Making up

For the last few years, I’ve had a love/hate relationship with make-up. Growing up in Houston, land of big hair and panty hose, it wasn’t really even a question. Of course you wear make up, starting in your teens or even before — even if the stultifying heat and humidity meant it dripped off in the first few minutes. When I moved to New York, I was pleased to find it was more of a personal decision, but I still leaned more often toward using it rather than foregoing (except for during exercise or on lazy weekend mornings), even though I’ve been blessed with the kind of skin that often draws compliments from strangers.

When my husband and I began our courtship, he assured me I looked lovely without it. (And he hasn’t changed his mind, thank goodness.) When I moved to near-Berkeley, basically hippie-central USA, local cultural norms argued against it. When I had our son, I was happy just to get the time to take a shower, much less stand in front of a mirror and focus on myself for a few minutes. So, I haven’t been wearing it regularly.

Since moving to New York, a few factors have kicked in. The dry, cold air (and pregnancy hormones, no doubt) have brought out red splotchiness in my complexion. The gorgeous, stylish girls I see on the train, and on the streets, have me aspiring to take advantage of my natural assets. And, now that I have my husband’s help, I realize that I need to (and can) take back time to take care better care of myself — healthy diet, vigorous exercise. Why not make-up?

So, since I can’t find my make-up since moving here (it must be in a box somewhere, like so many other missing items), I started shopping — my search complicated by the fact that we are on a major economy drive. I hit multiple online shops, and sometimes went so far as to put things in my virtual shopping cart, before closing out the window and determining it was just too expensive. One evening, before picking up my son, I stopped into a drug store and cased out the colors and brands. But, there, too, I walked out without buying anything.

Finally, on Friday night, I was invited by my ex-boss to attend a little get-together with my former work colleagues at her loft apartment. What with the general weight gain, the pregnancy, and my nervousness about seeing old colleagues again, a little make-up confidence boost was in order. At the drugstore on the way into work, I picked up foundation, powder, eyeliner, eye shadow and blush, for the grand total of around $50. Not much by make-up standards, but a lot for a discretionary purchase. But, guess what? I’m so happy I did it.

My love/hate relationship has partly to do with my struggle over what using make-up means. Does it indicate that I’m unhappy with my appearance and want to cover up, somehow? Or is it part of a take-care-of-myself beauty regimen like diet, exercise, moisturizer, tooth-brushing, etc.? I think for me, interpretation #2 is appropriate, and I’m adding a few minutes to my morning routine — if not every day, at least fairly often. Because I’m determined to love myself.