I wanted to do something that had been impossible for me my whole life: look in the mirror, without make-up, and see myself as beautiful. I’m sure that if I had deep burn scars, or lost limbs, or leprosy, I wouldn’t even need to do this. I would look back and long for the face I have now, however plain it may be. I would have inner beauty, and not be so vain. But I don’t have those things, and deep down, I wish I had that innate gratitude as well. Ugh. I’ll save improving my inner beauty for another week.
This was my week-long effort to achieve a little love for my face (which so desperately needed it.)
I know several women who will not be seen in public, and sometimes even their own homes, without make-up. While I’d like to believe that I’m an earth-loving-hippie-with-a-free-spirit that plants flowers every day, then picks them and gives them to homeless people as I sing on a hilltop like Julie Andrews; sadly I was actually one of the women in that aforementioned category. I could not go out of the house without at least some make-up applied to my face in efforts to make me look as effortlessly pretty as possible.
Sigh. I wish I was naturally pretty.
Reasons I’m not naturally pretty to begin with:
- I get blemishes (YIKES. STRIPES. FRUIT-STRIPED GUM!) ”Getting blemishes” is an euphemism here, so just go with me, because I hate the other words– specifically the “z” word. I like saying, “getting blemishes” because it makes you sound like you already have perfect bone structure to begin with, and are gorgeous, and these are just temporary problems that will eventually heal so you can return back to your gorgeous self.
The problem is, even without these “blemishes” (when my skin is having a fantastically clear day), I still don’t have perfect bone structure:
- My forehead is too big, and
- my eyes get dark circles underneath them, and
- my nose is too sharp and pointy, and
- I wish my lips were fuller, and
- why do I feel like make-up will somehow magically transform these genetic “gifts”?
One day, I finally had enough. I became suspicious (because some people occasionally tell me I’m decent looking–when I’m wearing the right outfit) that maybe some of my self-disdain was *perhaps psychological–probably not, because that’s ridiculous–but I wanted to try this experiment anyways: One week. No make-up.
Day 1: Are you kidding me? Everyone is staring at me because I’m hideous. Or they’re looking away trying not to laugh. I can’t tell. Some people are looking at me, some people aren’t. I can’t remember if this is how most days go. Do some people always look at you or not look at you? What’s the appropriate ratio of people looking at me? I can’t remember. Maybe I should start next week.
Also, I try to further conceal my new ‘condition’ (I call “no make-up” my ‘condition’ now) by wearing sweats all day for some reason. Maybe if I am all-over ugly, the no make-up portion will just be over-looked. I don’t understand this logic either. I also eat a corn-dog for lunch. Regret=Maximum Capacity.
Day 2: Decide that I’m too pale and vow to start soaking up some sun to replace make-up forever. Convince myself that I have a slight chance of looking like the girls who are on the posters glued to the walls of American Eagle. They don’t look like they’re wearing any make-up at all. Yep. I look just like them. I stop combing my hair to get the ‘beachy’ look. Someone is going to hire me to be a super model, I just know it. My dysmorphia has now completely swung to the opposite side of the pendulum. I’m prettier than everyone!! (In my mind.) Then, I turn a corner and encounter a mirror. Pendulum swings back.
Day 3: I read an article about skin cancer, give up soaking sun, and buy a hat. I notice that the hat also shadows part of my face, and I’m happy. I buy 2 more hats to rotate.
Day 4: Hats are kind of like cheating, so, hats off– I decide to hang them up in the closet. I feel good about eating more fruits and veggies. I feel good that I gave up hats. I feel like I’m being honest with myself. I decide this is one of the best feelings in the world. Honesty. Wow. Refreshing.
Day 5: I forget about what other people are thinking for a minute. I try a new technique to forget how uncomfortable I feel: I try to find beauty in everyone I encounter. This is remarkably comforting. It turns out all humans are pretty in some way or another. It’s weird how the inner-beauty starts to form as an effect of this technique, and I didn’t even have to dedicate an additional week.
Day 6: I feel slightly more comfortable. I don’t think about it very much anymore. I’m getting through this. My face is clearing up. I notice how much I like my eyes. I feel prettier when I smile. I try to smile more.
Day 7: This feels good. I could do this longer.
Day 8: I happily apply my make-up, but for the first time in a long time, I feel prettier. The make-up genuinely looks prettier. Some might argue that it’s because I focused on other people besides myself, and stopped being so vain, but I’m almost certain it was because of my killer new lipstick.
*I’m going to unfairly place all the blame directly on someone, who once said to me, “well darling, you know, you’re not classically beautiful, and that’s okay.” Classically? As in… scientifically? As in, after researching the topography of my face, you could not reasonably put me the same species as beautiful people?? WTF mom?
