The Thought Process of Putting On Makeup



Shout-out to my coworkers for not putting a complaint into HR today due to my own compliance-failure with the employee handbook’s rule number 1: do not be a dead person. (It’s a little discriminatory but has something to do with how being alive makes it easier to pay taxes.)

I thought I looked fine when I left the house. I guess I didn’t really consult a mirror after brushing my teeth, but how much could have changed between improving my fluoride levels at 7 am and closing my laptop at 7 pm?

A lot, apparently. Now hand me my makeup.

Famous people always talk about primer so let’s start with that. Nothing like caulking my pores with invisible goop that cost $20! (“Seriously, it makes such a difference.” — Everyone pretty, ever.)

Pause here: am I supposed to put concealer on first, or foundation? The word foundation should be a giveaway but the dark abysses below my eyes need tending. Concealer wins. *Blending the way a makeup artist once told me not to because it causes wrinkles but I’m a rebel.*

I am surprised at the immediate improvement and get bold; I’ve watched enough tutorials to know how to do this contouring thing, so I reach for my bronzer and sculpt my face.

Update: looking the same just a little more sparkly than normal, and tan.

Realize I forgot foundation. Decide I’m a warrior of paint and there is no turning back.

Now for the blush. This part’s boring. I take a quick nap. I wake up to too much blush; I’ll claim it’s my last sign of youth.

Here’s where I pause to reflect on what my done-up face of makeup looks like with naked, un-lacquered lashes.

I settle on this:


I’m one of those people who, if deserted on an island with a stingy packing allowance of Only One Cosmetic Thing, would choose mascara.

But before I apply, the most dangerous game: do I, or do I not, dare to add eyeliner? I check my watch. I have time.

You’re a warrior of paint, my reflection reminds me. Don’t wimp out now.

With a steady hand and a stretched out lid I begin to draw. I’m so good at this. Great. Switching eyes. They’re uneven. No worries — a little more to the left.

Too much to the left. Gotta add more on to the right. Left. Right. Hi my name is Cleopatra and I’ll be your human cat burglar for the night.

But this works.

Had a burst of brilliance to call the Uber while I’m ahead. He’s two minutes away — I whip out my wand and seal the mascara deal.

I just sneezed. Mascara is everywhere. There’s no time to start over and this cannot be saved. Instead, I swipe my whole face off with a makeup removing wipe and appraise myself in the mirror.

Sunglasses as night, it is!

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