I don’t know when I stopped wearing makeup. I was never particularly good at it. As a student, I was thrown into a performance of early 2000s femininity: thick eyeliner, dyed hair, doll-like blush, and bright pink lips. I felt the pressure from magazines, ads, and other women’s faces pushing cosmetics on me the same way a hockey player gets applauded to drink beer out of his shoe.
The fact that I didn’t have the patience or money to go through with it didn’t seem to matter. I wore makeup to go to work, and when I wasn’t working, I wore even more makeup to sweat it out on the dance floor. Even as my 20s turned into my 30s, I still wore mascara most days. I still had lipstick and liquid eyeliner and a vintage powder compact. I could slam it against the office bathroom mirror under the arctic glare of a unisex light bulb.
But now, at the youthful age of 39, I hardly ever wear makeup. It’s been a few weeks since we’ve been showing our true faces to the world without thinking, whether it’s at our desks, on video calls, in meetings, at cafes, or at the school gate. Last week, I danced for two hours in a crowded, sweaty, heart-pounding crowd with nothing but colored lip balm on my face. This week I went for my birthday drink after applying just a glossy coat of Astral Moisturizer. I had my ID photo taken with my clothes on.
In fact, here’s a thorough inventory of my makeup bag: One mascara (14 months ago), two lipsticks (at least 4 years ago). £6.99 foundation in a tube (bought for a wedding 2 and a half years ago). And smudged lips (which I got from my mom long before the first lockdown).
A 2017 study by a private clinic promoting so-called “semi-permanent makeup” found that the average British woman spends 474 days of her life wearing slap makeup. From the few hours I spent polishing makeup brushes with bamboo and nailing them to the mirror, I’d like to claim that I’ve reclaimed time, learned things like conversational Arabic and how to change a fuse, and spent it wisely. But then again, why do women feel the need to justify their lack of adornment with efforts at self-improvement? Just because I shed my eyeliner doesn’t mean I’m a monk sage.
The truth is, by sliding your cosmetics deeper into the burner, you’re simply giving yourself more time to spend on the small, unobtrusive, mundane acts of life that turn mere existence into a fulfilling life. You can go outside as soon as you wake up. I don’t care if it rains. You can swim anytime, anywhere without worrying about getting water on your face. I can sweat, sneeze, rub my eyes, kiss someone I love, eat, cry, and drink without looking in the mirror afterwards, and We actually do that. Other than the inevitable snacks, toys, and clothes for my young son, I travel relatively light. And definitely saved me hundreds of pounds compared to my makeup-oriented friends.
It doesn’t make me more successful, more ethical, more politically engaged, or a healthier person. It doesn’t make me a better feminist, it doesn’t make me a better parent, and it certainly doesn’t make me more interesting. What that really means is that many people have a pretty good idea of what I look like when I wake up.
Skip past newsletter promotions
Guardian writers tell you what it’s like to feel overwhelmed and how to avoid it, delivered straight to your inbox every week
Privacy Notice: Newsletters may include information about charities, online advertising, and content sponsored by external parties. Please see our Privacy Policy for more information. We use Google reCaptcha to protect our website and are subject to the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service.
After newsletter promotion
My mother loved makeup, and my grandmother wore lipstick all the time, even into her 90s. My friends are doing things with brushes, glosses, and pencils that are so inventive that it almost feels like trompe l’oeil. I’ve seen up close throughout my life how color, shape, and texture can change the way you look, feel, and treat yourself. Whether it’s the face of a bus driver, drag queen, teacher or trapeze artist, makeup can be a creative act and a form of self-expression. But letting it go can also be transformative: revelation, liberation, celebration. It can cost you time, money, and force you to face yourself day in and day out. You can bulletproof your ads and keep them away from reflective surfaces. But the best of all is to press your face into the sweaty neck of your beloved without worrying about getting it dirty.
