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| Half Make-up Face |
I've reached a point in my life where looking at the mirror is just Step 1 of doctoring my best artificial self that make-up can buy. I can't really trace the beginning of it but it's sort of ebbing its way slowly into everything that I can touch my hands upon. Like this morning, as I was getting my daughter Saanvi ready for school, I noticed a prominent red rash on her left cheek. It itched my senses to see my little girl, with her flawless child-like vibrance, to be sporting something as nasty as a huge blotch on her cheek. But the first visual that crossed my mind wasn't really a Sherlock-like mental timeline to backtrack to its source (as with most mommies), but visual flashcards of tools in my make-up kit that'd come in handy to conceal it. I stood there debating if it's too early to dab some wholesome foundation on her pink cheek and then it struck me.
I have turned into a make-up junkie...an f-ing Kardashian so to speak. (Ahem, minus the fan following ofcourse.)
I guess it must've started in college. You see, I have pale complexion and sad eyes. I needed a better college face. In my quest for the perfect outer-world face, over the years, I have devised a morning routine that'll get me through the day without hearing the words, "Oh, are you not well?" "Are you depressed? Your eyes... they're doing that thing." or "OMG, did a cat scratch your head?" This magic routine, although not as hard-hitting on time, takes a bunch of hand-picked products and gadgets. Needless to say, even if one of them is missing, like them dominoes, it all comes crumbling down and I just know I'm heading for disaster. I can recount at least three vacation memories which, although very much intended for a state of nirvana, started with a spike in heart rate and anxiety levels, cos I realized that I don't have my make-up primer or the multi-plug extension cord to my blow dryer. (Read agony aunt.)
My outer-world face is fairly predictable, like a uniform. I almost never look like I got a make-over (cos they scare the jeepers out of me). Sometimes, you'll see a pretty good crimson pout. On really good days, you'd see no kohl, hair worn off my face, earrings and dewy skin. And on really crappy days, an awful attempt at a winged eye-liner (picture my left eye chasing my right) or a nasty blotch of green all over my eyelids with a trampy lipstick. I mean if you ever look at me and feel tempted to ask me if my four-year old did my make-up for me, take my word for it. DON'T.
Elizabeth Taylor once said, "Pour yourself a drink, put on some lipstick, and throw yourself together." She got that right. Make-up to a woman (well, most women) is therapeutic. For me, the ritual of make-up is what I like to call my me-time, just some good ol' quality time getting my game face on and zoning out of the everyday grinds of an ordinary mum's life. For starters, it's an escape route. Remember this? You're having a couples' night and you're not really having the wildest of fun, listening to the men go on and on excitedly about "the game". Et voila! One of your other girl friends, a freakin' mind-reader, goes, "I gotta go to the ladies room." And you say, rather too quickly, "Oh, I'll come with! Need to brush my hair." And the men at the table exchange these looks, smirking to themselves, "Oh, there goes an hour unexplained. We'll call you when the food gets here." And one of them makes this casual remark, "You know, you don't need to look pretty for us!" They don't get it. But that remark — it gets you really peeved for some reason. It makes you wonder, "Do I really wear make-up to get the attention of my man, to be noticed, to get first dibs at cocktails from the bartender in a crowd, in other words, to have it my way? Or do I wear make-up to put myself out there among the sea of beautiful young women, unknowingly batting their eyelashes in conformity with vague beauty standards that even a teenage Beauty Youtuber would demonstrate with her shiny, happy Disney beauty box?
I'm not even going to pretend that all those allegations are not partially true for me but mostly, I wear make-up to play with all the possibilities that, at least on the surface, my face can offer. Cos while I find it very hard not to be cynical most of the times, at least my face can help brighten things up for me. And I need not reiterate that it is a super-fun ritual. It has even lowered its mystical quotient, so that an otherwise klutzy woman like me, who cannot sit still for an eye-liner, can now draw a perfectly curvy line on her eyelids. Make-up is for everyone. Or so it seems. Even if you thought you could just go #iwokeuplikethis or #nomakeup on Instagram, there'd be at least two products/hacks you'd be thinking of exploring before you can dare to show your raw, carefully-curated, au naturel self to the world.
But there are times, especially when you're sitting in a circle playing that self-introspective game, "If you could take only three things to a remote island, what would they be?", you have to ask yourself, "Can I live without making myself up? Can I bloody walk out that door, reacquainting myself to my bare skin in sunlight without having to feel naked? Can I revel in my dishevelled curls, small mouth, pools of under-eye darkness and all the tiny imperfections that make me who I am? Sure, maybe in a post-apocalyptic world, I could get used to the idea. Or when I'm lying down on the beach feeling one with nature, when a waterproof eyeliner just seems a bit much. (Then again, one of those aqua-coloured lines on the lower lids would look very zen-like.)
Nevertheless, I want to be able to teach my daughter, who's also a keen spectator of the art of face-painting, that it is important to accept who you are for every little detail that makes you YOU . I want to be able to teach her about the delicate balance between caring too much and not caring at all. Not sure if I can set a shining example though as I still struggle to come to terms with my real face. Maybe, getting to my mid-thirties, I also wear make-up as a war-paint against time, to be seen as I am, and not by the flaws that would take some wincing when seen on a reflective surface in bright lights. Maybe I wear it to save time from all the faux soul-searching with my mirror reflection, ones that start with, "Well, sure you've lost your natural twenties luminous skin. But look at what you've gained in wisdom."( Don't you hate wisdom?)
I hope one day I can show her, through example, that a face untethered from such worries is usually the most distinct, most breathable, most gleaming. And what we should really be after is finding comfort in our own skin before we go finding 5 dupes for Priyanka Chopra's Oscar lipstick.
And I hope one day, I wake up to that piece of wisdom and take it with me as I step out the door. I can only imagine how liberating that would be.
"If you could take only three things to a remote island, what would they be?"
Have you given this a thought? I'd love to hear from you in your comments...
I guess it must've started in college. You see, I have pale complexion and sad eyes. I needed a better college face. In my quest for the perfect outer-world face, over the years, I have devised a morning routine that'll get me through the day without hearing the words, "Oh, are you not well?" "Are you depressed? Your eyes... they're doing that thing." or "OMG, did a cat scratch your head?" This magic routine, although not as hard-hitting on time, takes a bunch of hand-picked products and gadgets. Needless to say, even if one of them is missing, like them dominoes, it all comes crumbling down and I just know I'm heading for disaster. I can recount at least three vacation memories which, although very much intended for a state of nirvana, started with a spike in heart rate and anxiety levels, cos I realized that I don't have my make-up primer or the multi-plug extension cord to my blow dryer. (Read agony aunt.)
My outer-world face is fairly predictable, like a uniform. I almost never look like I got a make-over (cos they scare the jeepers out of me). Sometimes, you'll see a pretty good crimson pout. On really good days, you'd see no kohl, hair worn off my face, earrings and dewy skin. And on really crappy days, an awful attempt at a winged eye-liner (picture my left eye chasing my right) or a nasty blotch of green all over my eyelids with a trampy lipstick. I mean if you ever look at me and feel tempted to ask me if my four-year old did my make-up for me, take my word for it. DON'T.
Elizabeth Taylor once said, "Pour yourself a drink, put on some lipstick, and throw yourself together." She got that right. Make-up to a woman (well, most women) is therapeutic. For me, the ritual of make-up is what I like to call my me-time, just some good ol' quality time getting my game face on and zoning out of the everyday grinds of an ordinary mum's life. For starters, it's an escape route. Remember this? You're having a couples' night and you're not really having the wildest of fun, listening to the men go on and on excitedly about "the game". Et voila! One of your other girl friends, a freakin' mind-reader, goes, "I gotta go to the ladies room." And you say, rather too quickly, "Oh, I'll come with! Need to brush my hair." And the men at the table exchange these looks, smirking to themselves, "Oh, there goes an hour unexplained. We'll call you when the food gets here." And one of them makes this casual remark, "You know, you don't need to look pretty for us!" They don't get it. But that remark — it gets you really peeved for some reason. It makes you wonder, "Do I really wear make-up to get the attention of my man, to be noticed, to get first dibs at cocktails from the bartender in a crowd, in other words, to have it my way? Or do I wear make-up to put myself out there among the sea of beautiful young women, unknowingly batting their eyelashes in conformity with vague beauty standards that even a teenage Beauty Youtuber would demonstrate with her shiny, happy Disney beauty box?
I'm not even going to pretend that all those allegations are not partially true for me but mostly, I wear make-up to play with all the possibilities that, at least on the surface, my face can offer. Cos while I find it very hard not to be cynical most of the times, at least my face can help brighten things up for me. And I need not reiterate that it is a super-fun ritual. It has even lowered its mystical quotient, so that an otherwise klutzy woman like me, who cannot sit still for an eye-liner, can now draw a perfectly curvy line on her eyelids. Make-up is for everyone. Or so it seems. Even if you thought you could just go #iwokeuplikethis or #nomakeup on Instagram, there'd be at least two products/hacks you'd be thinking of exploring before you can dare to show your raw, carefully-curated, au naturel self to the world.
But there are times, especially when you're sitting in a circle playing that self-introspective game, "If you could take only three things to a remote island, what would they be?", you have to ask yourself, "Can I live without making myself up? Can I bloody walk out that door, reacquainting myself to my bare skin in sunlight without having to feel naked? Can I revel in my dishevelled curls, small mouth, pools of under-eye darkness and all the tiny imperfections that make me who I am? Sure, maybe in a post-apocalyptic world, I could get used to the idea. Or when I'm lying down on the beach feeling one with nature, when a waterproof eyeliner just seems a bit much. (Then again, one of those aqua-coloured lines on the lower lids would look very zen-like.)
Nevertheless, I want to be able to teach my daughter, who's also a keen spectator of the art of face-painting, that it is important to accept who you are for every little detail that makes you YOU . I want to be able to teach her about the delicate balance between caring too much and not caring at all. Not sure if I can set a shining example though as I still struggle to come to terms with my real face. Maybe, getting to my mid-thirties, I also wear make-up as a war-paint against time, to be seen as I am, and not by the flaws that would take some wincing when seen on a reflective surface in bright lights. Maybe I wear it to save time from all the faux soul-searching with my mirror reflection, ones that start with, "Well, sure you've lost your natural twenties luminous skin. But look at what you've gained in wisdom."( Don't you hate wisdom?)
I hope one day I can show her, through example, that a face untethered from such worries is usually the most distinct, most breathable, most gleaming. And what we should really be after is finding comfort in our own skin before we go finding 5 dupes for Priyanka Chopra's Oscar lipstick.
And I hope one day, I wake up to that piece of wisdom and take it with me as I step out the door. I can only imagine how liberating that would be.
"If you could take only three things to a remote island, what would they be?"
Have you given this a thought? I'd love to hear from you in your comments...
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