Have you ever spent time thinking of the oddity of getting up every morning and painting on a new face? You look in the mirror and all you see are the flaws. Dark circles under my eyes, uneven skin with too much red in it, invisible lashes, thin brows, lines on my forehead, a blemish here or there. So, you pull out your arsenal; foundation, concealer, powder, blush, bronzer, eye shadow, eye liner, mascara, brow pencil, lipstick, lip gloss, etc. I know I'm missing a number of weapons, because I just don't use them (that torture device called a lash curler comes to mind). To be honest, I only own about 3 of the above.
I was raised by a mother who didn't wear much makeup. And while I did occasionally attempt to use it on the sly, I didn't have visions of someday being old enough to finally wear makeup. It always seemed like a lot of work and, frankly, a bit disingenuous. Nobody really believes that my eyelids have a slight natural shimmer to them or that my lips could ever be bright with gloss on their own. My face is not a canvas.
I wonder why it is that as women, we get up every day and put on a face. For some of us, it's a quick swipe under the eye with concealer to mask the dark circles and maybe a layer of mascara on Sabbath (yes, for some reason in my mind, it's more respectful to Jesus if I wear a little extra makeup on His holy day; I even wear my Dr. Pepper chapstick). For others of us, it's a slow, layer by layer process of fixing every perceived flaw until our mask is firmly in place and we're ready to face the day. Our skin is encased in a layer of concealment, shimmer, smoky mystery, and dewy perfection. And frankly, we're worth it . . . everyone says so. Celebrities are nabbed in photos, gasp, "makeup free!!" as though they ran through the streets naked. And they may as well be, because their features are unrecognizable and transformed. Their lips are less pouty, their eyes smaller, their cheekbones less defined. They look . . . human.
I don't know when it became such a tragedy to look like yourself. I know a huge group of people who do it every day. They're called men. Perhaps I'm sheltered, but I don't know a single guy who wears makeup, and the world is full of attractive men.They don't need perfectly even skin, mysterious smoky eyes, pouty lips, or gently blushing cheeks to look their best. They wake up, roll out of bed, shower, hopefully throw on some deodorant, shave, maybe throw some product in their hair, and bam . . . reasonably attractive guy emerges. What you see is what you get, no surprises after they wash their face.
I just recently turned 31 and I feel the pressure to put on a bit more of the mask. The commercials predict dire warnings of fine lines and wrinkles . . . oh the horror! I wouldn't want anyone to have to see that. The part that I have a hard time with is, it's really not fooling anyone. The more layers you put on, the more obvious the layers are. The more perfect the mask, the more obvious it is.
My face may not be perfect, but it's the only one I have. That's not to say that come Monday morning I might not put on a little concealer . . . old habits die hard after all. But I hope to continue fighting the impulse to put on another face. This is the one God gave me, after all, so He must be somewhat fond of it as it is.
*Disclaimer: to all my beautiful, intelligent, funny, irrepressible, creative, girly, tomboy female friends on there who wear/love/endure/avoid/enjoy makeup, this post should be seen in no way as an judgy post. I think you're all splendid, whether you wear no makeup or go out every day with blue mascara and sparkly lip gloss. I just wanted to spend a few minutes thinking about the "why":)
I was raised by a mother who didn't wear much makeup. And while I did occasionally attempt to use it on the sly, I didn't have visions of someday being old enough to finally wear makeup. It always seemed like a lot of work and, frankly, a bit disingenuous. Nobody really believes that my eyelids have a slight natural shimmer to them or that my lips could ever be bright with gloss on their own. My face is not a canvas.
I wonder why it is that as women, we get up every day and put on a face. For some of us, it's a quick swipe under the eye with concealer to mask the dark circles and maybe a layer of mascara on Sabbath (yes, for some reason in my mind, it's more respectful to Jesus if I wear a little extra makeup on His holy day; I even wear my Dr. Pepper chapstick). For others of us, it's a slow, layer by layer process of fixing every perceived flaw until our mask is firmly in place and we're ready to face the day. Our skin is encased in a layer of concealment, shimmer, smoky mystery, and dewy perfection. And frankly, we're worth it . . . everyone says so. Celebrities are nabbed in photos, gasp, "makeup free!!" as though they ran through the streets naked. And they may as well be, because their features are unrecognizable and transformed. Their lips are less pouty, their eyes smaller, their cheekbones less defined. They look . . . human.
I don't know when it became such a tragedy to look like yourself. I know a huge group of people who do it every day. They're called men. Perhaps I'm sheltered, but I don't know a single guy who wears makeup, and the world is full of attractive men.They don't need perfectly even skin, mysterious smoky eyes, pouty lips, or gently blushing cheeks to look their best. They wake up, roll out of bed, shower, hopefully throw on some deodorant, shave, maybe throw some product in their hair, and bam . . . reasonably attractive guy emerges. What you see is what you get, no surprises after they wash their face.
I just recently turned 31 and I feel the pressure to put on a bit more of the mask. The commercials predict dire warnings of fine lines and wrinkles . . . oh the horror! I wouldn't want anyone to have to see that. The part that I have a hard time with is, it's really not fooling anyone. The more layers you put on, the more obvious the layers are. The more perfect the mask, the more obvious it is.
My face may not be perfect, but it's the only one I have. That's not to say that come Monday morning I might not put on a little concealer . . . old habits die hard after all. But I hope to continue fighting the impulse to put on another face. This is the one God gave me, after all, so He must be somewhat fond of it as it is.
*Disclaimer: to all my beautiful, intelligent, funny, irrepressible, creative, girly, tomboy female friends on there who wear/love/endure/avoid/enjoy makeup, this post should be seen in no way as an judgy post. I think you're all splendid, whether you wear no makeup or go out every day with blue mascara and sparkly lip gloss. I just wanted to spend a few minutes thinking about the "why":)
I so agree with your thoughts. I wish I was inexplicably confident and could wake up and face the world without hiding my dark circles and pretending my borderline anemia didn't make my face monochromatic. Yet I am so torn between. I would love to not go through the process of makeup each day. And yet the less I have on, the less confident I feel. What a messed up world we live in when the more significant your mask, the more you fit in.
ReplyDeleteI love your thought that this is the face God gave me, and He must love it as is. Hopefully as I age and grow I will keep that in mind. The idea that my life is shown through the age on my face to tell my story is beautiful. I hope I can learn to love and appreciate that.
I've recently been struggling with the makeup concept. I have worn makeup a grand total about 3 times in my life--maybe four. I may have missed a bridesmaid stint in that count. :) Anyway, as I have, like you, recently turned 31, I've started noticing my pale eyelashes, my undefined eyes and cheekbones, the hairs growing in places I don't even comprehend (why does my body think I need a hair on my boob?!). So I've been talking about perhaps grabbing a tube of brown mascara just to make my eyes a little more pretty. My blue eyes. Or are they grey? People say they change based on what I wear (Monday they were green).
ReplyDeleteBut where does it end?
If, at 31, I'm contemplating beefing up my lashes, at 35 I'll likely want to dab out the wrinkles and rings around my eyes. Then at 37 my freckles will start to look like old-lady marks and I'll want to hide them, too. Perhaps at 40 I'll need to deal with grey or white hairs. So by the time I hit what some people call "mid-life crisis" I've turned myself into someone completely different from the outside.
Is that what I want? Is that the "me" I want to present to people? Do I want to be afraid to go to the beach or swim in a friend's pool or sleep over somewhere because they might see me without the mask I've slowly created over time? Do I want my daughters to see me so unhappy with the face God gave me that I spend time every morning changing it?
No.
Thank you for solidifying that answer in my mind. That planned trip to Ulta doesn't need to happen. I am allowed to be human. I am allowed to be me.