Preparations to relaunch “The Closet” series in Los Angeles are underway, and for the first time ever, we’re inviting new faces to work with us!

Check us out on Craig’s List:

Models, CLICK HERE.

Videographers/Sound and Light Editors, CONTACT US DIRECTLY.
Apparently, our post was too dirty for Craig’s List, and they’ve already flagged and removed it six times.

If you’re interested in becoming a part of this project, and live in the Los Angeles area, shoot us an e-mail, or pass our listing along to someone you think might be interested.

Please note that these positions ARE open to high school and college students, barring that you are at least 18 years of age.

All inquiries should be directed to The Closet [at] Slice of Lemon [dot] com.

To preempt any questions or e-mails from clothing designers/small business owners who want to contribute their fashions and accessories to this series, we’ll be accepting design portfolios starting in November. We’ll keep you posted on when and how to send them.

The Boss and I spend a pretty good amount of time in the kitchen cooking and eating so it only makes sense to have a little fun with the items that we use most often.  I recently bought these Puffer Bird Measuring Cups from Anthropologie, and they’ve added a pinch of charm to our kitchen, which we’re still trying to make feel a little more like home. The tail serves as a handle, the beak serves as a spout, and their overall cuteness obviously adds a touch of deliciousness to whatever it is you’re cooking.

So, remember how yesterday, when I was getting ready to go to my job interview, I was all, Oh, it’s only four miles away, I can’t get lost.

REMEMBER?

DO YOU REMEMBER?

Well guess what, People?

I GOT LOST.
SO LOST, IT WAS EXCRUCIATINGLY PAINFUL.
And I found myself cursing this city.

I should have been cursing Google Maps, but I’m not sure it was their fault. And it definitely wasn’t my fault (even though I was the one behind the wheel, and I’m the one with a solid track record of getting lost everywhere I go) so I went ahead and blamed the city in which traffic lights are placed at 46-inch intervals.

My interview was at 2 p.m., and since the driving directions said it would take about 10 minutes, I left at 1:27 p.m. to ensure I had enough time to get there, JUST IN CASE I GOT LOST.

I got to my interview at 3:15 p.m.

I called the woman I was supposed to meet at about 10 ’til 2 p.m. to let her know I got a little turned around because somehow I ended up on a highway, which Californians refer to as the “freeway” which in my life translates to the WRONGWAY, and I ended up getting lost on a road called La Cienega Blvd., which I swear could have taken me to Alaska had I stayed on it long enough.

To make matters even worse, The Boss drives an automatic, and I’m so used to driving a stick, I didn’t know how anything worked. He also got his car like the week before he left for Cali, so I had never driven it until yesterday.
I got in the car and started driving, and the little thing wouldn’t pick up any speed. So I floored it, and it hardly inched past the 30 mph mark. So I’m like, What is this, a toy? And I called him, and left him message, like, “Um, I can’t figure out how to drive your car. Call me.”

He calls back, and is all, “Are you in the car?” and I’m like, “Yes, I’m in the car. And the 7-year-old girl in the Barbie Convertible just overtook me” so he’s like, “Which drive are you in?” and I’m like, “The one right next to the ‘D’” and he’s like, “Move it over one,” so I do, which apparently activated the secret Nos he was hiding in his car, blasting me through like three red lights.
So now I’m on my cell phone (apparently illegal in L.A.) just ran three red lights (pretty sure that’s illegal in most parts of the world) and since I don’t know the feel of his car, every time I try to slow down just a little, I come to a screeching halt, which I’m almost positive was not a source of happiness for the drivers behind me.

I tried to find my way home because I was all, Okay, just go back to where you started, and if you find your house, you can start again.
But that didn’t work.
I turned onto a road I thought looked familiar, only it wasn’t familiar at all because I’ve only been here for two weeks, so I called The Boss for help, and he was like,”Where are you?” and I was like, “On…uh..Can…uh..JESUS! I can’t even pronounce the names of the streets!” So I’m like, “Can..ay..chup..noota DRIVE! Do you know where I am?” and he’s like, “Okay. I don’t know where you are” and I’m all, “Then why would you start your sentence with OKAY? Because ‘okay’ implies that everything will be okay, and the only way things could be okay is if I wasn’t lost, BUT I’M STILL LOST!” So then he’s like, “Well, just take a left onto La Cienega, and you’ll have to go down a few streets, but you’ll get there eventually.”

Oh yeah? Is that right, DIRECTION GIVER?
Because that’s not what happened. I followed your directions, and I ended up in Alaska.
Without a jacket.

So I call the interview girl back who pulls up a map online, and then stays on the phone with me for 35 minutes while I drive into Beverly Hills.

I like to make a good first impression.

I eventually got there, and after it was all over, I went back to my car, and found this whopper on my windshield.

I was only nine minutes late.

But those nine minutes totally cost me.

With the job hunt under way, I’ve signed up with a temp agency at the advice of my friend Stephanie, and they already have a possible job lined up for me. There’s no guarantee I’ll  get it, but I have to go into downtown L.A. to get a drug screening just in case.  After what happened yesterday, I don’t know if I’m in a stable enough frame of mind to drive myself so I’m hoping I can convince The Boss to take like two hours off work so he can take me.
If he can’t do it, I plan on stabbing myself in the leg with a fork, which will force him to drive me to the hospital since it’ll be hard to drive myself while my leg is bleeding, and since the hospital is close to the drug screening place, I’ll just limp across the street after they stitch me up, and voila!
All in a day’s work.

Never mess with a genius, Direction Giver.
Never.

Although the three months that The Boss and I spend apart were challenging at times, I have to say that the one good thing that came from that period was that I was able to get back into my normal, healthy eating habits. Living with a boy is tough on a girl’s hips, you know. All the junk, all the fatty foods, all the late-night snacks doused in chocolate chips.

Sheesh.

When I finally packed my bags to move to L.A., I told myself that I wasn’t going to get back into the newlywed eating habits I allowed myself to succumb to in the early months of our married life. But when I got here, The Boss took me to a really nice sushi place in Santa Monica, right by the ocean. The sushi was yum, but Dear God in Heaven, I squealed when they brought our dessert — mochi ice cream.

If you’ve never had mochi, or mochi ice cream, I suggest you drop everything right now (unless you’re holding a baby — please gently move him/her to the side) and go find an Asian grocery store. Mochi is eaten year round in Japan, but is also made specifically for the Japanese New Year. It’s basically a rice cake, made from glutenous rice that is pounded and mashed until it takes on the consistency of a gooey paste.
Back in the D.C. area, a few of our favorite sushi places serve mochi ice cream, but the Asian markets only sell the regular mochi with beans, which I’m not a fan of.
People in Hawaii and Taiwan also eat mochi, although their recipes differ slightly.

So The Boss takes me to Santa Monica, where after our waiter brings out the raspberry mochi ice cream with white chocolate, and the green tea mochi ice cream with fresh berries and mint, I couldn’t stop laughing because I was so happy.
When I finally did stop laughing, I ate three bowls by myself AFTER we already had our appetizers and dinner.

But oh God, IT.WAS.GLORIOUS.

I have a job interview this afternoon, which if you know my track record, isn’t the best place to go after you’ve filled your belly with ice cream. The Boss left me his car today, so this will be the first true test of whether or not I can drive in L.A. My interview is in Beverly Hills, (I’m auditioning for the new 90210) (no, I’m not really) so it’s a pretty short drive, which means I can’t get too lost.
I hope.

It’s nice to have a permanent address now because it makes job hunting a lot easier. While The Boss was here, and I was back on the east coast, I was sort of in a job hunt limbo, but you know me, it doesn’t matter where I am, the bottom line is, I’m always working reeeally hard.

The other night as I was washing my face getting ready for bed, I noticed that there were some rough, bumpy patches of skin along my jaw line, and on the lower half of my cheeks. Naturally, I pressed my face up to the mirror until I was nearly cross-eyed, and tugged at my skin trying to get a good look at what it was.  It sort of had the consistency of hives, only smaller, and not as itchy. The Boss said it looked a little red, but not to worry about it. He said it was probably just my body reacting to a new climate and water.

The next morning, it hadn’t gone away, and in fact, it was climbing up the side of my face. I washed my face, and covered it in olive oil, since it’s a natural healing agent, and mentioned in prophetic traditions.

I decided to log onto the Web to see if a group of virtual doctors could diagnose my condition. The Internet says I have a mild form of a condition called Melasma, which can appear on your skin (most often on your cheeks and forehead) with prolonged exposure to the sun.

First, these tiny little bumps appeared, and started to itch.

Then the texture started changing, and and skin became dry.

Then it started to spread.

In a city where you pretty much need a car to survive, I’ve been doing just fine so far with my sneakers, and a backpack to carry groceries. I left my car back in Northern Virginia, so I’ve been walking everywhere during the day, running errands and exploring the city. My daily moisturizer has SPF 15 in it, but apparently that’s child’s play for the California sun. The doctor I met at that dinner party said to start using SPF 40, and use a little cortisone as I see fit. It’s also good for me to avoid the sun for a few days until my skin heals.

The Boss got me Aveeno Continuous Protection Sunblock Lotion in SPF 55, which he and I have both started using, and I’ve limited my exploratory walks for now. I’m still using a quarter-sized drop of olive oil on my face first thing in the morning, a dab of cortisone before bed, and thank The Good Lord, it’s starting to get better, ya’ll!

I wanted to bring this up for a few reasons. First, researchers say it’s important to get small doses of Vitamin D from the sun, which you can do by sitting in the sun without sunblock for 10 minutes between 10 a.m. and 3 p.m. After that, you need to apply sunscreen to the exposed parts of your body, 30 minutes before you go outside.
Second, just because you have a darker complexion, and your 89 year old grandmother only has four wrinkles (which mine does — she’s gorgeous) that doesn’t mean that you’re immune to the harmful effects of UVA and UVB rays.
Don’t get me wrong, I think everyone looks better with a tan, but there’s a difference between a little extra pigment that makes your skin glow, and possible long-term negative effects of prolonged exposure to the sun, and tanning beds. If you don’t care about your health, then do it for your vanity. Women who spend excessive amounts of time in the sun without taking the proper precautions to care for their skin, will be playing hostess to dark spots and wrinkles at a much younger age.

Now, go put on your sunblock, and in the wise words of my father-in-law, “Go buy one of those fancy hats that the Mexicans wear.”

UPDATE: Apparently it’s not Melasma. I haven’t gone to a doctor yet, but one of my readers (doing her residency in dermatology) my sister, and her fiance (both med students) are telling me that’s not what it is.
Well, I guess this is goodbye, Melasma.
Goodbye, forever.

Hey, wait! Then what’s on my face?
Anyone?

On Sunday, The Boss and I went to Pier 1 Imports looking for small baskets that we could use for storage, specifically for under the sink in our bathroom. We were scanning the willow, bamboo and straw collections when we spotted these Recycled Newspaper Baskets and this Recycled Newspaper Magazine Basket.

We’re using the smaller two baskets to house vanity products, and the magazine basket to store all the speeding and parking tickets The Boss accumulated while living in L.A. for three months before I got here.

Victor was a bum, ya’ll, so now I’m at the library, where I’m sitting on the most uncomfortable chair in America, and I’m not allowed to check out books because I have a Virginia driver’s license, which I think is discrimination, but I didn’t say anything because I don’t really want to check out any books anyway, and the lady at the counter is a lot bigger than me.

My flight was Saturday evening, and after I was done packing, I realized that I forgot to pack my Magic Bullet. So I was like, “Hey Dad, can you put my blender by my things? I’m going to take it with me” and he was like, “No, you can’t take that on the plane” and I’m like, “Why?” and he goes, “Because of the blade” and I’m like it’s not like a knife” and he’s like “Yes it is” and I’m like, “Uh, you can stab someone’s eye out with a knife, what am I going to do with a blender?” and he goes, “I don’t know, maybe you’re going to mix a martini and throw it in someone’s face” and I was like, “That doesn’t even make any sense,” and he goes, “Well I’m the pilot and I don’t care.”

I didn’t know what to say after that.

Here we are all packed up and ready to go — just me and Felix, and no Magic Bullet.
I didn’t tell Felix that he was considered a lap child until we got on board.
He’s pretty sensitive.

I flew out of Dulles, and it was packed beyond anything I have ever seen. There was elbow to elbow traffic, and the check-in and security lines snaked around the airport for what seemed like miles. My flight was packed, too, but luckily I had a window seat, so I spent most of my time gazing at the incredible scenery.

I know that clouds are clouds, but I swear, while you’re flying above them, and right through them, each one is uniquely different from it’s neighbor. I took this picture about 30 minutes before we landed.
I totally believe in God, ya’ll — this stuff can’t happen on its own.

Headed to my new home.

We ran errands all day Sunday, and while we were out, I saw a guy holding two coconuts with straws in them, and I was all, “Hey! Coconut water!” So The Boss rolls down the window to ask where the guy got them from, and the guy comes running over, and he’s like, “Two dollars,” so then I totally freaked out because he was selling them, not holding them for his own consumption, and I LOVE COCONUT WATER so we pull around the front of the parking lot he was standing in, and The Boss is like, “Where did you get those?” and the guy’s like, “I don’t know,” but he did know, he just didn’t understand, so I go, “Did you climb a tree?” and he goes, “No. Me(hi)ico!” and I’m like, “You got these from MeXico?!?!” And he’s like, “Yes!” and I’m like, “When?” and he goes, “Today” and now I’m totally going crazy, because I was drinking coconut water from a coconut that just came from Mexico!

Awesome.

While The Boss is working, and I’m job hunting, I’ve been getting us set up with bills and talking to our building manager. The gas guy had to come to fix our pilot light yesterday, and the maintenance man had to come by to fix two drawers and a cabinet, but since The Boss was going to be at work all day, I was like, “Well, what if they try to attack me or something?” and The Boss was like, “They won’t, Sabreen. Stop being paranoid” and I’m all, “Quick! Get me a knife!” and he’s like, “I am not getting you a knife,” and I’m like, “Whatev” but I started practicing my knife dance anyway, stabbing at the air to ensure I could stab with precision and accuracy in the event that I needed to stab someone with precision and accuracy.

I totally should have brought my Magic Bullet.

All our stuff is unpacked now, and even though I miss my family tons, I’m happy out here.
Once our place is totally set up, I’ll be sure to post pictures to share.

Oh, and hey…thanks, Readers. You know, for all your well wishes and hanging out while I moved.
The Boss thinks that it’s just me and him in Cali, but I totally know that you guys are out here with me too.

I’m in Cali, ya’ll!

I can’t stay for long, we don’t have Internet, so I’m just using Victor’s connection for a few minutes so I can post.

Who’s Victor, you ask?
I don’t know.
But I’m guessing he’s someone who lives close by, and was dumb nice enough to leave his Internet connection unsecured so I could use it.

I had some photos I wanted to share with you since guys, but Victor’s connection just went from Good to Very Low, and it looks like I won’t be able to upload anything, which makes me really angry at Victor, so after I post this I’m going to go find him and let him know that he will totally be paying for lunch.

The Internet guy is coming on Thursday to set us up, so I’ll be up and running as usual after that. In the mean time, posting will be light here over the next few days (unless Victor gets his act together) so try to find something fun to keep yourselves entertained.

Happy Monday!

When The Boss and I got engaged, I knew that I was going to wear hijab on my wedding day — as opposed to having a segregated wedding where I wouldn’t have had to.

Since I told The Boss, I might get cold feet and sneak out of the hotel before the wedding starts, for reasons that are beyond me, The Boss warned me not to run away on our wedding day. He was all, “If you don’t show up, I swear I will never talk to you again.” And I was all, “What if I call you later?” and he was like, “No, I won’t pick up.” And I was like, “If I call you why wouldn’t you pick up?” And he goes, “Because you left me at our wedding!” And I was like, “Yeah, but what if I had a flat tire?” And he goes, “You’re staying in the hotel! All you have to do is come downstairs!” And I was like, “Umm..Hello?!? What if I get a flat tire while trying to ride my bike into the hall? You obvs don’t know how to plan for an emergency.”

The good news is, I didn’t run away.
I also didn’t get a flat tire.
The bad news is, my mom nixed my ‘ride in on a bike’ idea.

One of my readers recently asked me for some tips on how to wear hijab on your wedding day, which is a topic I am thrilled to talk about because so many people think it’s impossible.

So Many People, ya’ll are wrong!

First, get your outfit.
Know what you’re going to wear.
Try it on before you get it.
Don’t let someone who doesn’t know you buy your clothes and then show up with them at the wedding.

Look, I know in a lot of cultures it ’s custom for the groom’s family to buy you your clothes.
But I don’t see the logic, People.
If you don’t have someone else pick out your outfits for work and school, why would you wear something THAT SOMEONE ELSE PICKED OUT FOR YOU ON YOUR WEDDING DAY?

I’m not saying you should be anti-culture, and forbid your future in-laws from getting involved. Just make sure you take your mom with you wherever you go. When your mom is with you, no one can say anything.
Be honest with your future in-laws and tell them what makes you feel comfortable and what doesn’t. If you pretend like you love everything they show you, it’s only going to make you look bad later.

You know why?
I’ll tell you why.

Because since you didn’t have the guts to speak up, you’re going to cry about it to your future husband who doesn’t have any tact so he’ll tell his mom that you don’t like the clothes she picked out for you, and then she’ll start crying because she’s like, “Oh my God, my son’s wife doesn’t appreciate me!” And then you’ll be all mad at your guy because you’re all, “You idiot! I told you not to tell!” and then you start crying because you think you can’t trust the man you’re going to marry, and now everyone is crying.

And let’s be real, no one looks good when they cry.

I knew what I was going to wear at my wedding, but The Boss’s mom really wanted to get me an outfit for our second reception, called a “Waleemah.” We decided that The Boss and his family would come down for a visit and we’d go shopping together. Everyone gave their input, and I ended up picking something that I loved — an outfit called a “langha.”
His family got to pepper a little Indian culture on our wedding festivities, his mom got me a gift, and everyone was happy.

PROBLEM.SOLVED.

Once you have your outfit, try it on with the hijab and jewelry you’re going to wear.
The key is to PRACTICE, PRACTICE, PRACTICE. Even if you’ve been wearing hijab for years, with all the extra clothes, and jewelry you’ll have on that day, you’re going to want to do a dress rehearsal to make sure you’re comfortable.
(Haha, get it? Dress rehearsal?)

Anyone?
No?

Okay.

(Photos by: Maria Lavalle of AC Ellis Photography)

I knew I was going to wear my grandmother’s sari the moment my dad showed it to me, and said it was mine. All the designs I drew up for my dress, all the fabrics and colors I had picked — all of that flew out the window the minute I saw this.

A lot of brides that wear hijab get pressured into wearing short sleeves on their wedding day so their arms can be decorated with dozens of bangles. But that wasn’t happening here. My aunt and uncle who live in London sent us a few yards of beautiful gold fabric, and my mom had a long-sleeve blouse sewn for me. In this picture, my mom’s best friend is helping me get ready in my hotel room, and check it out, ya’ll! I’m wearing bangles!

In the South Asian cultures, it’s customary for the bride to have fabric from her outfit draped over her head, and to wear some sort of jewelry on her face.
Everyone thinks you can’t do that if you’re in hijab.
Everyone is wrong.

Here I am in my hotel room getting pinned by my aunt…or mom…I don’t remember.
I wore my hijab the way I normally do, but before I put on the underscarf, I pinned that piece of jewelery (called a “teeka”) to my hair with a bobby pin.

Who said you can’t do a necklace with hijab? I wore a long strand of jewels, and tucked my hijab into my blouse. Under normal circumstances, I never tuck my hijab into my clothes, but in this case it worked out perfectly because of the way the sari wrapped around my body.

I know, I hunch.
It’s because I’m shy.
Really, I am.
I don’t like it when everyone is looking at me.

I actually thought about picking my nose so everyone would look away. But then I thought my mom would give me one of those Mom Death Stares, and it would burn a hole into my forehead, and I didn’t want to have a hole in my face in all my pictures, so I decided against the nose picking.
I also didn’t want all the guests to leave before dinner.

We interrupt our regularly scheduled program to show you this photo:

This is Little BFF, ya’ll! She was one of our six flower girls. Isn’t she gorgeous?
I love you, Little BFF!

The following weekend, I wore my hijab again. This time, with the outfit that I picked out with the whole gang.

(Photos by: Danielle Klein-Williams of dani. fine photography)

Since my mom is pretty much a genius, when she had the extra fabric sewn onto this blouse, she also had the designer add three little buttons that snap open and shut in a really discrete place under my forearms. That way, when it was time to pray, I’d be able to make my ablution, which is the ritual washing before prayer, (and includes washing your arms to your elbows) with ease.

Unlike the hijab I wore with my sari, I decided to let this scarf fall behind me, but made sure that the beauty of the outfit was not hidden.

Starch your hijabs, Brides.
Not so much that you feel like you’re wearing cardboard on your head, but enough so that the car ride to wherever you’re going doesn’t ruin the effort it took to iron it.

I might be in mid-blink here. Or I might be squinting because the sun is in my eyes. Or, I could be in pain because The Boss might have squirted me in the eye with that lemon that’s stuck to his face.

Pinning the extra fabric (called a “dupata”) took the longest.
First, my mom did it, and didn’t like it. Then she called her cousin for help. Didn’t like her version either. So she found her niece. Nope. Then I tried myself. Definitely not happening according to my mom. My friends weighed in, she ignored them.
Finally, she got a hold of her sister-in-law.
Luckily, she’s pretty awesome at everything.

And after all that, I had to go to the bathroom.
No one was happy with me.

I had a little trouble with this hijab. Wanna know why? BECAUSE I DIDN’T PRACTICE. (Please take advice above.)

Oh, this little funny pie is Little BFF’s sister, and she has THE CUTEST LAUGH!

I know, I have sideburns.
I also have arm hair.
I’m Indian.
Stop judging me.

Everyone says you can’t wear a head piece if you cover your hair. Tell them that they’re wrong, and that they smell. That will get them to stop talking, and then eventually they’ll walk away because they’re going to want to sniff their armpits, but they won’t be able to because they’re in public, so they’ll try to do it discretely, but then they’ll be worried that someone will notice, so they’ll sneak away to the bathroom, and you can go about your business — hijab and all.

(You can thank me later.)

Pin the jewels (fake or real, no one will care, and the person who does shouldn’t have been invited anyway) to your hair with bobby pins. Put an underscarf, or bandanna, or headband over the pins, and then wrap your hijab.

It’s safe and secure, I tell ya.
Safe and secure.

This necklace was supposed to rest on my neck, against my collar bones. But if I wore it the way it was intended to be worn, you wouldn’t have been able to see it because of my hijab. Since chest exposure was not an option for me, we loosened the strings in the back so it hung about six inches from my neck, and was visible below my scarf.

The Boss’s mom got me those bangles, too. Aren’t they fun?

Alright, well that’s about 12 more pictures of myself than I can handle, so I can only imagine what you’re going through.
Blame it on Canada, that’s where the question came from.

Bottom Line: Know what you’re going to wear months before your wedding. That way, if you have to make any alterations, or can’t find a hijab you like, you’ll have all the time in the world to make those fixes.
Look, the point is not to tell women to wear hijab on their wedding day. If you don’t wear hijab, or if you prefer to have a segregated wedding, then that’s totally your prerogative.

But if you have decided to wear hijab, as a liberating symbol, and public declaration of your faith, then I think you should stand up for what you believe in, even if the whole world (including family) is standing against you. The reality is, when you stand for something, be it because of your faith, your family, or your own moral compass, your belief system will be challenged by others — and sometimes by those you love most.

It’s so common to see women who cover their hair take off their scarves on their wedding day due to family pressure, but this post is to let every woman know that it doesn’t have to be that way.

Style is not about doing what someone else wants, or expects you to do. It’s the dress of your thoughts — it’s about how you choose to express yourself, and what makes you feel confident, comfortable and beautiful. If you want to wear blue on your wedding day in a society that wants you to wear white, I say, wear the blue!

But listen, if you have a crazy relative that gets all bent out of shape because you decided to go against the norm, don’t send them to this Web site. I don’t want to be attacked with that creepy tongue thing where the women make those loud sounds.

That scares me.

I’ve never really had problems with dry skin, but recently, my feet have been about as soft and tender as burlap potato sacks. I’ve always used the same lotion on my feet that I use for my body, but over the past three or so months, with all this moody weather, it doesn’t seem to be making much of a difference.

I took a trip to The Body Shop and discovered their line of foot care.  The mall was fairly empty, so the woman working there spent all her time using every tester in the store on me. By the time I left, I smelled like I had been baptized in a pool of liquid candy canes.

I left with the Cooling Foot Spray, the Purifying Foot Mask, the Intensive Foot Rescue Treatment, and a Pumpice Foot Scrub, and so far, I am thrilled with the results.

I’m a strong believer in everything you do should benefit someone other than yourself, which is why I feel good about going to The Body Shop. Their products are high quality, never tested on animals, and so many of their products (including their line of foot care) support community trade by working directly with over 30 community trade suppliers to build businesses in more than 20 countries, helping people to earn a sustainable income.