I love makeup, like I really really love makeup. I have a whole room dedicated to beauty – it’s one of my true passions.
But lately, something strange has been happening when I sit down at my dressing table. I’m one of those women who like to make a huge mess when getting ready. I pull everything out, line them all up and get slapping on whatever product takes my fancy.
But over the past year the amount of products I line up on dressing table has been slowly shrinking. I only noticed it the other day, when I went to put eyeshadow on, but instead placed the palette back in the drawer and focused on my hair.
To most people it’s probably not all that big of a thing to start to reduce the amount of makeup you wear as you get older. And I understand the need to put away the trend led bright blue eyeshadows and black lipsticks when you hit a certain age, but I’m only 22!
Although my age shouldn’t really come into it, I think it’s actually very important in the story of how I came to love my bare face.
Honestly, around four years ago, I wouldn’t, under any circumstances, even think of leaving the house without makeup on. And I think this is common for a lot of women around my age.
Cosmetics can sometimes feel like the gateway to a better self. If I’m truthful, four years ago I wouldn’t have left the house without makeup because I wasn’t good enough without it. My face wasn’t pretty enough, my skin wasn’t clear enough, my eyes didn’t stand out enough and my lips weren’t big enough. It’s a sad fact that many of us have put ourselves down like this in the past and why?
Some say it’s the media, plastering photos of unattainable beauty standards everywhere from Disney movies to newspapers. Some say it’s the forgotten side of feminism; with the strides made towards equality women have settled for still being objects of beauty, sex and fantasy.
The even sadder part of it all is that I wanted to be beautiful, sexy and so attractive I’d turn heads everywhere I went. Makeup, the powerful little drug it is, did that.
Until I learned to love my own laugh, until I began to take pride in my achievements, until I hung my degree on my wall, until I realised I was the agony aunt of all my friends…
Accepting who I was, what I could do, and dreaming a little harder – that’s what makes me beautiful.
And you know what? In those dreams …I’m barefaced in them all!
Tell me what makes you feel beautiful; would you go barefaced? Let me know in the comments or use the hashtag #MFBtuesdaytalks on Twitter!