I haven’t been wearing much makeup recently. I’ve been wearing more casual clothes too, and I feel good about it.
There’s something freeing about going ‘bare-faced’ when in the past you would have been reluctant to leave the house without makeup. I should be completely honest, and say that my skin is a little better than it was, which makes it easier.
It’s not just that, though. I am more confident in general. And, unlike my teenage self, I realise that everyone has much more important things to worry about than the state of my face! I now enjoy not wearing makeup – it’s far quicker to get ready, I don’t have to spend ages trying to remove mascara from my lash line, and I feel like myself. Pretty good, I’d say.
This morning, I felt differently. It’s been a rough few days, with my mood all over the place, thanks to those lovely hormones. I suddenly thought, ‘You know what? I want to pretty up.’
So, I did. I sat for a good half an hour, slowly applying makeup, and got dressed in something fabulously bright. I realised that I’d missed my ‘routine’. The quiet, artistic time; studying my face, switching off, and that feeling of gathering myself together.
Perhaps not doing it all the time is a good thing, as it seems to lose its charm after a while. I get sick of the hassle. I don’t like the gungy feel of makeup. I also realise that it’s superficial and that I should focus on internal beauty.
But today I needed it.