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Before my Bat Mitzvah, my mom took me to the Stila counter at Nordstrom. It was 2000, so this was the height of cool. I remember looking at my 13-year-old face in the mirror after the impossibly chic makeup artist brushed and applied all sorts of things; I think there was lavender eye shadow with a bit of shimmer and highly glossy pink lips.
Was that girl me? She looked both alike and totally different from the person I thought of as myself. She was sleeker and smoother and…she had the shiniest, stickiest lips. I decided I liked her.
Later, I would snag and obsessively read Bobbi Brown Teenage Beauty: Everything You Need to Look Pretty, Natural, Sexy and Awesome, which came out the next year. Brown dropped lots of nuggets of wisdom, like:
“Be zen about your zits. Instead of picking or attacking them, let them be. Hands off. Fingernails out!!!!” (Why is this so much easier said than done, even now?)
And:
“Be cool. Of course you feel insecure, but you don’t have to show it.”
I also vaguely remember something about burning 200 calories at the gym? But I can’t find this with a quick skim—yes, I still own this masterpiece—so I could be wrong.
Years later, circa 2008, my fellow server at Casellula and I went to visit our regular at his work behind the MAC counter at Bloomingdales. I hadn’t learned much new about makeup since Bobbi Brown’s teenage advice, and he introduced me to a little pot of eyeliner I used for years before deciding it wasn’t worth the effort. That night, my coworker and I went out to a fancy dinner with our fancy faces, feeling very glam, then to a sake bar afterwards. I stared at myself in the scratched mirror, a little tipsy.
My relationship with makeup, with my face, has been ambivalent. I somehow decided or internalized that being made up was part of the grownup/professional look for a woman. I read something about women who wore makeup getting paid more. I felt that I looked slightly better with makeup, and shouldn’t I look slightly better?
Before events and parties (remember when there were events and parties?) I’d swing by Sephora and put on some fresh lipstick and if I was feeling bold, some shimmery eyeshadow.
Still, I am kind of lazy, and very busy, and couldn’t see myself investing gobs of time each morning meticulously applying stuff to my face was the way to go. So I kept it pretty simple: tinted moisturizer, blush, mascara. I never messed around with things like contouring. I also knew I’d mess it up and end up looking ghoulish.
And then the pandemic came, around the time I had my daughter, Simone. I even remember packing mascara in the hospital bag (what was I thinking? Pictures, maybe?). I scarcely managed a shower. No makeup touched my face for…a long time.
And absolutely nothing came of it.
It was also the height of pandemic fear, so it wasn’t like I was going anywhere, except for a whole lot of walks.
And yet, the other pandemic change, for my face anyway, was so much time on Zoom. First, we went to a whole lineup of those virtual happy hours that fell out of fashion very quickly. Then later, teaching on Zoom, work meetings on Zoom, client meetings on Zoom. My face always there, in its little square, looking back at me. I’ve never looked at my face so much!
Something unexpected happened: I didn’t mind my naked face looking (talking, nodding, trying not to yawn) back at me. I mean, some days I looked how I felt—exhausted. But mostly I just looked like me. And I felt weirdly, wonderfully ok with that.
(Although I still prefer real life, where I don’t have to look at my face all the time. I rather look at your face, really.)
There was a student who attended my class each week in such a flawless full face of makeup, complete with matte red lips, cat’s eye eyeliner, and false eyelashes, and I was in awe. (When I worked for Dean & DeLuca, my coworker and I spent a lunch break getting eyelash extensions, and I loved them. I got them a few times since, including for my wedding. Then I stopped, because it was hard for me to lie still while the technician applied them, and they were not exactly cheap. But I digress.)
Sure, I was a new mom and finding time to brush my teeth felt like a small extravagance. But even in the most luxurious of times, I couldn’t imagine putting effort into such a dazzling look to attend a Zoom class where my classmates rocked their softest hoodies and unwashed hair.
Makeup can be so many things, truly art, expression, and fun.
But for me it felt more like obligation.
The pandemic changed that. It freed me from makeup being a burden.
Some days, I wear makeup. I wore some to an audition for a TV show (more on that later!) and I put on makeup to get my vaccine, because that felt like a special occasion. But most days, if you see me walking Ace or at the coffee shop or chatting on Zoom, I go makeup-less. My lip balm and me, exposed (well, except for my mask). It’s totally fine. Just my face. Just me.
I'm so curious. Has your relationship with makeup changed during the pandemic?
Me and Simone circa Thanksgiving 2020, sans makeup.
My relationship with makeup has definitely changed since the pandemic 1. because no one really sees me anymore - except me & my significant other. There is no reason to put on makeup if we are not going out. 2. Since I am now older & feel I don't need to look good for anyone else but me - I also wear less make up & when I must start to go back to an office setting & even now when we go out - simple is where I am at. My eyebrows have all but disappeared so I give myself eyebrows & a little brush of face powder & I'm done. Sometimes I will add mascara & a soft eye shadow. My make up now just adds to the occasion & make it feel a little more special. Also I get to wear the jewelry that I have not worn in over a year. If I am working from home in jean I am not putting on earrings or my rings - which I used to wear everyday. xxoo