‘I’M PROUD TO BE GREY AND PROUD TO WEAR MAKE-UP’
Self-expression meets self-care in novelist Melanie Cantor’s make-up bag and beauty rituals
Melanie Cantor embraces her beauty rituals
Back in January this year (you remember January? A time before ‘it’), I had booked myself into a little cottage in the Cotswolds to focus on writing my second novel. I wanted to be away from my usual distractions: meeting friends for coffee, shopping, theatre, eating out – things I had no idea were about to be stolen anyway. I had three weeks where life would be simple. I didn’t want to be bothered with anything other than writing. I didn’t want to care about how I looked or what I wore. All I had were some jeans, a few jumpers, a lipstick and an eyebrow pencil. The latter two were just in case. Of what? I couldn’t tell you.
The first week was perfect. I was in love with my cottage. My writing was going well and my dog, Mabel, was loving the open fields at the end of our lane. Bliss. It didn’t last. By the middle of week two, I was getting bored with misshapen jeans. I hated my unmade-up face. My unruly hair always had to be tied back. I hated those muddy fields and Mabel hated showers! When I finally came home, the first things I did were wash my hair, delighting in my trusty Tresemmé Full Finish Air Styler, left behind in the name of simplicity; throw on one of my favourite dresses; apply make-up; and take Mabel for a walk in our urban domain! Regular things never felt so good.
What did this say about me, I wondered? Am I that shallow, that frivolous I can’t manage three weeks of the simple life? And then it occurred to me. What’s shallow about feeling good about yourself? What’s frivolous about loving make-up and fashion if those are the things that give you a kick-ass smile?
Did that make me any less serious or sensible or intelligent? Besides, with so much to be serious and sensible about now, joy, wherever we find it, is precisely what we need.
In lockdown, trying to look my best, even if only for myself, was an essential part of how I kept going.
I have not been one of the pyjama brigade. I have been sitting in full make-up at my laptop wearing the clothes I love. On the days when I decided not to bother, I found myself feeling demotivated. Make-up to me is as much about personal expression as my writing. It brought me joy even before I was old enough to be allowed to wear it!
In my mid-teens, my best friend, Ruth, and I would wander around Biba on Kensington High Street, dipping our fingers into purple, maroon or bottle green eyeshadow and swiping on the darkest of lipsticks in a store so dark that you had to guess what you were doing and leave feeling wickedly fabulous. It was the best free fun to be had. And age hasn’t changed that feeling.
On a city break in, say, Rome or New York, I can’t walk past Sephora without diving in. I have fond memories of hours wasted trying on eyeshadows, blushers, lipsticks, foundation, established brands and new brands, aided and abetted by big mirrors (and decent lighting), with plenty of lotions and cotton wool. Rinse, repeat. Oh, how I long to rinse, repeat again. How I long for the opportunity to waste such hours.
I was born in 1957, 12 years after the end of the Second World War, and yet I have a war child mentality. I stock up on lipstick the way my grandmother stocked up on tinned food (I also stock up on loo paper – not so stupid!). If I fall in love with a colour, I panic that it might be withdrawn from production and buy several. If you checked my lipstick collection, there are some I have owned since I first graduated from gloss pots.
I have another confession: I have bought the same colour under a different name, made by a different brand, over and over again in the belief that it’s entirely, erm… different. And maybe it is. By a nano shade. I have reds by Nars that are pretty much the same as reds by MAC or reds by Estée Lauder, in the ever-hopeful belief that maybe this one will be better, or different, or not bleed – my nemesis.
My favourite lipsticks that stay put are Ciaté, Bobbi Brown, Nars and, of course, MAC’S Ruby Woo, which is a go-to for those in the know. I try others that fail and yet, of course, I keep them. Hope springs eternal. My attitude towards eye colour is no different. I love a brown eye. I have greens and purples and pinks, but my go-to colour for everyday is definitely brown. I can spend hours at make-up counters looking for the perfect shade, when there are already several sitting in my make-up box. I have found one from MAC, which once was ‘the one’ and yet I continue the hunt. I buy duos from Nars. I have palettes of literally every shade of brown possible from e.l.f., from Ciaté, from Clinique. I have one from Morphe that has 35 different shades… of brown, bought online because one of them might be perfect.
And then, there’s hair. Because you can apply whatever make-up you like, but if you’re having a bad hair day, not even
Make-up to me is as much about personal expression as writing
the best red lipstick will help. My hair is currently lockdown long. It started as a long bob, but it’s now past my shoulders. I haven’t rushed back to the hairdresser in the same way that I have no inclination to get on a plane or go to the gym. My saving grace is that I don’t have roots. My hair is now decidedly grey and I couldn’t love it more. It spares the hours of sitting in foils, it saves my purse and I’ve had more compliments from passers-by since I unleashed my natural colour.
It all happened by mistake. On advice from my hairdresser, I bought a purple shampoo to keep my blonde highlights bright. The reviews advised not to go beyond the recommended five minutes leave-in time. Do this at your peril. I lay in the bath, my mind wandering, only to realise that 10 minutes later, I had met my peril. The shampoo had stripped the blonde, leaving me with grey locks and a distinct purple tinge. And reader, I liked it. Lots of friends liked it. Even my sons liked it. It looks better without the purple tinge, but that washed out.
So there you have it. I am proud to be grey, proud to wear make-up and dress up and to care about myself, and I will for ever continue to look for the perfect red lipstick and the ultimate shade of brown. There is joy in the hunting.
Life & Other Happy Endings (Transworld) by Melanie Cantor is out now