If you stayed up until midnight on Dec. 26 to order Fenty Beauty's first-ever line of Mattemoiselle lipsticks as soon as the 14 shades dropped, the following news might hurt your soul. No, the Fenty Beauty Burner isn't back setting fire to Killawatt highlighter (though that was hard to stomach, too!).
Instead, official Fenty Makeup Artist Priscilla Ono decided to grind down her Mattemoiselle shades into one portable palette. And while that may sound fairly convenient for a makeup artist who has to travel the world with her product, the sight of Priscilla's handiwork is almost too much for some fans to bear. Priscilla posted a video of her palletized lipsticks on Instagram and quickly garnered some criticism. "This really hurt me," one person wrote. Another mused, "This is heartbreaking and satisfying all at the same time."
However, many more makeup enthusiasts came to Priscilla's defense. One person wrote that making the palette was a "Great way to utilize space and put together colors you use more frequently together. [It] saves that search time to find you frequently used colors and makes it easy to mix to combine for your own customized look." It doesn't hurt that Priscilla's colorful post is sort of hypnotizing. One person called it "makeup porn," and another simply wrote, "I can't stop watching this." Agreed!
When parents tell a child that he or she was conceived from a donated egg, or donated sperm, it can come as quite a shock.
to help other couples have a child, two readers got in touch to explain how the revelation that they were donor children affected them - one said it split his family, the other said it drew hers even closer together.
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'My entire existence is a lie'
I found out I was donor-conceived when I was 22. The conversation was not planned. When my younger sister discovered she was pregnant she asked my parents if there were any hereditary family conditions that she needed to be mindful about. Then my parents told her that they couldn't answer her question that she had been born as a result of gamete donation.
My social father (this is what we call the parents who raise us) then told me that was also the case for me. He said they had gone to a doctor at Harley Street who had helped them conceive both myself and my sister, who is three years younger. But that was all he was willing to talk about and neither nor my social mother wanted to discuss the subject any more.
As I was conceived in the early 80s it's impossible to find records as to who the egg and sperm donors, my biological parents, are. It was rare for that information to be kept on file then.
I'd often wondered why I looked so different to the people that raised me. I'm tall, hairy, with dark eyes and features. My parents are shorter, pale with light eyes. I started wondering if maybe I could be of a different ethnicity. Suddenly my whole existence felt like a lie.
My relationship with my social parents deteriorated and I spent years moving around, doing a number of odd jobs. I also battled with gambling issues. I felt like a gypsy. I should add that my sister had a different reaction to me. She maintains a good relationship with our social parents, whereas mine has almost entirely broken down.
Even though I am now married, with a young child of my own, I am still against gamete donation. We shouldn't be playing around with science like this. If I had been adopted, it would be easier to trace the story of how I came to be and easier to find roots. As it stands it's unlikely that my egg or sperm donor parents knew each other, and I don't know the motivations of why they chose to donate.
I feel that donor conception is a trade in human beings and very few people consider the effects it has on a child.
John, 35, UK
'I also want to be an egg donor'
My sister and I have always been almost opposites - which was the main reason why I could tell something was different between us. She was slim, smart, and a rule-abider. I was more of a wild child with an athletic build. Throughout our childhood, it was always a joking topic, but it was never addressed until I was 11.
My dad and I were in the car and I had brought up again how my sister and I were so different. He said: "Yeah, we can talk about it when we get home." I was like, what? After all this time, now there's an explanation! In a way it was satisfying to know that my premonitions were correct.
At home, it was a full family conversation. My mom cried when she confirmed my suspicions that my sister and I weren't fully related.
She'd had a problem with her IUD implant in the 70s that affected her uterus and the transport of her own eggs. She had never told anyone in her family except for her mother because of the stigma against not being able to get pregnant.
My parents told me that my sister was an in-vitro fertilisation (IVF) baby, with my mom's egg and my dad's sperm, and that I was conceived from an egg donor with my dad's sperm.
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It was very emotional. I can vividly remember that.
It's such a fragile state to be in, to have your own kid question where they're from. It was one of those things where my mom thought if I knew that I wasn't necessarily related to her, I would push her away - that's what she conveyed to me.
After, I remember sitting in my room and I felt like I had known it was true the whole time. I had grown up with these differences and my parents never loved me any less. I've never felt betrayed - I've just felt grateful for the chance to be given life.
Image caption Elizabeth (left) and her sister
My mom and I have gotten closer because of it. I think it is the bravest thing she has ever done. I began to see how it had shaped her as a mother too - every night she would tell my sister and me: "We did everything to have you, we're so grateful for you in our lives." Now I understand that they really did do everything.
As I got older, I became more intrigued by IVF. I thought it was very interesting to see how my parents had taken this very new technology and applied it to their lives.
I want to be an egg donor once I finish college because it would make me feel so proud.
I want to represent a successful story of in-vitro. My mom is very supportive of me becoming an egg donor. I think it would make her feel like she has continued the process of family completion in a way.
Donor conception is still seen as a very secretive process, but I think if it were to have more light brought to it, things might change. If I could help at all to de-stigmatise the idea, I would feel very proud.
Elizabeth, 21, US
When to tell the children
If children have been conceived from a donated egg or sperm it's good to tell them early, says Nina Barnsley, director of the Donor Conception Network. Ideally at the age of five, and no later than 10.
This allows them to get used to the idea as they grow, and averts the possibly traumatic experience of a sudden revelation later on. "It ends up being just an exciting story of how they came into the world," she says. "parents should see it as an open door to continuing the conversation as the child wishes and ages."
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If parents wait until their child is an adult, they may be asked why they hid the truth for so long. But late is better than never, Barnsley says, and better than a deathbed confession. "We've had children in their 30s with parents in their 70s when they have the conversation. It can go very well."
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Your report on the lack of outsider students at Oxbridge doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. I was an undergraduate at University College, Oxford, from 1951 to 1954 and nothing much seems to have changed since then.
My story may intrigue you. My parents both left school at the age of 14 and worked in a local factory. I was a bookish lad and, much to our amazement, I won a free place at our fee-paying grammar school, where I stayed until I was 18.
Then came national service. a dedicated communist. At his suggestion, we both decided toHe suggested that we apply for places at Oxford. He convinced me that this was the perfect way to subvert the class oligarchy of privilege and power. So we started together an intensive programme of study based on the internal entry examination papers. This stood us in good stead; we then passed the interview stage (I wore my army uniform) and we both won places. This was a minor miracle. Perhaps we had been chosen as token working-class entrants.
We soon saw the class system from the inside. It was clear that most of our fellow students were from “public” schools or had been officers in upper-crust regiments or were skilled rowers or athletes or had fathers who had been to Oxbridge or who came from extremely wealthy families or who were peers of the realm or were otherwise members of the establishment. Geniuses were also welcome. Tony and I were fish out of water.