As I was applying my third layer of cream contour marginally below my cheekbones last Friday, with YouTube playing in the background because I couldn’t decide on a Spotify playlist, I came across a video of Kate Winslet for L’Oréal. The video, albeit two years old, showed the Oscar winner taking off her makeup, whilst giving a running commentary on the importance of feeling comfortable without it.
I proceeded, ‘baking’ my face, the most recent step in my routine, and using an eyebrow pencil to go over the freckles I’d covered up. By the time I’ve finished applying my makeup, I usually resemble something between a caricature you’d beg your parents to let you have done in Tenerife in 2010, and a Tim Burton figurine. But it is worth it, right, because it always photographs well. I am never more gutted then when my crusade of deciding to not wear makeup on a night out backfires after I see a tagged photograph of myself on Instagram, hunched over my slightly smaller friend Rach, with an uneven complexion and a noticeable lack of facial dimension.
With this being said, I am always in awe of women in the spotlight who, more and more frequently, are going barefaced online, in public, and even on-stage. Pamela Anderson might have once been described as a siren of the silver screen, a beach babe. Whilst her allure remains impalpable, in recent years Anderson has traded in the blowouts and lashes for a more natural, makeup-free look. Alongside Alicia Keys, Lady Gaga and many more female public figures, are we entering an age of discretion? Perhaps, but I think that what’s really happening is that women are realising the ennui that comes from wiping off your second-skin at the end of the day.
I am yet to even enter my twenties, yet I’ve spent an unjustified amount of time contemplating when I’ll have to start dying my hair to cover up greys, rather than to just touch-up my roots. I track the lines, the bumps and dents in my face with more integrity than my dad applies when tracking planes flying into Manchester. I trace my smile lines, convincing myself they’re getting deeper, and contemplate whether I’ve developed crows feet overnight or just left my eye makeup on for too long. I once decided I had an irreversible hair loss condition with my eyebrows after over plucking them a few times. I am more familiar with my face than I’d like to be, leading to a well curated and sharply defined makeup routine.
I find it incredibly inspiring, and admittedly a little chic, to see women rebelling against the confines of makeup, turning their backs to the anti-aging rhetoric that we apply when sweeping colour corrector across our chins. As far as imperfections go, nobody will be noticing them like we do. I can never believe when my girl friends admit that they hate how they look in a picture, or even worse in the mirror, because of a skin problem they’ve self-diagnosed themselves with this week. On the aging side, despite what I practice, I admittedly don’t think I’ll ever wake up on morning and notice a new line. It’s probably more likely to hit me in a decade, and I’ll panic and wonder how I didn’t see it coming. I’d prefer a moment of panic over 10 years of scrutiny, however.
I’ll be 20 in the summer, maybe I’ll take a leaf out of Kate Winslet’s book and try contemplating other parts of myself that make me feel worthy of leaving the house without a full face. Based on my Pinterest boards, I have big plans for the next decade, spending an hour each day looking in the mirror isn’t part of it. Welcome the no-makeup revolution.