Comfortable in Your Own SkinSidetracked Sisters

I remember my first foray into the land of makeup…

Everyday Me

Julie and I walked downtown. It was late summer and a new school year was approaching–7th grade. We went to Langmack’s Drug Store (think Ace Hardware, not Sephora) and stood before a wall of pastel powders, concealing pastes, and sparkling creams. Julie chose a pinkish shade of a liquid Covergirl blush. I chose the same brand that was more peachy. Covergirl. The name seemed appropriate for girls shopping for our first cosmetics.

Wednesday, September 25, 2022, 4:24 pm

This wasn’t grandma’s lipstick abruptly rubbed on my cheeks to “give me a little color”.

This initial memory is just the beginning of my addiction (a little too strong of a word perhaps) to make-up. You see, I’m one of those who feel almost naked without something on my face. Even during the Covid lockdown, I continued my full-face routine. Every. Day.

I have occasionally tried to go without but always come back.

The first time was as a young adult. I went on an Outward Bound canoeing trip up in the Boundary Waters. I chose to go bare-faced. When we got back to the base facility on our last day, everyone showered and we had a last meal together. I remember one of the young men acknowledged that I wore make-up. As I walked into the dining hall, he looked at me, his eyebrows raised, a grin on his lips as he moved his open hand in a circle in front of his face. I took this to mean that he approved of my “new” look.

That sealed it for me. I figured a non-invested, objective individual definitely thought that I looked better with even just a bit of makeup.

As I sit here 30 years later, I recognize that that is a lot of power to give to a young man whose name I don’t even remember.

Natural Me

Wednesday, September 24, 2022, 10:40 am

Now that I think about it, I have posted many photos of me “fresh” faced–exercising or walking with the dogs in the morning. But that somehow feels different.

Leveled Down Me

I am actually, right now, experimenting with the concept of my “identity” at my side gig. I am working at a local business that is very labor intensive. When I get ready in the morning, I prioritize my daily run with my dogs. Since I need to leave my house by 5:30, I have my lunch made the night before and have about 20 minutes to prep “me”. I wash my face, brush my teeth, put on moisturizer, and dust on some face powder (I hate the feel of my sticky eyelids later in the day). Then I put my hair back in a ponytail and slap my favorite “Life Is Good” hat with the golden retriever roasting marshmallows over a campfire on the front. Sports bra, yoga wear, and a light Badger’s fleece jacket complete my appearance for the day.

I feel like a different person in this job.

Incognito.

When I get home at the end of the day, I shower, and…sometimes put on makeup! It makes me feel like me. When I look in the mirror, I see the self that I want to see.

These days it takes a little more than a swipe and a smudge of grandma’s lipstick to put color in my cheeks.

Come to think of it. The grandma that I’m referring to in this instance always wore makeup. Always.

A coincidence?

I think not.