Like a lot
of people my age, I wear makeup. And like a lot of people my age, I have a
complicated relationship with my face. You know that Sylvia Plath poem,
“Mirror”, where she examines her face in a lake, “searching the reaches for
what she really is”? Yeah, same, but instead of a lake, I have a dusty Ikea
thing that tends to fall off my dressing-table late at night. It may sound narcissistic,
but I spend a lot of time looking into the mirror – are my eyebrows wonky? Is
one eye bigger than another? IS THAT A HAIR ON MY UPPER LIP? The struggle to be
pretty usually involves getting up much earlier than my flatmate and setting to
work on my pale, blotchy, tired-looking visage.
But now, the
caveat to the expected rant about how “pretty hurts”: I LOVE makeup. I love
matt foundation, blacker-than-black eyeliner flicks, red lipstick, pink
lipstick... ok, any lipstick really. I love applying makeup and turning myself
into someone glamorous and high powered. When I do my makeup
properly, I like to think I give out serious “This lipstick was eighteen euro,
don’t mess with me!” vibes. So it’s a complicated relationship I have with
something that is, of course, an instrument of patriarchy -- a billion-dollar
industry that thrives on insecurity. The roots of the cosmetics industry are
steeped in sexism; when we are told a new eyebrow pencil is a “must have”, the
implication is that our own eyebrows are unseemly and somehow wrong. So we buy
into this; of course we do. I buy into it too - but not comfortably.
I’m not sure
how many people share my feelings – for many people, it is simply a part of
their daily lives to varying degrees. I have friends whom I’ve never seen
without makeup – and friends who look alien-like to me with even a hint of
mascara. I’m somewhere in between – there are days where I simply am not
bothered with the routine, and head to college bare-faced. But those days are
numbered.
The trouble
with makeup (aside from the whole capitalist patriarchy thing) is it’s
addictive. In my first and second years of college, I regularly barrelled in to
class, uncaring that I looked not unlike a zombie. This is, amazingly, de rigeur; recent campaigns for girls to
“go natural” can be seen flying around Facebook every so often, from the
#NoMakeupSelfie to Lydia Bright’s recently launched campaign. We are bombarded
with article about how young women are ruining their skin/self-esteem/chance to
find a man by wearing too much makeup. It’s confusing enough: makeup is bad…but
not-makeup is also bad? After much consideration, I have decided that I don’t care.
And I believe we, as a society,
shouldn’t care who “applies their makeup with a trowel” or who doesn’t know
which end of an eyeliner pen is up. God forbid a woman should do something to
make her feel good about herself… It’s not a key issue in feminist discourse,
but all the same, it’s important to remember the positive impact make-up has on
women’s self-worth. Yes, it stems from patriarchy and YES, it’s an evil global
industry. But is your mascara-obsessed friend going to listen to this? Nope,
because she likes looking awake at 9am. Am I harming my chances of the ride
because I ignore the “lips or eyes” rule? Possibly: but I’d rather not be
involved with someone that shallow anyway. While I’m uncomfortable with the
background and reasoning behind the cosmetics industry, I nonetheless will
continue to reach for my powder and eyeliner each morning: because it feels
good, dammit.
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