Putting On A Face

I didn’t wear make-up at all until I was 27. I tried to put some on when I was around 13 but it didn’t look right and made my skin itch, it was awfully expensive and my mum didn’t wear any, plus all my friends were boys so I couldn’t ask them for tips, lipstick and hiking through the bush or skateboarding just didn’t seem to go together.

My teenage love life consisted of “drunk or stoned at a party sex” rather than prettying myself up for dates, I was fat for much of high school and not desirable to anyone sober, then when I lost weight and school boys began to take notice of me I was too involved in my eating disorder and working on my latest out-there manic project to have time for much else.

The 30yr old boyfriend I had when I was 16 did take me out on dates, but he never mentioned my lack of make-up, I was vegan at the time and definitely against animal testing so he probably thought that was part of it, there weren’t as many cruelty free products available back then.

My husband has always told me that I am perfect just the way I am and I don’t need to wear “Clown Paint”, it’s not even him just being nice, he really doesn’t like the stuff at all, in fact he was sending out death stares to my 16yr old niece when she put a little bit of lip stick and eye shadow on my 7yr old daughter on Christmas day!

At age 27 I was hypomanic, motivated and keen to get a full time ‘real’ job, I had been working in a pet store since I was 14yrs old. I landed a position in the public service where pretty nails and make up was simply expected. Suddenly I found myself in the world of manicures, eyelash tinting, brow waxing and was wearing make up every week day, my hypomania was ramping up and so was my eating disorder. A wardrobe of size XS nice work clothes, having my hair styled and wearing make-up made me feel pretty for the first time in my life.

I remember thinking that if only I had worn make up and had my hair done in high school, maybe boys would have looked at me a whole lot differently. Suddenly wearing make up to work became wearing it every day if I was leaving the house, then everyday if I was likely to get a glance at my own reflection.

Skirts, heels and cosmetics had become my mask and I felt hideous without them.

On one occasion I was off work as my hypomania and anxiety were causing problems and Hubby had to give me a lift into town for a therapist appointment. I woke up late and didn’t have time to put my face on or straighten my hair. I was beside myself. I had a panic attack and literally cried the entire hour long journey into town, then I ended up taking hubbies car and going to a shop and spending over $150 on new cosmetics that I applied in the bathroom at the mall, $100 on a new outfit and then went to a hairdresser and got a $200 cut & colour. 

I had spent nearly $500 I couldn't afford just so I could go to the appointment looking “good” and prove that I wasn’t too manic to work.

Shortly after this incident my mania peaked and landed me in hospital, where I was absolutely horrified that I would not be able to use a flat iron, run on a treadmill or wear make-up, I recall that I kept apologising to the other inmates for being so ugly and telling them that I normally wasn’t THIS bad, I just needed my face on and my straightener, promise!

The depression that came after that long manic episode drained me of energy and caused me to gain around 15kg but I continued using make-up for quite a while purely as a front when I went to work, when I wore it people thought I was doing well, they thought I was ‘normal’. I ran into a colleague at the shop on the weekend once, I was wearing shabby jeans, a now too tight T shirt and a naked face.

He took a step back and said “Woah, I nearly didn’t recognise you, you know without all your make up on!” I just laughed and said “Yeah pretty scary huh!” but I was nearly dying inside, my fears were confirmed I was fat, ugly, stupid and too lazy to even make myself recognisable. The depression got worse and I stopped going to work, stopped leaving the house and stopped wearing make-up altogether. It didn’t matter anymore; I was a lost cause.

After my suicide attempt and subsequent two months in the psych ward I returned home and eventually opened up my cosmetics bag again, Hubby was unimpressed “what do you want to wear that crap for? You aren’t working and you were pretty much fine until you started wearing all that stuff” he would say. He seemed to think that my wearing of make-up was to blame for my mania rather than the other way around.

When I was stable I started working again part time I wore make up to work but it didn’t own me anymore. Depression hit again, milder this time but I decided to quit my job for good. We didn’t suit each other. I am now back in a part time position in the pet store that is a big part of my soul, animals and fake nails are impractical, I have a uniform so I don’t have to worry about what outfit to wear. I don’t feel judged by my colleagues or customers and I look forward to every shift. 

So now sometimes I wear cosmetics and sometimes I don’t, but even on the days I do choose to wear make-up I know I am no longer simply putting on a face.