Anyone else trapped inside, cowering from yet another winter storm and anxiously awaiting your pizza delivery so you’ve got a bit more of an excuse to be drinking wine on the sofa in your pajamas? Just me? Oh well. I realized this morning that April is just around the corner, and that means it’s been nearly three months since I (mostly) stopped wearing makeup.
I honestly wish I could give you some deep and meaningful reason about how I was making a statement on unrealistic societal standards of beauty, or at least something “woke” about how social media warps our self-image. These are both very trendy discussion topics at the moment, and are issues that need addressing and certainly impact the way we view ourselves and others. Alas, my resolution was born of vanity.
Now I’ve never been much of a makeup girl, but I have always enjoyed the way a bold brow or a good highlight can put the finishing touch on a look. After several bare-faced, old-workout-legging-clad years drowning in papers and projects, I swore to myself that in New York I would be my best, Samantha Jones-inspired self. After all, working in the fashion industry carries a certain stigma around how you portray yourself. My ego loved it. My skin, on the other hand, did not.
By the time I went home for the holidays, my acne was worse than that awkward just-hit-puberty-but-don’t-own-concealer-yet yearbook photo I have hidden away where it will hopefully never again see the light of day. The saving grace I didn’t see coming? The flu. After a bedridden week and a few days outside (really outside, with trees and minimal pollution), my face began clearing up. However, I think my acne was even more excited about my return to New York than my friends were. Despite the fact that I had just spent months teaching myself how to actually do a full face of makeup, that was all it took for me to take up a New Year’s resolution and (metaphorically) hurl my makeup brushes out of the window. Newly perfected smokey eye and Kardashian contour be damned.
Now, everyone has a messy bun and sweatpants day when you just can’t be bothered, and I actually take a kind of perverse pleasure in going about my day looking like the thing from under the bridge. But I’ve always felt a little off in a ~ full lewk ~ if my face doesn’t also look the part. I won’t lie, I worked A LOT of athleisure for the first week or so. But as I became a little less taken aback by the under eye circles and unruly eyebrows peering back at me, my naked face became less of an “oh god what is that” stark contrast to my outfits.
Of course I still did my makeup for the odd night out, and I actually enjoyed it more. It became a bit of a novelty and less of a chore. The other 90% of the time, I rocked my pimples and imperfections with the occasional swipe of mascara and lipgloss if I had a meeting or an after-work event. Nobody shot me a Devil Wears Prada-esque disapproving glare as I carried my coffee into the studio (although, someone I’d seen around for months did ask me if I was new the one day I went to work in full makeup which was a slight ego blow).
So, three (ish) months down the line and here we are.
There’s a certain lightness to being at brunch laughing until you cry- and then rubbing your eyes freely, or feeling the breeze on bare cheeks instead of through a layer of concealer and blush. To pulling together an outfit you adore, and not even glancing at your face to pick apart the way your top lip could be a little fuller, or your cheekbones more defined. While my caffeine addiction and tendency to still occasionally fall asleep without washing my face mean that my skin is by no definition clear and glowing, I know that it’s something only a regular sleep schedule and a balanced diet will fix. (And we all know that’s not happening anytime soon).
While it wasn’t a magical key to model skin, I have no intention of going back to feeling obliged to reach for the concealer and eyelash curler before leaving the house. I post Instagram stories without stopping to second guess if I should, since I don’t have a face on- but I still impulse buy the blue mascara. I suppose my takeaway is that, at the end of the day, it’s about finding the balance that works for you- like ordering green juice AND mimosas for breakfast.