic in here.

It's this amazing cream that can be used as a mask, primer before foundation, or on its own for a really natural, poreless finish. It makes my wrinkles disappear, feels light and fresh and hydrating without being the least bit greasy. My friend Renee, a fantastically gifted makeup artist, t-shirt designer and owner of the most perfect skin ever, turned me on to this stuff. I've found that my clients, from the Saharan to the slick adore the way it works with their skin,  which is really saying something; few moisturizers appeal so universally.

I'm so glad we found each other, I want to shout it from the rooftops. "I can't believe you're mine," I murmured to my little miracle this morning. Perhaps I should get out more...