Faux Tan Disaster!

So, yeeeah. Ever since I've developed this rosacea-of-the-upper-arms thing (I grew into this charming feature about a year ago), I have been trying to devise ways to conceal it. I thought fake tanning was the answer.

Clearly not, at least the way I went about it this week, in anticipation of my company holiday party, where I would be working a sleeveless silky black Banana number. I grabbed a tube of a since-discontinued Clinique Self-Sun product, which has been sitting in my cabinet for a cool 18 months now, and I have been slathering it on my arms daily for the past three days. (Mind you, it does say that it's best used within six months of purchase, and I have been storing it in a hot, steamy bathroom since 2008.)

Under the inconsistent light of my apartment, my arms looked great in one room, and Pepperidge Farm Goldfish-orange in another. I ignored the whole Pepperidge Farm thing and went on with my bad self.

I go to work in a cap-sleeve dress today, thinking that no one will know about my rosacea-arm-situation, and BAM! -- the founder of our company (who I totally love and respect) comes up to me and says "You're orange."

Um...embarrassing. Especially since I get paid to know what's up in the luxe beauty world.

Now this woman who called me out is deadpan, direct and kind of hysterical, and she completely confirmed my suspicions, suspicions my ego - and God bless 'em, my co-workers - so kindly chose to ignore. Seriously, I did look a little Oompa Loompa-ish.

This, on top of my professionally applied £60 faux tan disaster this summer (where I had brown, muddy-looking feet for my buddy's breezy Maine wedding), I'm beginning to think I should make peace with fiery, angry upper arms.

My last-ditch effort: MAC Face and Body Foundation. Or more likely, sleeves.