Consumers have the ammunition to stop cosmetics from being tested on animals.
When I was a little girl I desperately wanted to be like my friends. And by that I mean I wanted to wear Mary Jane shoes, have long, sleek, shiny auburn hair I could put bobbles in, and take part in jazz ballet classes on a Tuesday evening. Just like they did.
Unfortunately my life was different, in so many respects. I was tormented by the enforced wearing of roman sandals and skivvies, for one thing. My hair was murky blonde and impervious to any style other than the "Janet Frame". And I took gymnastics until adolescence rendered me chubby and heffalumpish.
I was most gutted by the fact that I could not have a horse. Economics, and the fact we lived on a small section, decreed my horselessness, but there was another reason: I was absolutely, stunningly allergic to the beasts. To even look at a horse meant my face and airway would swell dangerously. Cat hair was almost worse. A single cat's paw on my cheek overnight would have seen me on life-support the next day.
I never did warm to animals after my girlish horse fantasies faded, although invariably as a parent of young children I'm dragged to all manner of animal-based attraction. I swear if I have to suffer through one more session of monkeys heavy petting, or goats coating our pellet-bearing fingers in rancid saliva, I shall turn into a ranting baboon myself (my husband thinks I'm half-way there already).