Literary Looks: How Vicki Notaro’s favourite authors shaped her beauty style

I guess I’ve always been something of a maximalist, at least on the inside. Perhaps it’s the little bit of Neapolitan blood in my veins from my father’s side, but I’ve long had a fondness for big, bold glamour. Huge hair, dramatic lashes, loud patterns – if it’s tastefully gaudy, it’s for me. But I was perhaps more reserved when I was younger, afraid of committing to a look and getting it wrong.

It wasn’t until I was introduced to one Ms Jackie Collins, via her author page in the sleeve of one of her many books, that I really found my people.

I don’t remember exactly when I read my first Jackie Collins novel, but I know I was definitely too young to be reading it. I vaguely recall finding it on a dusty bookshelf on a sun holiday in Spain or Portugal, a paperback abandoned in the hotel lobby by a former guest who didn’t see fit to bring it home. I was instantly drawn in by the glamour of the leopard print cover, and by the title – Thrill! It had an exclamation mark, something I had never seen before on the front of a book. A voracious reader for as long as I could remember, I was looking for a new book having finished my own haul and this novel looked like it promised a good time. I must have been thirteen or fourteen, and from the first couple of pages, I was hooked.

Collins never claimed to write fine literature or aimed to please everyone. Indeed, fellow author Barbara Cartland once called Jackie’s work “filthy and disgusting”. Collins traded in glamour, in sex and fantasy, escapism and action-packed romps. Her books were about the lifestyles of the rich and famous, and she was perfectly positioned to write them as she lived on the periphery of Hollywood herself.

I remember being seduced by her story, trying to hide the cover of what I was reading from my parents on the sun lounger as soon as I realised how raunchy it was. Then I flicked to the back of the book and got my first glimpse of Jackie’s author portrait. That was the moment I really fell hard.

Not only could this woman spin a yarn and a half, she was the glamour puss inspiration I never knew I needed. For a young Dubliner with a penchant for all that glittered but nowhere to direct that aesthetic energy, Jackie Collins was a breath of expensively perfumed air. Here was a woman, who sold millions of books and looked like a million dollars while doing it.

I didn’t know that looks and literature could go together, that writers could be sexy and fabulous as well as successful and respected. Authors I’d read at school hadn’t been image-oriented, in fact, some had been image-averse in an attempt to be taken seriously in the literary world. I don’t think I even knew what the women whose books I consumed looked like until the advent of the internet – it turns out that Maeve Binchy and Judy Blume were just as lovely and conservative as I had imagined. They had their own style, no doubt about it, but they weren’t serving high-octane looks fuelled by hairspray and sex appeal à la Collins.

Jackie showed me that successful, creative women could be glam, in an era when sticking your neck out with your beauty style wasn’t really the done thing. I mean, the woman practically invented what we now call the mob wife aesthetic – backcombed tresses, heavy lip liner and oodles of blush were her calling card.

And then came Marian Keyes, my next literary beauty crush. Irish, raven-haired with alabaster skin and a perfectly pink pout, she was like our very own Snow White. And not only did she look glamorous and write about other fabulous women, she also talked about beauty! These were the years when Marian wrote columns about all things glam, reviewed products and was very honest about the treatments she underwent with the goal of looking great. One story sticks out to me, about how she went for a mud wrap the day before her wedding and ended up sweating in smelly gunk and clingfilm all in the name of beauty. I could relate, as could thousands of other women.

Even now, Marian is flying the beauty flag. She talks openly about having Botox, fillers and hair extensions aged 60, about her love of a good lipstick and how brightly coloured nails improve her mood. Her latest novel, My Favourite Mistake, is a follow-up to 2006’s Anybody Out There, and her heroine Anna Walsh works in the world of beauty PR, something I’m familiar with after a career spent in magazines and over a decade writing about make-up, hair products and skin lotions and potions.

Jackie and Marian taught me that talking about dyeing your hair or your favourite eyeshadow didn’t mean you were a bimbo. Nora Ephron and Nancy Meyers showed me that glamour wasn’t just about maximalism, but also understated chic. If we’re speaking TikTok, they are the coastal grandmothers to Collins’ mob wife. Caitlin Moran rocks a silver streak and a red lip, Dawn O’Porter is known for her love of a heavy liner, Dolly Alderton has the Brigitte Bardot blonde hair and nude pout going on. Marian is still Snow White personified. All are utterly fantastic writers, confident in their femininity and allure. Their image isn’t everything, but it is an undeniable part of the package.

Beauty to me is like armour. It is the self-care ritual we partake in not only to show the world who we are, but to feel confident enough to face the day. We all have our own preferences and signature style. For some, that might be a slick of tinted moisturiser and mascara. For me, it’s winged liner and bushy brows. The bigger my hair, the closer to heaven I feel. On days when I’m working from home, I’m slathered in skin care and my extensions are piled into a bun. But when I’m showing my face to the world, whether at a lunch meeting or on a red carpet, you can be guaranteed I’ll be rocking flowing waves, contoured cheeks and a glowing tan.

I love a bit of Baby Botox, adore my PhiBrows, and I am rarely seen without a pointy manicure. I have a list of treatments on my phone that I really must find time to book in for, from laser hair removal to composite bonding on my teeth. None of this means I’m vacuous or self-obsessed. None of it means I’m not an astute, professional woman. It just means that I live and die for a bit of glamour. Now, an author myself, when it comes to my own author photos and promotional looks? Well, of course, I’m channelling Jackie Collins. But it’s not an affectation or an homage, it’s just that her look has always inspired my own.

Vicki’s debut novel, Reality Check, is on shelves now and follows a family of Irish Americans who are as unapologetically glam, sexy, well-accomplished and prosperous as Vicki aims to be.