Fresh Faces

article by Meredith McKinnie

As we gathered our Bibles and purses and rushed toward the door, my friend’s mother yelled, “I hope you put on your face.” We were late for Sunday night services and my friend rolled her eyes in protest. “ We don’t have time. Let’s go,” I said. Every car ride felt like a rebellious adventure, as we had both only acquired our driver’s licenses in the last few months. We climbed into my friend’s navy Chevy Astro van, a minor embarrassment in the school parking lot, but the source of escape from the homes that felt limiting for teenage girls. “Why does your mom hate your face,” I asked. My friend chuckled, “Apparently me not wearing makeup is an inconvenience for everyone.” I grunted. “Well, that’s just stupid.” My final word faded into the wind as I manually rolled down the window to let the absurdity of the conversation dissipate with the highway noise.

It’s been twenty years, and I’d mostly forgotten that exchange until the topic came up again. The antiquated ideas of a woman’s weighted responsibility of looking a certain way outside of the home continued for my friend. We see each other infrequently, but I’ve noticed she rarely wears makeup, regardless of how many strangers may encounter her naked face. She’s not opposed to makeup, but she doesn’t feel she owes the effort to anyone. Highlighting her face with color and accents is a personal choice and really has nothing to do with pleasing anyone else.

My own makeup journey has ebbed and flowed over the years. I remember the entire application process taking all of five minutes in adolescence, and lipstick was reserved for special occasions. I think of lip satin as the bow on the present. I now rarely apply the dramatic red color unless I’m fairly certain my picture will be taken. Anytime I emerge from the bedroom with red lips, my young daughter makes a comment of approval. She likes decoration. I’m intrigued by women’s relationship to makeup. Some friends dedicate entire vanities to storing their overpriced products and fancy little benches for accommodating the morning ritual. Others smear their faces over the bathroom sink with a small bag haphazardly spilling contents onto the counter. One girlfriend spent an hour on just her eyes. I once was mesmerized watching her separate her lashes with a clothespin. She was so dedicated to each strand’s independence. It felt ridiculous, but her eyes always look amazing.

During Covid, the mask mandate reduced my five-minute makeup ritual to nil. It started slowly, as the lipstick was impractical and often adorned more of the backside of the mask than my lips. Then the eyeliner and mascara felt pointless and eventually I ditched the foundation. My face was bare for months on end and seeing my bare face in the mirror at work felt less intimidating. I liked being able to get ready for work quickly and found myself skipping the makeup on weekends. I’d forget to put it on, and then started to not care. Now that the mask mandates have lifted, I have yet to introduce my meager makeup routine back into my schedule. While organizing my wicker basket, I noticed my mascara was old and I didn’t even bother to put it on the shopping list. I’m sure I’ll purchase more, but I’m not in any hurry. I’ve come to realize that some surface level habits are just that. And in the craziness of toddler motherhood, less to do feels liberating, even if I’m only reclaiming five minutes. Perhaps this inclination to care less about what other people think is just part of aging. We start to realize how quickly it all goes and only want to focus time on the efforts that bring fulfillment.