Un-made-up

I forgot to put on makeup the other day.

I know, that seems like a really banal thing to say. Probably even to notice at all.

But in that moment - the moment that I was in my car, halfway to work, making the realization that I had forgotten that step in my usual morning routine - it was something of a revelation.

You see, I have an interesting relationship with makeup, as I have an interesting relationship with my own self image. It is a relationship, like most in this world, that has grown, changed, and morphed countless times over the years.

Growing up, my relationship with makeup, like most girls, I would imagine, was shaped by what I saw in the women in my life. My mother wore minimal makeup, and only for work or a special occasion. I absolutely went through a phase of loving to play with her makeup - the blush, the lipstick… but she had very few products, so my experimentation was limited. And that was totally normal.

In adolescence, as my peers began wearing makeup to school, to dances, to parties, I found myself wanting to try new and different things, but never really ventured out of the minimalist influence that had been my foundation (pun completely intended).

Even though I didn’t emulate the trends and styles I was beginning to see around me, I did take notice. I noticed not only the styles, but who was trying them. And how they were perceived. I noticed how the world spoke about the young women around me who wore a full beat, teased their hair, had long, red nails.

There were very fine lines between “too much,” “too little,” and “just right.” And those lines weren’t static. They moved, they blurred. Sometimes based on the situation, sometimes merely based on the popularity of the person.

I noticed it all, and opted out. I never wore makeup to school. And I was okay with it. I had enough other concerns about myself, where I fit in the popularity rankings (pretty low…), the academic rankings (pretty high…) and how my body compared to the other girls, what with all of the other changes that happen to us during our teenage years. So I followed the example I’d been shown at home - I wore makeup for prom, for dance recitals, for weddings… but that was it.

And that’s how it stayed for a very long time.

It wasn’t until adulthood, as other identity and self image changes and struggles emerged, that I began to explore makeup. And at that stage in my exploration and questioning, it took a pretty strong hold. Colors, techniques, pallets and brushes… they helped me to show up in the world in ways that I did not feel strong enough to do bare-faced. To the point that I felt weird and awkward and borderline naked leaving the house without mascara and maybe a little highlighter.

Makeup became something of a mask - a way for me to hide my insecurities and show up when my confidence faltered. Using colors and creams, powders and paints to alter, enhance, or otherwise adjust my natural features became a way for me to show up as someone a little different, someone more socially acceptable, a “normal” adult female.

Over time, I have found a little more of my own style with makeup, and even now have preferences on brands and products. Honestly, I laughed at myself the first time I found myself telling someone what my favorite mascara was. Even one short year prior I’d never have thought I’d have a favorite of ANY makeup product! Somewhere along the way, I was able to discover products and routines that worked for me and made me feel like the mask I was putting on each morning with brushes and powders was less of a hiding place and more of an authentic representation.

And then last week, on a rushed morning of trying to get everyone where they needed to be when they needed to be there… I forgot.

And it startled me for a moment. Not only because I am such a creature of habit that missing a part of my routine felt peculiar, but also because I worried how I would be perceived. Will people think I was lazy or tired or sick? Will I be perceived as not put together? Unprofessional? Somehow less adult-y? Because the truth is, previous times that I have forgotten makeup (admittedly quite a while ago, and you’ll see why in a moment), I was asked if I was okay. “You look pale/sick/not your normal self - are you okay?” All because I showed up as my natural, unpainted self.

So I admit, I was worried. Worried that I would not be able to be confident that day. Worried that others would notice and judge my natural features and imperfections. Worried that who I am without enhancement wasn’t good enough.

And you want to know what happened?

Nothing.

Not a single thing.

No one said anything. No one treated me any differently. No one questioned my judgement or abilities, my commitment to my work or family. My health or wellbeing.

Nothing.

And all of that nothing? It was quietly, unexpectedly freeing.

It showed me that the mask wasn’t the only thing people saw when they looked at me. That the confidence that makeup had given me to show up in the world… was not only on the surface. What started as a defense mechanism, a way to hide and masquerade in this world, had actually taught me to show up as myself.

Now don’t get me wrong. I put on mascara the next morning. Because I wanted to. And because I truly do like how it looks.

But it’s nice to know that I can be okay with myself if I forget to sometimes. Or maybe even if I choose to forget.