On Friday Carly at We Heart Life wrote an insightful post about why we wear makeup that really hit home for me. You see, I don't really wear it any more. Not when I leave the house, not to most social engagements, not even to work.
There was a time when I wouldn't be caught dead without make up on. From the minute I was allowed to wear mascara to school in Year 9, I would paint and shade my face into a enhanced, better-than-me mask. Going out, I would pile it on. For over 10 years I did a full face of make-up every single day. To hide my freckles, to make my eyes brighter, to puff my lips, to draw on eyebrows, to lift my cheeks. I was a razzle-dazzle beauty queen.
And felt unattractive, uninteresting, unworthy.
I went travelling in my late twenties and packed an overflowing bag of cosmetics into my backpack. Somewhere between Rome and Ravello, I ditched it. I was too busy feeling the sun on my beautiful, fresh, happy face to bother with my mask. I learned not to worry about the pimples and imperfections. I learned not to care about hiding the way I really looked and to just be proud and carefree to be me.
Over the years since then I have worn make up less and less. I still enjoy prettying up for a big night out and I actually love applying makeup and experimenting. For special occasions, it's magical stuff. But, in general, it's rare for me to worry about it.
I imagine some people judge me harshly for being barefaced in public. They may say that I'm unpolished, unprofessional, ungroomed. They may say that I am not a yummy mummy. They may say that I'm unattractive, uninteresting, unworthy.
But I say, I am beautiful, fresh and happy in the naked skin I'm in.
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