This past January marked a whole month of me not wearing any makeup. This may not seem like a very big deal, but for reasons I’m slowly beginning to understand, it was for me.
A few months back a co-worker of mine asked why I still wear makeup and try to be alluring if I’m married. At first I was offended by his question. I felt he was implying the only reason I wore makeup was for other people- mainly men. I quickly responded that I get all dolled up for me and no one else. It was the only logical answer. Then he asked “So when you’re home alone do you still put on makeup?” He got me on that one. The truth is absolutely not. I’m content looking like a bag lady if no one else is going to see me. But when I thought back to my childhood, it made perfect sense.
I was always bullied as a youth. The bullies were usually boys. I know what you’re thinking; they only picked on me because they liked me. But this carried on until my teens, and being the new and least popular girl in school, I sensed there was more to it. All the girls at my new junior high had perms and wore makeup. I on the other hand, wore hand me down boy’s clothes and knew nothing about makeup. I felt like an outsider and my classmates (especially the boys) delighted in feeding those fears. When I turned 13 I bought makeup with all my birthday money. I didn’t know how to wear it, but I knew if I was ever going to fit in, this was a necessary step. We moved again before I could test my experiment.
It soon donned on me it wasn’t just makeup- it was my whole appearance that needed work. I started putting more effort into the clothes I wore. I even guilted an aunt into buying me an expensive pair of L.A. Gear tennis shoes so I’d fit in better at my new school. Any babysitting money went to “ Operation get hot.” I noticed boys started liking me. I would take them hitting on me instead of threatening me any time. At a point in my life when so much felt out of control, I could control how I looked- and how I looked seemed to control other people. The only person who wasn’t so impressed was my dad, who often told me I looked like a whore. I didn’t care what my dad thought- teenagers often don’t. It was all about how my peers viewed me, and I was making great strides.
As I reached adulthood I had my appearance down pat. I was never stylish per se, but I knew how to make the most of what I had and what I could afford. And I knew how to cast a spell over men. Men with girlfriends, married men- it didn’t matter. As I watched my mom’s third marriage slowly disintegrate, I didn’t believe in love. I couldn’t make a man care for me- I wouldn’t have trusted it anyway. But I could attract a man and they were always sweet whilst trying to get what they wanted.
Looking back it’s obvious how extremely f-cked up this mentality was, however it was my honest view at the time. There were likely some really great guys who never stood a chance because I thought they were all the same, and the bad boys never failed to disappoint.
When my co-worker asked me that question, 20 years had passed. I now had/have a wonderful husband who loves me- even prefers me without makeup. I have great friends whom I trust and care for deeply. Yet I was still hanging on to the fear of not being accepted if I bared my face- it was like baring my soul. It was no longer about feeling power over men, just me giving them too much power. Still caring too much about what everyone else thinks. The irony is most of the clothes I wear now come from Goodwill. Apparently I’m alright with not impressing people in that regard.
After a month without makeup I realized the world isn’t such a scary place. I even get compliments about my skin or my smile now. As this experiment comes to a close, I finally understand that all that ever really mattered was how I felt about myself. I still get dolled up on occasion, but when I do, rest assured, it’s for the fun of it- not to fill a void:)