About Tina Gaudoin

Posts by Tina Gaudoin

The Menopause, Cardigans And Me

Close up of black and white cardigan

For most women three things are certain: Taxes, death, and the menopause. At the moment I know which one I would give almost anything to avoid.

When I was young and foolish (I’m still one of those two things) I used to say that when I no longer needed my womb I’d get rid of it. I always assumed this would be straightforward. Particularly in Manhattan where I was living,when I determined that I was definitely ready to be rid of the thing that was facilitating my gruesome, long term menorrhagia. Read More…

Kevyn Aucoin: The Face Painter

kevyn-aucoin-the-face-painter

‘I need you to go to Paris and shoot some beauty with Christy Turlington, Berry Smithers and a new girl we’re trying out called Kate Moss,’ said my Editor-in Chief, Liz Tilberis of Harper’s Bazaar US. I was up against it, having turned in some dud pictures from LA, where it had uncharacteristically rained buckets, the photographer had turned out to be a drug addict and the models, having sat in the Winnebago for two days eating donuts, had all broken out in spots. With that black mark against me I wasn’t exactly about to say no.

And besides, the chance to work with the legendary team of the world’s number one make-up artist Kevyn Aucoin, hair god Sam McKnight and photographic star Steven Klein was a thrill. The pictures and words from that two day shoot in Paris remain one of my favourite pieces of work. Read More…

Why Wild Swimming Is Worth Your Consideration

breaking waves on beach

There comes a time in every woman’s life where she needs to take her clothes off and get into the water.  I’m not talking about taking a bath, I’m talking about the invigorating thrill of slipping into the cool, dark water of a pond, a river or even, in my case at the moment, the icy grey North Sea.

There’s nothing more freeing than swimming in a place that was meant for ducks, seagulls, fish and in the case of Hampstead ponds where I often swim, the odd Heron. It probably helps that I was brought up in the land of the broads (Norfolk) where I spent a lot of my childhood falling out of boats into the river or off horses into the sea. Both venues had one thing in common: they were bloody cold.  They both also had the desired effect of waking me up and making me look at the world differently, more calmly and with a better perspective. Even aged ten I could see and feel the benefits – albeit that the dingy  had sailed off without me or the horse had cantered back to the stable. Read More…

Why Gardening Might Just Save You, Mentally and Physically

Gardening quipment against fence

Gardens frequently make me cry – with joy, in sorrow and often, on my own patch, with utter frustration at my shortcomings (horticulturally related or not). It’s a rare thing though to be moved to tears by a garden presenter (and even rarer for me to be watching TV). But Rachel de Thame’s fleeting presence at The Chelsea Flower show, being interviewed about her breast cancer diagnosis, had me in floods. Here was a woman, clearly somewhat off her game, admitting firstly that she had been having a tough time, and secondly that her garden had been her solace. It was a dignified, sympathetic handling of what could otherwise have just been social media fodder and a headline in a red-top. But most importantly, de Thame’s message of grace and hope in the face of adversity reinforced what we have known all along – gardens are good for us. Read More…

The Trouble With Male Doctors

help pink pills

The NHS says 65 percent of consultants are male. If that’s the case I feel sure that I must have seen at least 50 percent of them. I’m exaggerating, and perhaps the area of medicine I fall under, or into – rheumatology, is not that interesting for women (frankly, it’s not even that interesting to me). Either way, in three years (the last month or two withstanding) I have seen precisely one woman in a consultation about my condition and she was a default because the incumbent had ‘a rush on’ that day. Read More…

How I Pull Myself Together

sliced cake loaf

A dear friend, lets call her B, has just suffered a bereavement. We agree to meet for a coffee and a shared piece of cake (let’s not push the boat out too far) at one of our favourite places. If you have read me before you’ll know that I’m wrestling with a chronic illness which leaves me exhausted and often at times struggling to make the simplest of decisions – for example, jeans or Zara striped pants? Today I’m in the jeans which are clean and a sweater which is un-pilled cashmere, so I’m ahead of the game.

Especially since I’m expecting B, who is the most exquisitely turned out person I know, to be somewhat diminished in appearance, given her trauma. When she walks into the café I barely recognise her, so entirely soigne does she appear. The details: a new haircut (thanks to the inimitable Joel at Nicola Clarke, John Frieda) great hair colour – Nicola Clarke herself, a fabulous new pair of shoes (Celine) and a beautifully crafted Yves Saint Laurent spring coat. Read More…