I’m going to preface this post by stating that I’m not in
any way against the wearing of makeup. This post is about my journey, and it in
no way affects my view of yours.
It’s been about six months since I stopped wearing makeup
every day. Why? What sane female of 2015 America would ever say “to hell with
makeup!”? (Of course, I’m speaking about those of us that grew up wearing it
since our mom’s gave us the okay! YESSS. FINALLY!) In our America, we’re
inundated by magazines, billboards, advertisements, movies – any outlet you can
imagine – showing beautiful, thin, pore-less women with flawless, radiant skin,
perfect teeth, perfect hair, and sparkling eyes. From a young girl, we’re
taught by society that that’s who we should be.
Perfect makeup? Check.
Nails? Check.
Greys? OH NO.
Anything short of this can be met with comments like “When I
look at her nails I seriously wonder if she loves herself.”
That’s a real thing. Someone said that once.
We’re being taught that we should strive to be this perfect
woman who, quite frankly, doesn’t exist. We’re taught that we aren’t good
enough, that all signs of aging should be hidden, and that we should play up
our features to feel good about ourselves. It works. Who doesn’t feel great
after a day of pampering at the salon and leaving with that salon-perfect hair
that you can never replicate at home. We love putting on new outfits and
leaving the house with perfectly applied makeup. Duh. It feels awesome!
Here’s my fundamental question:
If you were to take it
all away. How would you feel about yourself?
When I discovered my answer, I ditched the makeup.
It was about six months ago that I decided I wanted to try to
go without makeup for a week. Makeup that’s truly natural and doesn’t have
harmful ingredients is expensive. (I could write an entire post about how I
felt when I first realized my face powder was made with an ingredient that was
a known carcinogen) One week. Just to see what would happen. How would I feel?
Would anyone notice? Would my skin clear up? Those questions were quickly
answered. I felt not okay at all. I felt ugly in my own skin. I felt vulnerable
and exposed. I felt like I wasn’t enough. That led to more questions, like “who
am I to question what I look like?” I was given this body, this skin, yet I had
the audacity to question it? To feel bad about it? I’m a naturalist, a
gardener, a tree-hugging dirt-worshipper! (Old bumper sticker) I spend my days marveling
at all the beauty on Earth. I advocate a connection with it. When I see an
imperfect sunflower, tomato, or animal, I accept them as beautiful quirks in a
perfect world! It’s not even a question! Where do I fit into this? How can I
look to nature and everyone else in my life and accept them as they are without
a second thought, yet be so unable to accept myself? Just because I wasn’t
wearing makeup?
I just wasn’t okay with that.
Makeup was great, but I realized we needed to take a break.
I made a deal with myself. It wasn’t going back on my face until I learned to love myself
without it.
I’m used to not wearing it now, and I even have “pretty”
days. (C’mon, girls, you know what days I’m talking about.) I still can’t
decide if I want to cover my greys and I do feel a bit insecure if I have to
walk through a mall to get to my favorite store, but overall, I’m good with a
dash of mascara and lip balm. I might even sneak in some powder and gold-dipped
eye shadow if I’m feeling fancy.
Obligatory makeup-less selfie:
