100 ·^ COSMOPOLITANdeathly silence fills the
darkened theatre where
I’ve been sitting for the past
four hours, next to a petite
brunette girl who not only travelled
from Romania to this central London
theatre, but who proudly tells me
she was first in the queue at 7.30am.
A short trip compared to the boy
I met earlier who travelled alone
from Indonesia. The sheer authority
in the man on stage’s voice
has an almost hypnotic
effect on the 600 warm
bodies surrounding me.
People who normally
could not be parted from
their iPhone for even
a moment listen intently.
Swapping their touch
screens for paper, they
frantically scribble down
notes as they watch him
work. In the dim light I can’t make
out the individual characteristics of
their heavily made-up faces, except for
the metallic highlighter that shines
from their noses and cheekbones like
beams from a lighthouse. I turn my
gaze back to the man on stage as he
gently starts tapping his fingers across
a woman’s face, his dark eyebrows
furrowed in concentration. The only
sound is his steady breathing echoing
into his head mic. When he’s finally“You need to
watch what I’m
doing before you
ask questions”
finished he instructs the woman to
turn towards us, and a gasp rings out.
The man on stage isn’t a spiritual
healer, or the next David Blaine –
he is 35-year-old Mario Dedivanovic,
or Make-up By Mario as you might
know him. A celebrity make-up artist
whose fans are so devoted they are
willing to fly thousands of miles and
spend up to £700 for a ticket to watch
him apply make-up to someone else.
In his coveted six-and-a-half-
hour masterclasses, they
don’t even get their own
make-up done, instead they
watch him demonstrate his
skills on a model, while
they take studious notes.
Afterwards, they walk away
with a goodie bag and, more
importantly, a selfie with
their lord and saviour.
Traditionally, make-up
artists have been the ones behind the
stage, creeping around set unnoticed,
adding final touches to the star of the
show. Dedivanovic changed all of that
in 2009 when he filmed a YouTube
tutorial with his then-relatively
unfamous client, Kim Kardashian,
lifting the veil on the smoke and
mirrors of celebrity make-up and
showcasing previously little-known
theatrical techniques such as
contouring and baking. DedivanovicA
quickly became a star in his own
right, both with the public (6.6 million
Instagram followers and counting)
and with brands, who realised how
lucrative his endorsements could be.
Eleven years ago no one had a clue
what a Beautyblender was until
a baby-faced Dedivanovic showcased
it in that grainy video recreating
Kardashian’s Vegas magazine cover
make-up. Now Dedivanovic and
Kardashian score Vogue covers,
while those little pink eggs have
sold 50 million worldwide, spawned
hundreds of clones from rival brands,
and expanded from sponges into
colour cosmetics. It’s fair to say that
if it wasn’t for Dedivanovic, the way
we apply our foundation would be
far more primitive. And it’s not just
Beautyblender that benefitted from
his clout. After Kardashian shared
a picture of his baking technique
(leaving a heavy layer of loose powder
over concealer for five to 10 minutes
to “set” it), theatrical make-up brand
Ben Nye sold out of its Banana
Powder overnight globally, and
tripled the price in response.
I have followed Dedivanovic’s
career since those early days, when
I, too, would buy every product he
recommended on his now long-
defunct blog. I’d have done anything
to watch him apply make-up to
someone else, if only I had the £700
to spare. I have even met him, briefly,
at various beauty events (albeit never
for more than a quick selfie against
a branded board). But how does
a make-up artist go from painting
faces to packing out theatres? What’s
really behind “The Mario Effect”?“What’s
really behind
‘The Mario
Effect’?”“Mario’s on his way.” I’m sitting in
a photography studio in east London,
feeling like I’m about to go on the
most important first date of my life.