Growing up in an Italian family meant that glamour was at the forefront of my childhood. I don’t mean to say that I was forever being whisked around fancy hotels and department stores, or even restaurants (pasta all day, every day – why pay for what your mum can definitely do better at home?). No, I’m talking about old-school glamour: in my family, we get through industrial quantities of hairspray, nails always match your handbag, and you do not step out of the house without lipstick. "I’m ready to leave" generally means my mum and my sister and me stopping in front of the hallway mirror to swipe on some colour while my dad warms up the car. We have no hard and fast rules when it comes to hue; my sister favours berry tones, my mum likes dusky pinks, I fluctuate between nudes and bold reds. But always rich pigment, creamy texture and a tube with that oh-so-satisfying ‘click’ shut.