I have watched my mother fix her hair and put coral colored lipstick on for my entire life. Those incredibly close and unknowingly vulnerable moments when you watch someone adjust the parts they perhaps aren’t sure of.
I have been fascinated with this process for as long as I can remember.
There is a pace and a rythm to “getting ready”. You can always tell where a womans heart is by how she prepares herself in the morning. Rashly rosying cheeks, straight faced, intentional. Or softly, slowly outlining her eyelids.
And then the premier of the finalized “look”. What nervousness we posess when there is an audience.
Sometimes when I am most nervous I wear too much blush. And whether it is haphazardly stroking peach and rose colored dust on my cheeks for too long or actual and natural blushing, I cannot be sure.
I have never looked at wearing makeup as lying. Or even hiding. I suppose it could be. I suppose it could be a dire fear of exposing the most visible and compelling part of a persons body. But i’ve always looked at makeup as a sort of daydream. Or a joke. Or a kiss.
One day I have purple lips. One day I have red lips. One day I have peach lips.
It’s like practicing all the different people you can be on any given day.