I threw out all my makeup

Some thoughts on how I look these days 💋

“Why does your face look weird?”

It’s the morning of my wedding. I’m in our dim bathroom putting on what was my regular makeup routine when I was in Melbourne; moisturise, foundation, blush, eyeshadow, eyeliner, eyebrows, mascara, lipstick or lipgloss.

“What do you mean?” I pause, eyeliner poised, stomach dropping.

“Your skin. Are you wearing foundation?” Martin asks, squinting at me.

“I want to look nice for our wedding,” I say, already defensive. He takes me by the shoulders and looks seriously into my eyes.

“Lisette. Listen to me. You have perfect skin. You already look beautiful. Makeup just makes you look…not like you. Please do not wear makeup to our wedding.”

I ended up washing it all off. In the end my compromise was a little bit of mascara… and that was it. I went to my own wedding pretty much bare-faced. I’d had my hair cut the week before, washed it the morning of, and let it dry into natural curls. I’d even shaved my legs and underarms for the occasion.

Back in Melbourne

I used to wear makeup every single day. Tinted moisturiser or foundation that would make my face a blank canvas before I’d draw back on each of my features, only bigger and more exaggerated.

For a normal work day, it was pretty low key, just some foundation and eyeliner, and some dark pomade to plaster down my curly eyebrows. When going out, I went all out; coral-coloured cheeks, dramatically-lined eyes, bright red lips, lashings of mascara to make my eyelashes stand out like spider legs.

Looking back on photos, I wasn’t particularly good at applying my own makeup. In my defence, I went through the teenage years before YouTube was a thing, and no one really told me how to do it better than I was.

That’s how I was used to my face looking, after a while. My regular face with no makeup started looking pale and tired in comparison. I remember going into work one day with a bare face and being asked if I was sick.

Living the low-key life

When I first arrived in Mo’orea, there were a few occasions where I’d pull out the makeup bag, like going out to the Manava for a cocktail. It became less and less frequent without me noticing. The makeup felt like it was always melting off my face in the heat.

When I was packing my bag to come back to Melbourne, I started digging through my makeup to figure out what I needed. I realised a lot of it hadn’t been touched in almost two years. Even the idea of putting it on in Melbourne made me feel a bit odd, like I was slapping on an old personality, a mask that didn’t quite fit right.

To be fair, sitting in the bathroom cupboard for so long, a lot of it probably wasn’t any good anymore. I thought I’d feel sadder throwing old tubes of lipstick and sparkly eyeshadows into the bin bag, but I just felt… lighter.

Self-portrait with Frida Kahlo inspiration

Many years and many dollars

It’s a strange feeling to be doing something since the age of 15 and then suddenly realise how unnecessary it is. For a long time it felt impossible not to paint my face every day. Impossible not to shave my legs, underarms and bikini-line the moment I felt the prickle of growing hair. Impossible not to not use my straightener to smooth out every bit of frizz on my hair.

I don’t know how much money I’ve spent on makeup, hair removal and hair products over the years, but I’m willing to bet it’s a lot. And while sometimes putting some makeup on for a night out with the girls felt like fun, a lot of the time it felt a chore.

For most of my life I was a good little capitalist consumer buying products for invented problems like curly eyebrows and visible pores. Now, I look at makeup ads and the effort involved and think… nope. Can’t be bothered.

Plus I like the way my natural face looks these days. Yes, I have more marks and spots, my skin texture has changed since having a baby, and I can’t hide the dark circles under my eyes from yet another sleepless night with a wriggly 1-year-old in my bed. I also care a lot less about my hairy legs and hairy underarms, about my soft belly, my frizzy hair with greys that hasn’t been cut since my wedding.

Maybe it’s something that comes with age, maybe it’s working from home, maybe it’s island life. I wish I could go back to my 15-year-old self (lining my eyes in the mirror before going to high school) and tell her that none of this is necessary. Your face is fine the way it is.

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