I think it’s time, ladies, that we stopped wearing make-up all the time. I’ve got to the point where I only really wear it if I’m nervous. It is a war mask, it hides my face and my nerves. But even as I’m caking it on, I wonder what on earth I’m doing placing liquid flesh on top of my solid face flesh. Do you know what I’d rather cake on my face? Cake. Actual cake. I think Battenberg would make a much better war mask. Choose your weapon wisely, woman. I choose Battleberg.
I understand that sometimes it’s a lovely thing to do, and I also understand that sometimes it’s a confidence thing. I’ve had those times where I haven’t felt comfortable leaving the house without make-up on, but now I feel uncomfortable leaving the house if I do have it on. Admittedly though, I have become a bit of a troll… but a happy one.
If anything, I now wear make-down: a heady combination of ‘I just crawled out of bed, rolled about on the floor and wore the clothes that clung to my body’. And then about 10 minutes later on the tube, ‘Errrrm, did I remember to have a shower?’
Why do we feel pressured into wearing it all the time? It’s a long and tedious process:
- Prime your face
- Moisturise your face
- Foundation your face
- Conceal your face
- Tone your face
- Powder your face
- Set your face
With all this preparation, I’m expecting to now roast my face and eat it with a garlic dressing.
The thing about big eyes is that it makes you look more vulnerable. The thing about rouged cheeks and red lips is that it makes it look like you’re aroused. I don’t want to look vulnerably aroused on the tube at 8am before I’ve even got to work. Or ever, actually.
I want my face to look like I am still how my head feels: bed-raggled. And that I made my best friend a cup of tea and toast this morning and took it to her in her bed and we chatted about which cheese would be best to wear as a hat, (if you absolutely had to). I would like that as my face narrative, please. That I had a little time to giggle with the people I love and therefore my face isn’t mysteriously uniformly one tone and colour. Actually, is that a raisin stuck on my cheek?
It can be a beautiful thing, but your face is more beautiful. And so too is the time you’ll save and redistribute into things that you actually enjoy doing and that will stimulate your brain. Choose your weapon wisely, woman. I, personally, choose writing.
