Remember the days when you were young and you COULDN’T FUCKING WAIT until your mom said you were old enough to wear makeup outside of the house… and with permission (because getting in trouble for playing with it while mommy wasn’t looking was becoming awfully tiresome).
Makeup, for me at least, was a slightly more grown up form of make believe. I could spackle my face in as much rainbow diarrhea as it would hold, and it didn’t matter. There was nothing I was trying to hide, just enhance- but generally before I learned the ropes I ended up looking more like MiMi from Drew Carrey than the hot ass super model in the magazine I was going for.
It was fun to experiment and play around with colors and styles… but there were a few unfortunate side effects- such as plucked within an inch of their life eyebrows and foundation that made me look like a corpse- but every time I put it on I got a rush of excitement. What look was I going for that day?
And EVERY time I went to the store, another rush of excitement to check out the makeup isle for something new to smear on myself and pretend to look hot. I am quite positive that the employees at Wal-Mart were none too pleased that they had no “testers” but found most of their lipsticks and eyeshadows opened.
Sorry about that. In my defense, Wet & Wild is fucking cheap anyways and SHOULD be tested before bought, but I digress.
There was no real worrying about what brand to buy or what colors went perfectly with what skintone, or what might clash with something else. I didn’t give two shits. Makeup was fun, and just fun.
As the years went by, of course, things changed. And when things change- zits pop up. Nothing a little concealer can’t cover, right?
Once I became a mom, ALL of that changed. The fun, the experimentation, the excitement to put on makeup in the morning.
There was no time to experiment, no energy to. And with time came experience, and I knew that smearing neon blue eyeshadow on my lids made me look like a circus clown, no matter how “hot” the magazines swore the color was.
Instead of looking forward to putting on makeup, I started to dread it- and not because I disliked it- but because it took too damn long, or the kids would make sure to fuck something up in the middle of my process leaving me running around the house looking like a nutbar with only one eye lined. Makeup isn’t a time of fun, it’s a time of necessity- because no one, even myself, wants to see my face without it. As my friend would say, it’s “slapping on the old war paint” and preparing for battle.
I’m addicted to it, but it’s a slightly hateful addiction (other than my unhealthy obsession with black eyeliner. Don’t worry eyeliner, i’ll never talk bad about you).
Putting of on of course meant having to get it the hell off, UGH, more work. All this work to get it on only to work to get it off? Why don’t you just kill me now and get it over with?
I’m too damn old for the obnoxiously funky colors, as you’re supposed to be “age appropriate” once you have tiny humans following you around, y’know, to set a good example and shit- or maybe I just don’t feel like wasting the money to figure out if i’ll end up looking like a drag queen while wearing them or not.
I’m not trying to look daring anymore- i’m just trying to look GOOD. Sometimes i’ll settle for ok- but i’d like to look GREAT. AWESOME. I’d like to look how I felt back in the experimental MiMi makeup days. Who wouldn’t want to feel that way?
So that’s it. I’m taking it back. Makeup used to be fun and fun it will be again! Getting older, more stressed, busier, frantic, less lucid, or just plain old fashioned tired doesn’t necessarily mean we have to stop finding enjoyment in the things we used to think kicked ass- it just means every now and then we might need to remind ourselves that not everything that feels like a chore was always one.
Just do me a favor and don’t look at my face for a while… this could be ugly.
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