Exhibit P: The Make-up Conundrum

My father was always very vocal about his disapproval of makeup.  If he caught you putting some on he would casually ask if that much “war paint” was necessary for going to school.  I would give him a world class eye roll.  If you don’t have a teenage daughter, you might not ever have experienced this.  Here is gif to demonstrate.

  In my mind I always imagined a horde of done up women, armed to the teeth with cosmetics going out to conquer the world of men.  Now I see that this isn’t far from the truth, sadly the standards of beauty, especially for women are set so impossibly high that we all fall short of the mark.  But if you don’t at least try to look that way, most people dismiss you as uninteresting and unimportant.  As if high heels (another of my father’s peeves, medieval torture devices, he dubbed them) and red lips have anything to do intellect and ability.  (Putting my soapbox away)

As a result, I never used cosmetics, although I desperately wanted to.  My mother only wore makeup to church and sometimes when she and dad went out to dinner.  He insists he prefers her sans embellishment.  Maybe he does.  But I grew up believing most men thought only silly girls wore makeup.  That men in general preferred a more natural look.  Aside from Nick Offerman, my father and a few other select males, I don’t feel like this is typical. 

When I was sixteen I was invited to a Mary Kay makeover party.  I was thrilled.  Finally someone to teach me this sacred skill!  And they would do it for free!!  The plump, cheerful makeup artist paid particular attention to me, when she was done she leaned back and surveyed her handiwork.

                “Oh, Weed,” she said, “you would be so beautiful if only you would wear makeup.”  This backhanded compliment was a sore spot for me for years.  I bit back a “you would be so skinny if only you would diet” retort that my sassy sixteen year old brain came up with on the spot.  And mentally complimented myself for my maturity and restraint.  I didn’t realize she was trying to sell me anything until I was handed an order form and brochure.  My heart sank.  $14 for mascara.  Clearly this was not going to be a repeat of my bubblegum experience.  I speechlessly considered the prices and quantity of necessary makeup to make me beautiful, which she had dutifully circled for me.  Then decided my father was right and I didn’t need it.  I went home and tearfully scrubbed the cosmetic masterpiece from my face. 

                By some miracle I never had a problem with acne.  My sisters weren’t so lucky.  Teenage acne hit them with a vengeance.  I like to think this was their punishment for being better than me in every other department.  My mother was no help, since she didn’t wear cover up or foundation ever.  So Gummy, Nana and Beadle were left to flounder unaided through the painful process of learning to apply makeup.  Often coming out too pale or too shiny.  I could share some pictures, but one of them would undoubtedly punch me in the ovaries for it.  My father insisted the best treatments were natural ones.  Like honey or baking soda paste.  Nothing makes you feel more beautiful than crusty baking soda face.

                It wasn’t until college that I began to dabble in the forbidden art form.  My sweet hairstylist friend convinced me that my blond eyelashes could use some mascara.  I felt like I was using robotic surgical instruments with no prior instruction.  I pinched my eyelid with a lash curler and that was almost the end of the experiment.  After 15 years, I’m still not sure I’m doing it right.  I now wear eye makeup.  Sometimes.  I lack complete confidence in my application technique.  Lipstick, however, is going way too far.  Lipstick makes me feel like a clown who is slowly suffocating on baby powder. 

                Although I don’t subscribe to my parent’s all makeup makes you look ridiculous theory, I have to admit to a little bit of pride when my daughter told me mascara feels like sticks glued to your eyelids and threw the container away, insisting she looks fine the way she is. 

Me, with and without makeup at 19.  Maybe my dad has a point.