It’s early morning, approximately 25 minutes before my first class starts. I drag my body out of bed with all the energy of the undead and brush my teeth, toss on some cute clothing, and tame my unruly hair. My phone tells me I have eight minutes before I need to head out; I could leave early and try to grab a much-needed coffee before class, but instead, I stay behind to do my makeup.
My sickly pale skin, the product of a decade-long aversion to sunlight, is given a subtle, healthy glow with the aid of tinted BB cream. My light, barely noticeable eyelashes are thickened and darkened thanks to a magic wand I call my mascara. My green eyes pop, the thick line of eyeliner making them suddenly come alive under my sleepy lids.
And not once during the application of my makeup does my mind wander to the dozens of guys I’ll likely run into.
Over the years I’ve closely observed the way guys respond to makeup. Most of the time, they don’t respond to it at all, never registering the new mascara brand I’ve been wearing or the lipstick shade I’m testing out, the way the women in my life do. But when they do notice it, they somehow always find their way to the topic of why women wear it in the first place.
As a woman, I know why most of us wear makeup. I take a solid chunk of time to apply my makeup on a daily basis. Not because I want to make myself look desirable for the men in my life. I also don’t invest hundreds of dollars a year in different makeup supplies just so a guy can barely register that my eyelids have suddenly become a very unnatural yet alluring shade of sparkly lavender.
It's simple, really: I wear makeup because I like it.
Makeup's a mystical tool that allows me to draw attention to the parts of my face I enjoy the most, and yes, it allows me to look in the mirror and appreciate the parts of myself I sometimes forget about when I’m stuck in a self-conscious slump. But my love for makeup isn't only a means to boost my sometimes low self-esteem.
Honestly, I just plain enjoy the process of applying it. There's something so relaxing about rubbing silky foundation against the skin of your cheeks, and something indescribably satisfying about getting the eyeliner on your left eye to almost perfectly match the eyeliner on your right. Applying makeup isn't some huge hassle I put up with in the hopes of someday catching the eye of an eligible young suitor at the local Target; it's a therapeutic process that allows me to ignore whatever might be stressing me out for a half hour and just feel beautiful and creative.
When I walk out of the house with my face all done up, I can honestly say it isn’t because I’m scared of people seeing the bare skin that lies underneath it, and it isn’t because I’m hoping to find a boyfriend on my daily walk from my dorm to my first class of the day. It's because I felt like wearing makeup that day. Sorry the truth isn't juicier.
