More on simplifying my life.

When I came across Elaine St. James' book a few years ago, it was an eye-opener in so many ways. The de-cluttering of material things really weren't a problem for me. I'd already had enough of the spend, spend, spend mentality by my mid-twenties to last me a lifetime. I stopped redecorating whenever the mood struck me. I re-examined my true wardrobe needs. Slowly, I dropped the magazine subscriptions. You know, it actually became nice not to know what the latest makeup and fashion trends were. It was relaxing not to have to keep up with that. Which brings me to the topic of my day, which inevitably takes on a life of it's own.

I was brought up to be the proper Southern young lady. This meant being quiet, obedient, intelligent (but not TOO intelligent, you didn't want to come off as a nerd or a show-off), mature and above all, pretty. And being pretty meant wearing nice but modest clothes, having your hair done (the curlier and more hairsprayed, the better) and wearing makeup. And that makeup had better be perfect. There'd better not be a foundation line. Mascara shouldn't be smudged. Nail polish should be light, flawless and on long, filed nails. I took all this to heart, and started wearing makeup at the ripe old age of ten. Obscenely young, some would say. But not on me. I was blessed with a face like Brooke Shields. Not nearly as pretty, I hasten to add. No, what I mean is I had a face that could carry full makeup very young, and looked damn good doing it. I was an young expert on the subject of makeup application. People came to me for makeup tips on all occasions. I heard the inevitable comments- "You look like a porcelain doll!", "What a perfect face you have!" or "Your makeup is flawless!" more times than I could count. I liked this a lot when I was younger. It validated me. In a culture where a pretty face buys you a lot of affection, I had plenty of affection coming my way.

But it was a mask. When the mask- the makeup- was removed every night, I didn't like the person underneath. I didn't want to look at my real face. It definitely wasn't glamorous. Without my mask, I was no one special, or so I thought. Now, I love my mother, but her comments (to this day) regarding the fact that I NEED makeup on sank in too deeply. I didn't have the greatest skin as a teenager, so I agreed with her back then. But as I realized later, it really had little to do with my skin. It was more than that to her. It's difficult to articulate, but I'll try.

If I had grown up with a parent (or parents) who felt makeup was unessential to the face I presented to the world, how different would I be? In my twenties, I started to realize that there were young women who'd grown up without this expectation. And they were probably happier for it. Tomboys, I would have once called them, not in a kindly way, either. Makeup, I felt, made you a better person. It was that simple. Without it, you were unfinished, not your best, and certainly not as beautiful as you could be. My mother felt makeup would perfect me enough to make me lovable to the world- without it, how could I possibly be lovable? So her belief became mine.

Athleticism, enjoyment in the intellect, and appreciation of a person's natural looks were all sacrificed at the altar of this faux perfection. Could I really be that shallow, I wondered? I didn't want to admit that. But I couldn't even take out the trash without putting on makeup. I was too concerned with what everyone was thinking about me. Being thought of as (gulp) plain was a horror worse than death. And that, I realized, was the silent message preached by my mother all these years- "Without makeup, you are average, boring and PLAIN. No one will ever like you." My ego couldn't take that!

But in the process of de-cluttering the outer life, my mind started to un-clutter itself, too. Granted, I am still no Zen master. But do I really want friends and family around who love me for my makeup? No. It means putting up with the new comments hurtling my way (keeping in mind that I look like a direct descendant of Casper the Friendly Ghost): "Are you sick?", "Why aren't you wearing any makeup?" and of course, "But you look so much better made-up!" Maybe I do, maybe I don't. It's all in, as the brilliantly astute Rod Serling once said in a famous Twilight Zone episode, the eye of the beholder. And in my own eyes, I like the real me, flaws and all. And someday, I believe I will hear the remark that will be music to my ears- "I like you better without makeup."