There
was a time in my life when I wanted nothing more than to wear make up. It would
make me beautiful. I was 13, 14, and 15, even a little of my 16th
year I spent desiring the ability to carry the round compact that would fit
comfortably in my palm. I thought it would be thrilling to pop open the little
mirror, touching up my face with smears of creamy, skin toned powder. I’d dream
that I would have already masked my face with the liquid gold foundation and
the powder would just be smoothing over any mishaps in the base.
Then
one day, in science class, a girl who always wore make up showed up with none.
Her skin was whiter than usual. Her eyes looked tiny without the thick black
eyeliner she used to highlight the entire almond shape of each eye. No eye
shadow on her lid, nor reaching towards her eyebrows; and her lashes, not a drop
of mascara on them. She looked naked. She looked not herself. She looked dead.
Like the little old ladies who die their poodle like hair a brown or jet black
color to hide the reality of their scalp which honestly sprouts white and grey
tendrils, a sign of vacated youth. It takes many days to adjust to their new
look. Or maybe you can’t get used to it. They look as though the energy was
drained out of them. Sucked through their strands and now colorless, listless,
and lifeless. But back to girl in science class au-natural.
It
was then and there that I decided make up was no big deal. Why would I want to
cover my face and hide who I really am? Did I want to make the pretend face me?
Did I want to go in public without it and then subsequently be unrecognizable?
Not that I didn’t wear make up, but once I did I limited it to blush, mascara,
and eye shadow. All of which could be worn at once, or all on their own, or
none at all. I didn’t want a certain look, especially one that was not real, to
become what was expected of me. I also didn't want to feel the need to have to wear something (other than clothing) to go out in public. Why should I wear a foundation, cream or powder
to hide flaws and imperfections? My imperfections make me who I am. They make
me unique.
