Lindsay Detwiler's Blog, page 37

The Woman Without a Baby

At twenty-seven, I am your average, career-oriented millennial. An English teacher in the town where I grew up, I am married to my junior high sweetheart (we met at the art table when we were twelve). I have too many cats and a mastiff named Henry. Although we don’t have the white picket fence essential to the American Dream cliché, we do have a Cape Cod style home. We go on vacation once a year, frequent local eateries, and go to the movies on weekends.

We are living the American Dream in its entirety . . . except for one key element.

We do not have any children.

According to the statistics, this is perfectly okay, even normal for people in our generation. CDC.gov notes that in 2013, the mean age of a mother for her first birth was 26. So we’re only slightly behind. No big deal, right? We live in an open-minded, go get it society where women aren’t just about motherhood. We are career women, we are moving forward. No baby? No problem.

Well, no problem in theory. Socially, it’s a different story.

Since the moment that wedding ring was placed on my finger, the questions began, and they haven’t stopped. “Little ones?” or “Any babies coming soon?” have become standard questions from acquaintances, family, bank tellers, waitresses, mailmen, and anyone in between. On Mother’s Day, our waiter automatically wished me a Happy Mother’s Day, assuming that a married couple must have children. Just yesterday, I was again asked at my bank if we are starting a family soon since we bought our house several years ago. Three bedrooms and no children to fill it? A crime, people seem to say with just a look.

I don’t begrudge anyone for asking this question; having children is just the expectation in our society, and I think that is okay. I have nothing against children or motherhood. Someday, we hope to have children. From what I’ve heard, motherhood is the most beautiful, challenging, and fulfilling job anyone can have. I hope to experience that someday.

But just not yet.

My husband and I don’t live life in the fast lane. We are not traveling the world, doing time-consuming philanthropic work. Most weekends, we grocery shop and eat pizza. Our biggest excitement is getting a new Twitter follower or buying a vacuum cleaner. We are settled into successful careers, we have a house, and we have plenty of spending money.

Movies and media tell us this is okay. We see female protagonists actively pursuing careers, parties, or anything that doesn’t deal with babies. We see the trendy, modern couples who don’t have time for the traditional 1950’s style life. In real life, we know plenty of twenty-somethings who are on the same page as us. Nonetheless, there are instances of incredulous responses, nose snubbing, and even anger at our childless home. There are insinuations of selfishness. Why wouldn’t we have children when we have everything situated in our lives?

It’s not just something women deal with, however; my husband has met negative responses to our childless situation, too. There is an automatic cold shoulder to our family’s state. Sometimes, we are met with pity; it’s okay, there’s still time, people tell us. We are made to feel like we had to defend our choice or like there’s something missing in our lives.

I know there are plenty of mothers out there who also face judgement. I have seen plenty of harsh criticism of motherhood around me as well—people judging mothers in the grocery store over a tantrum or people claiming that stay-at-home moms are lazy. I feel for the mothers out there who face negativity.  But I think that sometimes people don’t recognize the issues the “other” group faces. . .the women without babies.

For me, I’m completely fine with our childless home. I don’t feel a nagging urge to buy baby clothes and diapers. Sometimes I think the mothering gene skipped over me. But right now, I’m okay with that. Being a woman without a baby is perfectly fine for me.

This is not the case, though, for some in the childless category. There are women out there who cannot have children due to fertility issues. Some career-oriented women cannot sacrifice career growth for a child just yet. Children are not automatically a right choice for every twenty-something woman.

When asked by someone about our children status, I think about these women, the women without babies who really want them. How must it feel to constantly have it thrown in their face that they are of the childless category? How would it feel to be wished a Happy Mother’s Day if I was saddened by an inability to have children?

As a society, we need to think about the way we treat couples without children. We, the childless, are not lesser or selfish. For those of us who have chosen a life without offspring, know that we may be okay with it. We do not want to feel egotistical for choosing a life of television reruns over playdates and park visits. For those who cannot have children, know that being reminded of a childless state might be painful.

So the next time you see a woman with no little hand in hers, please don’t think that she is just a woman without a baby. With or without a baby, we are all just trying to find some happiness, security, and success in this crazy world. A woman without a baby is a woman first. A woman with a baby is a woman first. We must stop tethering our self-identity to our offspring status. We must start realizing that in life, we are more than just the status of our mothering genes. Most of all, we must recognize that the American Dream may look different for each of us and be open-minded enough to accept that.

I Spend Way Too Much at Ulta

I’m not a millionaire, not living on a yacht floating through the Bahamas. I don’t have a closet full of Armani or money to gamble away at Vegas . . . but I need to. Not because I truly want to luxuriate in the finery of the lifestyle, not because I’m shallow or superficial.

I need to be a millionaire to support my Ulta and Sephora habits.

Okay, okay, I admit, I have a penchant for the dramatic today. But seriously, I spend way too much money at both Ulta and Sephora. Platinum member over the summer too much. Bathroom sink oozing with bottles of product too much. Myriad eyeshadow choices on the daily too much.

I blame my mother for the addiction. Since that first makeup kit I got for Christmas in fifth grade, I’ve been hypnotized by the magic of potions and creams, powders and polishes. I love the feeling I get when I get a new product, the unwavering dream that the product is going to be it, it’s going to be the life-changing item. Whether it’s a frizz fighting product for my hair or a new shade of eyeshadow, I always think to myself: This is the one. This is the one that is going to make me my best self. So I’m always leafing through Ulta’s ad, inspecting the new tables at Sephora, and even most recently signing up for Petite Vour, a cruelty free subscription.

Plenty of women scoff at makeup junkies like me. It’s all the same, or you’re wasting your money. Don’t you like yourself the way you are? they condemn. To an extent, maybe they’re right. Maybe us makeup junkies are lacking in self-esteem, are chasing an imaginary level of perfection we can’t achieve. Maybe we’re setting ourselves up for disappointment and empty wallets.

Yet, I can’t ever completely believe this. No matter how you psychoanalyze it, I have to admit I’m happy. I like the euphoric rush of trying new products. I like the idea of constant self-improvement. I like that I can express myself in a different way based on the products I use, the color of lipstick I wear. I like the ability to change it up. I like the feeling I get when I bask in the rays of Sephora’s lights or meander through the aisles at Ulta. The only thing that could make it better is if they add an espresso bar.

Mostly though, I love the idea that my search is never over. Like the search for the Holy Grail or for Titanic’s final mysteries, I will keep hunting for that one product, the product that ends my relationship with all other cosmetics, the product that makes me look in the mirror and see: oh my goodness, that’s amazing!

Sometimes in life, isn’t it the hunt that’s the most fun anyway? Makeup junkies unite, and happy beauty product hunting.

Lindsay Detwiler

Hello Petit Vour: Why I’ll Be Subscribing Every Month

Christmas in the mail again! My first Petit Vour box came. I’m so happy that I switched to this beauty subscription for a lot of reasons, but mostly because the products are cruelty free. This is something I’m extremely passionate about; I try very hard not to buy any brands that test on animals. Although the Petit Vour box is $15 a month (with shipping), it is worth the extra money, at least to me, for the fact that it is supporting cruelty free cosmetics. Check out my box below as well as the specifics, and go to petitvour to sign up for your own subscription :)

Benefits:

Cruelty free!
Vegan: I don’t worry a lot about this, but I think it is a nice benefit.
The box comes with a card that gives you details about each product, how to use, and how much a full-size cost
Although the sizes are called “sample” size, they are actually quite nice sizes. The lipstick is a full-size I got this month, and the facial cleanser is big enough to last all month.

The Products:

Face Mask (a powder activated by water: kind of intimidating, but it looks cool)
A facial scrub
A body scrub
A lipstick, which I’ve already tried and is really nice

Without You by Lindsay Detwiler: Release Date!

My second novel, Without You, will be officially released on December 1st, 2015, by Limitless Publishing. Pre-orders will start on November 21st.The book focuses on the idea that women in their late twenties certainly don’t always have it all figured out.  I’m so excited to introduce you to my new characters! I’ve definitely grown attached to them over the past year and a half.  They’re easy to relate to but have their quirks, too.

More information will be coming in the next few months! Back blurbs, covers, contests, and pre-order information will be trickling in as we get closer to the release date. Make sure you stay informed! Here’s how:

Like my author page at www.facebook.com/lindsayanndetwiler
Sign-up for my newsletter at http://eepurl.com/bzEmsf

Thanks so much for all of your support!

Lindsay Detwiler, Voice of Innocence and Without You

Chronicles of an Only

Option 1: Shivering, alone, forgotten. She sits in sorrow, aimlessly parading a doll on the floor in front of her, a quivering lip accompanying her dripping tears. Outside, children are yelling and playing in the reverie of youth, joyous shouts connecting them. But not her. She sits alone, plays alone, basks in a flood of emptiness.

Option 2: The smirk on her face isn’t becoming of her age; it insinuates an arrogance befitting of a sassy teenager. She parades around in name brand clothes, of course, barking orders at children, at adults, at anyone with ears. All eyes are on her. If they aren’t, she makes sure they are. She is the leader, the boss, the princess. The uncomfortable truth? She is only five-years-old.

When you tell people you are an only child, they are immersed in versions of one of the above options. “Onlys” certainly travel a one-of-a-kind journey through childhood, but we do not all fit nicely into one of the above categories. We are not social freaks from not having built-in family playmates, nor are we all conceited, spoiled brats. Sure, I will never understand what it’s like to share my toys, my parents’ attention, my bedroom with another child. I tend to like to be the leader in a group situation. And yes, there were times I wished I had a playmate. Like anything in life, being an only has its own challenges, its own characteristics–but as an adult, I now realize it also has its own benefits.

 You Learn to Like Yourself

As an only, you do certainly spend more time playing alone than those with siblings. However, I think this gave me a sense of self-confidence I may not have gained through siblings. I had to become my own best friend in a sense because I didn’t have built-in best friends my age. This translates into confidence in myself today, which has certainly helped me in my job as a teacher…you definitely need confidence to stand in front of thirty some teenagers at a time, trust me!

    2. You Become Best Friends With Your Parents

Onlys tend to grow very close to their parents because they are your sole family…which I think is a great thing. My parents have been my best friends my whole life. Being an only allows you to forge deeper relationships with your parents, if nothing else than for the reason you aren’t sharing attention with other siblings.

3.        You Gain an Active Imagination

Again, playing alone means you have to entertain yourself. I can remember being very young and making up all kinds of stories for my Barbies and dolls. I would even write my own imaginative tales. Being an only helps you foster an imagination, if nothing else than for the simple fact you don’t have anyone else to play the Ken doll if your parents are busy. You learn to create dialogue for yourself; you learn to make up stories to entertain yourself. This has certainly come in handy as a writer. I attribute a lot of my creativity to my early days when, lacking a constant playmate at home, I would create my own stories.

Are you an only? Do you think you gained any benefits from being an only child? Are you the parent of an only child? Let’s talk about what makes onlys special and not the stereotypical, spoiled, bratty kids society sometimes paints us as :)

Lindsay Detwiler, Voice of Innocence and Without You

The Romance Reviews (TRR) – for the latest Romance, Erotic and GLBT book reviews, news, contests, author interviews and comments

http://www.theromancereviews.com/bookvote.php

Hi everyone! Please vote for Voice of Innocence for the Romance Reviews Reader’s Choice Award. I need 50 votes by Sept. 30th to move to the final round.

When I started this journey, I didnt know if anyone would even read Voice of Innocence…now I am up for an award. I am totally mindblown and grateful to all of my family, friends, and fans who have made this a possibility!

To vote, click the link above. Create an account, verify through your email, and then find Voice under contemporary romance in the book voting section. Click nominate.

I know it is sort of a pain, but a few minutes from you could make an immense difference for the success of my book :) Thank you again!

A New Interview On Book Goodies

Hey, everyone! I’m getting ready for final editing of my second novel entitled Without You. While I’m waiting for release details, I’ve been doing some promotion for Voice of Innocence, a book that will always hold a special place in my heart.

Check out my latest author interview at Book Goodies. Find out a bit more about my writing process and what’s coming up!

Thanks, as always, for your amazing support. I’m awestruck by everyone’s kind words and support in this new journey.

Lindsay Detwiler, Voice of Innocence and Without You

Tuesday by Lindsay Detwiler

“Tuesday”

By Lindsay Detwiler

On an ordinary Tuesday between straining the overcooked pasta and batting her bangs out of her eyes, Corinne’s entire life course shifted. As she thought about how badly she needed a trim and how she hoped the spaghetti sauce would cover up the mushy texture of dinner, it happened. There was no warning, no way for her to brace herself for the impact of the hatchet.

“I don’t love you anymore,” he spat as if he were declaring his disdain for meatballs or garlic bread.

She didn’t pause from her water draining duty, her brain subconsciously telling her that it didn’t happen. She must have dreamt it. Why on Earth would he choose right now to spit out such serious words? He must be kidding.

“Corrine?” he basically whimpered, standing up from his position at the kitchen table. He had been seated there stiffly, formally, which Corrine had initially thought as odd. Usually, she had to beckon for him to come eat, she had to practically get a hook to pull him away from the clutches of the television.

But not tonight.

Tonight, when she came back from her typical Tuesday exercise class, sweat dripping down her back, he had been seated at the table, staring out the kitchen window. Her feeble legs throbbing from too many squats (and perhaps too many cookies), she hadn’t noticed, brushing by him and simply stating, “I’ll start dinner.”

An outsider would have labeled it as a cold exchange, brimming with formality and even boredom. But Corrine knew what they didn’t. There was love between them. No, not the passionate, crazy-eyed love of their youth when every homecoming aroused a tender kiss, a lusty moment. This love was a settled love, a love that aged gracefully over their decade and a half of marriage. It was a love where they knew what to expect. Tuesday was exercise class and television reruns, Italian night and maybe some gelato for dessert if they were feeling spontaneous.

Corrine knew that their love was healthy, especially in comparison to the women at the office. Just yesterday Julia had come to her crying at lunch, convinced that Hank was having an affair (she had found a sketchy pair of panties in the bedroom that didn’t belong to her). Corrine had comforted her, listening as Julia spewed about how the signs had been there, how naïve she was. Corrine had heard about missed phone calls and late nights out, about bad reception and deflected kisses. She had thought to herself just yesterday, Thank God Joe and I aren’t like that. Thank God we’re doing so well. And then she had kissed him a little harder than usual yesterday, held his hand while they watched Everybody Loves Raymond. She had gone to bed smiling at how close they were, how their love had withstood the pulls of time.

His soft touch on her shoulder snapped her out of her silent reverie, and she put the pasta drainer down, abandoning the task momentarily. She again swiped at her bangs and turned to face him.

“What?” she offered stupidly, not knowing what else to say.

“Corrine, it’s not you. Honestly. It’s me. I’m just not happy anymore. I don’t love you anymore,” he apologized, sincerity dripping from his eyes. He had been building himself up to this for a while, she observed.

“Okay,” she offered, a lilt at the end of the word giving it a questioning tone. Her brain was pounding. She didn’t know what to do with this. He didn’t love her anymore. He didn’t love her. What did that mean? When did this happen? Questions bombarded her, but she didn’t know which was the best to ask first. Should she ask if he was having an affair? Should she believe him? Were they divorcing?

“Let’s sit down,” he said, pulling her arm toward the table. It was a gentle, familiar touch. This had to be a joke.

They sat at the table, empty plates reminding her of what was supposed to be a perfect Italian dinner. The sauce was still on the stove, probably scalding to the bottom of the pan. But she felt like it would trivialize this moment to go and move it.

She would let it burn.

“Corrine, I just don’t feel the same anymore. I know you’ve sensed it, too, haven’t you? We’re different. And I just don’t think I can live the rest of my life like this. I figure we should probably sort all of this out now, while we don’t have kids and all. It’ll be easier.”

His explanation was sterile and formulaic. All she heard was “rest of my life,” “sort all of this out,” and “easier.” What the hell did he think would be easier? And no, goddammit, she didn’t sense it. Yesterday, she had been convinced that they were on cloud nine, a perfect specimen of a healthy fifteen-year marriage. She had seen visions of forever, visions of little ones in the near future if all went well. She was only thirty-five, but she saw her entire life as a life of opportunity and hope.

But all of that hope included Joe.

“I don’t understand. I thought we were great,” she meekly offered. She was not a timid woman by any means, but he had ripped her confidence right out from under her. She had lost her voice, she had lost everything in the matter of minutes. What was happening?

He shook his head gently, as if in pity. This just angered her. She could now feel rage creeping up, boiling through her blood. How dare he do this. There must be someone else. That lying SOB must be cheating on her. She should have known he was too good to be true.

“Are you cheating on me?” she spewed before he could respond.

“It’s not like that,” he retaliated. But he spoke to quickly, too directly. There was something brewing beneath his façade. She could sense it.

“Than what is it like? Tell me, Joe. Because as far as I was concerned, it was just a regular Tuesday. We were going to eat some pasta and watch TV and go to bed. And now you’re telling me that our life together is over and I should just understand why? Well, I don’t. You see, up to today, I thought we were fine.”

He sighed, looking away. How dare he act like this was hard on him. She was the one who was blindsided.

“Listen, Corrine. It’s just . . . I don’t feel that spark anymore.”

What man talked like this? she thought. What man cared about a spark? As long as he was getting sex and home cooked dinners from time to time, which he was, what did he care about soulmates and sparks?

“You don’t feel it with me, is that what you’re saying? You’ve met someone, haven’t you?” She could feel the truth in her bones. It was punching her, rattling her, demanding to be freed.

“Yes.”

She exhaled, huffing out a lifetime of hope and of lies. Tears swelled in her eyes, but she refused to let them break free.

“Listen, we didn’t expect it, we didn’t. And we didn’t sleep together, just so you know. But I’ve just . . . through Cara, I’ve realized that what we have isn’t enough anymore.”

“Cara? That’s her name?” She didn’t know why, but suddenly it was so important that she knew her name. The name gave her life. She wasn’t just some imaginary figure in a romance novel that she was reading. She was a real woman. A real, home wrecking woman. A woman that he felt a spark with.

She wondered what Cara (she said it with sarcasm, even in her head) looked like. Did she have blonde hair? Exotic eyes? Was she a D cup? What was it about this Cara that made him want to forget about what they had? What suddenly made their pasta Tuesdays and weekly movie dates insufficient? How did Cara remind him that sparks were necessary in love? She wanted to know it all, yet she wanted to know nothing.

She wanted to go get the now-burnt sauce off the stove, mix it with the overcooked pasta, and eat their dinner. She wanted to go in the living room like nothing happened and just sit with their cat Neville. She wanted to attribute his words to temporary insanity or a bad corn dog at the fair yesterday. She wanted to just forget that this was happening.

You didn’t just fall out of love after fifteen years of marriage. You didn’t propose at nineteen because you couldn’t live without someone only to leave her when you were thirty-five, did you? You didn’t just bail out because she was getting grays or eating too many cookies or because you had a spark with some random bitch named Cara.

You didn’t leave a woman just because you didn’t feel passion, because you didn’t feel lust. You didn’t leave a woman after fifteen years of marriage because she couldn’t have your baby even though you tried and tried.

But apparently Joe did. Joe did all of these things. Because on an ordinary Tuesday, after the sauce had blackened the pan, after Corrine’s sobs had turned into pure ugly crying, after he packed a duffle bag and said he would call tomorrow, he walked out.

And Corrine’s sweaty, snotty face cringed at the thought that at thirty-five, she was all alone.

****

Eight months later, between the cash register and the “pick up here” sign at Starbucks, Corrine’s life changed irrevocably again.

Or so it would seem.

He was in front of her, waiting on his triple-espresso, light milk, extra ice, fluffy whipped cream, slightly dribbled with caramel and chocolate sauce latte (otherwise known as a hoity-toity drink to the black-coffee drinker Corrine). She noticed that his jeans fit just right around his perfectly curved ass. His hair was spikey but not too spikey, not like he was trying too hard. And he had a distinguished jawline. That was something Joe never had, something Corrine craved.

But she would have never left Joe for another jawline.

She sighed at herself, thinking that it was hopeless. She would never recover from Joe’s damage. He had taunted her with forever for fifteen years only to take an early out. He had left her alone, saggy breasts and fine lines starting, alone. What was she supposed to do with her life now?

There of course had been the pity visits after everyone heard of the separation. Some gloppy “it’ll be okay” casseroles from friends. Some nights at the bar with her best friend. Some “there are better fish in the sea” from her mom, and an “I told you so” from her dad. But nothing, not even cuddling with Neville and some cookie dough ice cream, could make it okay.

She had spent a month weeping herself to sleep. She hadn’t changed the sheets because she wanted to smell his cologne around her, enveloping her as she fell asleep. She felt week and desperate. She shouldn’t care, she shouldn’t still love a man who left her for a skanky woman named Cara. Not that she knew she was a skank, but she had to assume.

At the very least, she assumed that Cara was able to have children.

It had never bothered Joe before. “We’ll keep trying,” and “doctors don’t know everything,” and “If we’re desperate, we can always adopt,” had been his constant monologue every month when their failure at conception became evident. Nonetheless, she knew that his bravado was fake. He wanted children; he had told her this from the day they got engaged. He came from a family of five, a loud, screaming family of five. He wanted a full house for himself, not the empty house with Neville that Corrine could offer. Still, she had truly thought it would be okay. Miracles happened. And if not, well, they’d just adopt.

But clearly it wasn’t the case. He hadn’t said it, no, he was too “kind” to completely puncture her feelings of worth as a woman. But she knew, deep down, that the reason he couldn’t love her anymore was because she didn’t fit his image of the future. And so he found someone who did, someone who could offer more than a hoard of cats.

“Are you Corrine?” the jawline guy asked her now, turning toward her with a toothy grin that could kill.

Her stomach dropped. How did he know her name? She felt a weird sensation in her stomach, a sensation that she had only felt once before.

“Yeah, how do you know?”

“Because they’ve been calling your name now for oh, I don’t know, two minutes?” he grinned, grabbing for her coffee from the counter.

Her face turned scarlet. “Oh my God, I’m an idiot. Thank you,” she said, her fingers brushing his as she grabbed the cup. Her face now turned a deeper shade.

“I’m Warren,” he said, letting his hand linger on the cup a few extra seconds. Their eyes locked, and something clicked. A deep, sensuous stirring happened within her. From the glint of his steely gray eyes, she thought that he felt it, too. It was a simple, platonic touch, a kind stranger passing her a coffee. But yet, it was so much more than that. As she locked eyes with the first man whom she had noticed since Joe, since her life had changed course, she suddenly recognized what the feeling was.

It was a feeling of hope.

Yes, she was thirty-five. Suddenly, she was only thirty-five. Her life wasn’t over.

So Joe had moved on. Big deal. So she couldn’t have children, at least to her knowledge. Cats were great, too. And so what if she had a few gray hairs? Clairol worked just fine.

She found herself grinning up at the tall man, not dark and handsome, but handsome in his own right. She found herself imagining what his jawline would feel like in her hand, what his lips would feel like on hers.

And then she found herself imagining a new forever thanks to this stranger at Starbucks.

Okay, so she was getting ahead of herself. It was just a guy at Starbucks.

But it didn’t matter. Because for Corrine, everything had changed with this one guy. Maybe they wouldn’t get married, maybe they wouldn’t even continue with the conversation. Maybe he would walk right out of her life like Joe did and never look back. Maybe he would go off and find his own Cara.

All Corrine knew was that thanks to this man, she knew her heart wasn’t completely shattered, and her forever wasn’t locked and sealed. Her forever was open again. Now she just had to find the right person to invite into that forever.

On the way to a table in the café, Corrine smiled a genuine smile for the first time in months.

It was just another ordinary Tuesday, and her life had changed again.

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Thanks so much!

Lindsay Detwiler, author

It’s MAIL TIME: My First Ipsy Bag

I’m pretty sure I should’ve been born in the 1940s or 1950s (minus all of the perfect housewife stuff): emails and texts are great, but I adore getting mail.

Even though I’m an adult and know my mail usually consists of bills, annoying forms, and bad news, I still get a bit gleeful when I hear the familiar tap of the mailbox. As I skipped to the mailbox today, however, there weren’t bills and tax forms awaiting me (okay, one, but that doesn’t count right?).

There was a glorious bag of makeup.

I’ve mentioned before I’m a makeup addict. So it hit me a day a few weeks ago; why wasn’t I signed up for a beauty bag subscription? After hearing some friends rave bout their beauty bags, I decided that $10 was worth a surprise in the mail once a month. Plus, the fact that the surprise involved cosmetics was just a win win to me.

I picked Ipsy because others have talked about how cool it is. For $10 a month (that includes shipping), you get a cute makeup bag with five products; some of these are even full size. You do a survey where you pick your brands, which I thought was neat. Check out my bag above. I definitely think it was worth the $10 and can’t wait to try some of the products. I’m most excited about the moisturizer and the nail polish because both are cruelty free.

Although I’m super excited about my bag, I have already switched my subscription. I cancelled Ipsy in favor of Petit Vour only because it is 100% cruelty free. Ipsy has a lot of cruelty free brands as options, but I’ve read that they can’t guarantee you will only get 100% cruelty free products each month. I’ve been working so hard to avoid products that use animal testing, so I just couldn’t rest with the fact that some of the products wouldn’t be cruelty free. I will do a post about Petit Vour and let you know what their service is like.

I’ve also read that Birchbox has been thinking of doing a cruelty free option. If that happens, I’ll definitely sign up!

Lindsay Detwiler