Beauty with Bite: An Exclusive Interview with Lifestyle Icon and Lord of Darkness, Count Dracula
One year ago, if you would have told me that I’d be sitting on a chair crafted from the bones of seemingly dozens of human bodies, I probably would have thought you were crazy. Yet here I am, sitting mere feet away from one of the most singularly terrifying figures in the landscape of alternative lifestyles, Count Dracula, a.k.a. “Drac.” Arriving at his intimidating castle estate, located in the heart of Transylvania (or, as Drac likes to call it, “Fabulvania”), this writer was humbled by the exclusive opportunity to speak with the Count since his recent turn from blood-curdling horror legend to instantly iconic trendsetter. Though his line of club-friendly capewear, fang implants, and custom apps that monitors exposure to UV rays, garlic, and holy water have made a notable splash on millennials, his methods of personal upkeep, including his notoriously secretive skincare tricks, have been shrouded in mystery… until today.
“It’s much more difficult than you might imagine,” said Drac, donning a custom pair of cataract sunglasses. “Mortals often forget that I don’t have the luxury of keeping a regular schedule or the lengths to which I must go to ensure my safety that prevents all traditional means of skincare. But, when you’ve been around for a couple thousand years, you tend to learn a trick or two that you won’t find in Cosmo.”
Leading me down to a somewhat cavernous subterranean level of his home, Drac reveals a rather spacious personal spa, sporting Olympic-size pools of blood, a sauna with mists that seemingly have human facial features, and even a kitschy tiki bar that may or may not have been uprooted from an island centuries ago. To you and me, this would be Mecca of personal body treatment. For Drac, it’s merely a part of his daily routine.
“Obviously, sunlight is out of the picture, as are tanning beds. Mortals can weaponize the atom, but when it comes to tanning beds without ultraviolet, it’s like, fuck me, right?” Drac shined a grin, which I barely catch a glimpse as I avoid the naturally hypnotic shine emitting from his eyes. Dracula then walks to the edge of the pool, which steams to steam with warmth as to prevent coagulation.
“Bathory had the right idea, but the wrong execution,” said Drac, pointing at the reservoir of blood at his feet. “While amateurs may tell you that virgin blood is somehow ‘pure,’ nothing could be farther from the truth. Too many hormones, weak immune systems, and the sugar levels are off the charts; it’s basically liquid acne. If you really want to take your skincare to the next level, never settle for anything less than postmenopausal blood, Type-O if you can get it.”
At his behest, I dip my hand into the warm blood, moving my fingers through the slick, crimson bodily fluid. According to the Lord of Darkness, the rejuvenating factors of this blood give the skin a smooth, soft texture, as well as a natural glow that no moisturizing creams can offer. The downside?
“Believe it or not, but all of this? Imported, fresh off the boat,” Drac clarified, wearing a face of sardonic disbelief. “It’s difficult to find the right vessels in the proper age range in most domesticated countries that aren’t knocking back a bottle or two of pills per day. If you want the best—and honey, you’re gonna need the best—cutting corners is not an option.”
Of course, at some point, I had to address the elephant in the room: dietary restrictions. Drac may swear by a liquids-only diet, but for the average man and woman, consuming nothing but blood is not much of an option. As we walked to our next destination, I rattled off some of the drinks by which most health experts have pledged their allegiance: soy milk, green tea, red wine…
“I don’t drink…wine,” Drac quipped. “I would suggest mortals stick to water, as it’s what they’re mostly made up of anyways, but a cup of pomegranate juice every day is a nice insurance policy for optimum color care.”
As for make-up, Drac lets out an uncomfortably long guffaw, tapping his sharpened fingernails along my shoulders while doing so. “Aloe is a must, but don’t settle for nasty moisturizers and creams,” he sternly stated. “Herbal oils are the way to go, as they exfoliate fantastically upon a deep cleanse. Also, steer clear of bronzers, unless you want to spend the rest of eternity getting confused for a South Beach street rat.”
For The Count, skincare is synonymous with scalp care, as even the best-tended skin can fall under the shadow of dandruff and hair loss. With hair being one of the few parts of the human body that continues to grow after death, Drac pays critical attention to his scalp and avoids traditional chemical treatments at all cost.
“If you want to avoid dry and damaged scalp hair, I swear by one simple solution,” Drac said, handing me a jar of cloudy, dark brown liquid. “Bat oil, taken from the fur of Transylvania’s most graceful inhabitants. Children of the night…what sweet juices they make!”
Sensing that our next stop could very feasibly be a dungeon of some sort, this writer decided that I had heard enough of Dracula’s skincare secrets for the time being. But before I returned to the safety of a breaking dawn, I asked Drac if he had any parting words for the millions who wait on his unsettlingly satisfying advice.
“The key is great skin is great rest,” stated Drac, sternly. “Mattresses are for trash fires. Make the change to silk-laced coffins, and you’ll have diabolically beautiful skin in no time. Take it from me; I’m Dracula!”
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