I struggled to get myself out of bed the morning I promised myself I go without makeup to write this article. It is already difficult enough to come to grips with my face as I apply makeup. Going for days on end with no makeup was dreadable. Slyly, I told myself, “Today isn’t the day I’ll start this.” Smirking, I headed towards the bathroom to do myself up.
I grabbed the foundation, went to pump it out onto my makeup sponge, and absolutely nothing came out. Frantically, I rushed for my back up foundation, but that too was drip dry. Never had there been a time in my life when I ran out of both of my foundations. It was absurd. There was not even time for me to run out and restock my stash because I would have been late for class. I was furious. I crowned the day as No Makeup Monday and left my house bare-faced and miserable.
My mood must have bled into my appearance, because I didn’t even bother putting any effort into my outfit for the first time all semester. I tossed on an old hoodie, cropped yoga pants, flip flops (my toes were not even painted, who does that?), and threw my hair up as high as gravity would allow it to go. “How suiting I thought. My face is clear, and my attire is comfy.” But on my long comm
I struggled to get myself out of bed the morning I promised myself I go without makeup to write this article. It is already difficult enough to come to grips with my face as I apply makeup. Going for days on end with no makeup was dreadable. Slyly, I told myself, “Today isn’t the day I’ll start this.” Smirking, I headed towards the bathroom to do myself up.
I grabbed the foundation, went to pump it out onto my makeup sponge, and absolutely nothing came out. Frantically, I rushed for my back up foundation, but that too was drip dry. Never had there been a time in my life when I ran out of both of my foundations. It was absurd. There was not even time for me to run out and restock my stash because I would have been late for class. I was furious. I crowned the day as No Makeup Monday and left my house bare-faced and miserable.
My mood must have bled into my appearance, because I didn’t even bother putting any effort into my outfit for the first time all semester. I tossed on an old hoodie, cropped yoga pants, flip flops (my toes were not even painted, who does that?), and threw my hair up as high as gravity would allow it to go. “How suiting I thought. My face is clear, and my attire is comfy.” But on my long commute to campus, I got to thinking. Why is it that I didn’t feel the need to dress nicely simply because I hadn’t done my makeup? It became obvious to me how little respect I truly had for my natural self; if I don’t fix my face, I might as well dress like shit. What an insult to my natural face! Where was the love?
Once I reached campus, I found that I was not the only one who disapproved of my OOTD. Why do you look so tired? Are you okay? Someone woke up late today! Are you sick? Your eyes look squinty; I thought you were glaring at me. Christ, could any of you be more harsh? The first of these comments came from a guy, too. My initial thought was, damn how do guys get away with not having to cake their face up? How come they don’t appear deathly ill when an ounce of concealer has never so much as skimmed their faces? What happened in the womb that I naturally have a red rudolph nose (for the record: on the warmest day of the year, allergy free, not having even the slightest symptoms of a cold) and the skin under my eyes doesn’t match my cheekbones only centimeters away. I felt mutated, to be honest. I wanted to put my hood up and tie the drawstrings so tight that so no one could see my face. But, walking into walls would leave bruises, which would only make my case worse, so I opted out. Instead, my middle finger stood up for me. I’m not proud of my trusty finger, but honestly, it shut people up real fast.
I did find the love for my face in a place where I always go to destress myself makeup free: le gym. When I scanned into Retro Fitness, that was when my face finally felt at home. Besides the girls who work the counter, everyone in the gym is in rare form. Nobody is expected to be done up, dressed nice, with makeup done. The closest thing to appearing nice is when someone’s running shoes match their shorts. You do yourself up any further, and we all know you’re not there to work out. Hell, people are in there with their shirts ripped up, dripping and smelling of sweat, and making the ugliest faces trying to fulfill their last rep. Here is where, even with no makeup, drained as an empty sink, panting from sprints, I received a compliment (the first of that day) on how great someone thought my physique was coming along. I never really appreciated how unembellished I can show up to Retro before I realized how much my naked face and impromptu outfit was unaccepted outside of the gym.
This probably started off sounding like I was going to come to some great enlightenment on loving myself without makeup. But no, that is definitely not the case. The following days, when I was supposed to continue to go on without make up, I simply could not. Although I was still fresh out of foundation, I applied my bronzer, evened out my eyeliner, and used five different mascaras to get my eyelashes to the point where the looked faux. Every. Damn. Day.
The I’m only comfortable in the real world when my make up is done to the nines and my outfit is thoughtfully put together. I hate going natural in everyday society so much that I cannot even manage to dress myself properly without my makeup being done. I could have become someone who accepts their flaws and all that through this experience. But I clearly do not take insults very well, so the world is a much better place without me throwing my middle finger around. I admit I am a product of our society and I will hide under my makeup any day to remove the wise ass remarks from my daily life. Hey, at least I’m honest.
I have come to the conclusion that I live in two different worlds: the fitness world and the real world. When I’m sweaty and dressed awfully, surrounded by others just like me…then, and only then, I’m 100% comfortable with being au naturel. Makeup in the real world hides our physical imperfections. In the gym, we are there to work with our imperfections. Whether it be our health, physical appearence, or mindset, all of us who attend a gym know we have our flaws. The gym is a no-bullshit-nobody-is-perfect kinda place. It’s not the place to put on a front, so leave the makeup at home, girls.
