Because I really do love makeup. And Orglamix just sent me an email 30 seconds ago saying how they are sending me things to review here so that's awesome because I know this is quite a small blog. But I do. Makeup is my passion. I used to want to be a model, but my views changed. I was sick of being told that I needed to do this or that to be beautiful. I wanted to help other women feel beautiful without demanding they cover everything unique about them up. So I became a makeup artist. But where does the obsession come from? WHY do I love makeup?
My mom always had pretty shadows and sleek pots of makeup. I envied them. Sometimes she put makeup on me. I used to be perfectly okay with my clear blonde eyelashes and strawberry freckles. I had super fair skin and I had to wear sunblock even in January. My long red hair was frizzy and made little curls when it was pulled back. I was a cute kid... My first makeup was a small kit that my aunt gave me for christmas. I played with it for hours and looked like Charlie Brown when I didn't put eyeliner closer to my eyes. But it was fun. But I wasn't allowed to wear it out of the house.
Then I hit my awkward stage. I was an ugly duckling and got bullied a lot. I had bad skin. My mom gave me a Mary Kay Makeup Book and I was allowed to start wearing a little bit of cover up. Maybe some Mascara. Basically, as I learned how to wear makeup, I was allowed to wear age appropriate amounts. I learned. In my spare time, I played with the meager makeup that I had. I loved lip gloss.
Sometimes Mom would buy me things on sale at the Walgreens. We liked to peruse the drug stores and sometimes we would look around in Ulta. I started to develop a collection.
Every day I painstakingly woke up an hour and a half before I had to be on the school bus and straightened my hair. I hated my hair because it made kids pick on me. So I at least straightened the unruly waves into something more manageable. I covered up all of my acne. I put gloss onto my pale lips and mascara onto my clear blonde lashes.
Eventually I damn near plucked my eyebrows all the way out. Now I draw them in every day because they won't grow back. But what started the obsession? I had BULLIES! Tons of them. Some of them were cute so that was weird for my adolescent self.
Here are a few shots of me. The black and white was when I was small and the one on the beach was when I was about 9 years old. The other younger one of me, I was probably 6 or 7. And the older one was from 2010, my Junior year of High School. I call the years between 9-15 "The Lost Years" because I have done a good job about making sure those photos never saw the light of day. I was always small so I got picked on a lot.
I guess that's where it started. Boys would rather knock me down than like me... so I developed a bit of a complex. Then there was the issue with coming out and coming to terms with not being straight. But what does a 15 year old girl want more than anything else? To fit in! How do you fit in? You wear the right clothes and you kiss the right boys. Even though I didn't really like boys. But whatever. So I worked harder and harder to try and fit in and I never did.
But every day, I would painstakingly apply the makeup and flat iron. I would wear clothes that I thought looked pretty (after I pulled out of my "goth" stage). I tried so hard to be effortlessly beautiful. But boys didn't like me. I wasn't blonde and I was, frankly, a cunt. I didn't take their shit. Even if I wanted a boyfriend, why was I going to be with some scumfuck? My dad was big and all of them were afraid of him. They spread rumors that I was dating my gay best friend. It was a cluster.
So I retreated into my makeup box because it was familiar. When everything else was impossible, I always had that hour or so each morning that was just for me. Just me, myself, and maybelline. Through all of the shit life handed me, I had that makeup that I knew. My family was supportive, but I was an angsty teen battling with being non-hetero in the bible belt of Upstate NY and not fitting in inside of a particularly nasty small town school. When everyone has known you since the fourth grade... they get mean.
Makeup became my habit. It was my relaxation time. And then it became an obsession. It had to be PERFECT! I spend hours getting ready just to go to the mall with friends. I probably had 20 different beauty magazine subscriptions. I spent all of my report card money on those shiny, sleek tubes and pots. And then I was bitter because my friends were angry for me being "prettier" than them. I didn't see that. I was jealous of Amy's bright blue eyes and Rebecca's big boobs. I was flat on both sides, awkward... and all I could do was put on that makeup.
My senior year was weird. All of a sudden there were guys I barely knew talking to me. Sometimes they spread nasty rumors or said sexually aggressive things that I tried my best to brush off. Other times they vied for my attention and that was confusing as all hell. At least with the teasing, I knew how to deal with it. I was 17 years old and had barely ever flirted with a boy. Girls? That was another story. But not boys. I didn't get it. And because I didn't get it... they would generally give up and I would fall into the category of "Honorary Dude." The girls hated me even more.
Makeup used to be a tool, but now it was my safety net when the GIRLS turned on me worse than the bullies.
I got to college. I made it to NYC and started school. I brought with me a sizable collection of cosmetics to keep me on point. All of a sudden I was going to parties with roommates and meeting guys and girls and everything. I almost forgot about the makeup for a while. I just kind of let it go to the wayside--- some concealer here, some mascara there. Except when we went out. That was the best. I started doing makeup for other girls. Then I started a very small "business" doing makeup and hair. Eventually it became my trade and I acquired a lot of clients. So what could I do? I would get clients on the street, in the subway, in class, at the bar... My face was my only advertisement!
I evolved from Maybelline to things that were more expensive. Some months I chose between cigarettes or lipgloss, the Ramen Noodle diet... or eyeshadow. I wanted so badly to be one of those New York City fashionistas that I saw in the magazines. I drank slimfast only to be super thin and wore too much black eyeliner while hanging out in Burlesque clubs. I smoke cigarettes and wore red lipstick. I loved "Heroin Chic." I evolved as I got older and learned more and more. I befriended other makeup artists and they taught me more tricks. I became really quite good.
But deep down, I hated the way that I looked. Why couldn't my brows grow in to that perfect arch that I carefully sketched on every day? Why were my lips so pale and why the fuck were my lashes so light? Why didn't those freckles go away? Why wasn't I prettier!?
Then there was "Max." I will refer to him as Max because he is a Maximum Douche. I met "Max" at a party where my roommates and I had had Belvedere and Patron poured down our throats all night by handsome upperclassmen. Girls always drink well at those parties, you know. The guys busted out the good stuff. It tasted like nail polish removed, but I finally had FRIENDS. And everyone loved my carefully painted mask. So I ended up giving Max my number and then he texted me to come "hang out" one night. Of course you know where that went. But from then on, he would call or text me at weird hours saying things like, "Get cleaned up, put some makeup on, and come up." Excuse me? Well, I was still convinced I wasn't pretty enough to get better dick elsewhere, so I actually did it. That was a 2 semester long mistake. He didn't like how I looked, ME, he liked the image that I created. He liked my mask.
I have been told shit like, "You look like shit!" when I finally don't wear any makeup, or "Wow, it's cool you're okay enough with your face to not wear any makeup," from awed boys who didn't think my face was pretty enough by itself. Or, the most hurtful, "Holy shit! You go up like 5 points when you put that stuff on!" Um... ouch? Who wants to be a 5 when with some hard work, they can be a solid 9? That was the mentality.
Or there was my favorite-- Passing my close friend with his buddies in the dorm halls. I wasn't wearing makeup, scurrying off to a test... Didn't even say hello. He could have let me walk by. But no, he stopped me to talk. Then as I was walking away, I heard him mutter either "She's usually hot" or "She used to be hot." Fuck you.
So even now, I spend absurd amounts of money on cosmetics. Because I love them and they make me feel pretty and pampered! But why didn't I feel pretty before? Years of being told I wasn't and years of using it as a crutch. That sucks to realize.
Today, I am comfortable in my own skin. I've done a lot of introspection to get to this point, really. I still don't feel awesome going out without eyebrows on and my dark circles make me self conscious. But I have stopped rushing to put preliminary makeup on to avoid people seeing me in the morning. Sometimes it hurts when people don't think natural me is as beautiful as made up me.
But you've got to realize. Makeup is a toy. It's like those sexy 900$ pumps. You can't wear it all the time. You can't depend on it to feel pretty. Sure you look amazing with it, but why can't you accept that you look amazing without it too? I have come to accept that I will never be perfectly contoured with dark lashes and perfect arches, cherry red lips and flawlessly flushed cheeks... pigmented eyes. That's not how humans look. I think we all need to accept that. Makeup is a toy, not a daily prescription.
So as an act of solidarity among sister, I have been working hard to accept and love my unadorned face. This is from that day in the hallway, only a few months ago. What do YOU really look like? I'm okay with me. Let's all try to be.
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