Face Painting

I was at a party recently where a friend shared her lip gloss with me because she wanted me to taste the amazing minty-ness of it. It was amazingly minty, and very yummy (I think it was CoverGirl). I said, "This reminds me of Lip Venom (which was big a few years ago)." She said, very excitedly, "Right! It's like Lip Venom, only without the pain!"

Lip Venom did hurt, actually. It worked, plumping-up and juicifying your lips, but I always had the sneaking suspicion that I wasn't meant to apply that sort of whatever-it-was to sensitive skin tissue.

Makeup is a strange thing in any case. When I was in my teens, I used it primarly to cover things up. Mostly zits. Which is ironic, because makeup can cause zits. Also ironic because I secretly longed for a chic, French mother who could teach me subtle, feminine secrets about skin care and enhancement -- and I was pretty sure they wouldn't involve Maybelline or Bonne Bell, much less tinted Clearasil.

In my early twenties, I went through a no-makeup phase. I was head of the feminist organization on my college campus, but it really wasn't so much a feminist statement on my part to avoid makeup as it was trying to fit in with the other 'womyn'. In fact, this whole radical time of my life was probably the one most marked by a total desire for social conformity-- just within my own little angry crowd.

I can still recognize what I consider 'makeup types.' There are the New England Barefaces, the hearty, intellectual descendants of Thoreau who specialize in self-sufficiency, wool crewnecks and not wearing makeup. I identified another of these gals at the lip gloss-discovery party mentioned above. There are also the Beauty Queens, the type of women who wear acrylic nails and will not leave home without being completely put together. My mother-in-law is like that, as are a lot of women I knew in the south, and bored, country-club wives here in Maryland who are looking for some way to treat themselves. Last night on New Year's Rockin' Eve, there was even a tall, stork-looking girl wearing a bright yellow slash painted across her forehead. I've often predicted to Dave that piercings and tattoos should not be our worries for Shannon's teen years -- by then, kids will just be painting their bodies blue and walking around naked.

By my late 20's, out of law school, I was using makeup again, with the goal of looking hot. That is, of meeting guys. This met with a fair amount of success. By my thirties, though, I had met enough guys and also gotten increasingly, shall we say, 'fun-loving,' as things got more boring in my career and life. During that phase, I started using makeup mostly to look awake.

After pregnancy gave me age spots and a few more wrinkles, I found myself trying to cover things up again. But yesterday, as I 'painted my face' to go out for new year's, I realized I've now moved into a phase where I use makeup both to look younger and to look hot. I'm not sure whether I succeed in either endeavor, but at least I no longer wear makeup that hurts.