Humour: Amanda Blair is lured by lipstick, finally
As she reluctantly embraces middle age, Amanda Blair makes peace with war paint and, just like her grandmother did, begins ‘putting her face on’.
New year, new me. Well, not exactly a new me, just an enhanced version of me. Oh, don’t worry, I haven’t been surgically enhanced, just cosmetically. At the tender age of [muffled muffled], I’ve started wearing make-up. This has taken my friends and family by surprise, as I’ve always prided myself on my fresh-faced approach. I’ve never worn make-up and felt sorry for people who don’t leave home without it.
My grandmother was one of these people. Often family excursions would suffer lengthy delays while we waited for Nan to emerge from the bathroom, where she’d been “putting her face on”. Initially, I was confused by this, as I didn’t know you could take your face off. Nobody had bothered to inform me of this biomechanical feat, so much of my sixth year was spent trying to find the hidden hinges, so I could see what I’d look like without mine.
Eventually I got sick of the fruitless investigation which resulted in nothing more than irritated skin, and asked Nan to show me how she did it. We went into the bathroom, where I perched nervously on the step stool but Nan assured me it would be over quickly. She reached into the mirrored vanity for the Pond’s Cold Cream and slathered it on with gay abandon, rubbing in a circular motion for what seemed like hours. Next the warmed flannel and the gentle swipe, and et voilà, nude Nan.
She put her war paint back on as quickly as she removed it – powder, then some rouge, eyeshadow and finally her trademark tangerine lipstick. I asked her why, as I thought she was just as beautiful without it. Because she felt “more comfortable”, she said and I’ve struggled with that statement most of my life. To me, make-up isn’t comfortable, Hush Puppies are comfortable, tracksuits are comfortable, underpants that come up over your waist
Initially, I was confused by this, as I didn’t know you could take your face off.
are comfortable, but applying a wet, sticky substance to your face, then blending it so you don’t look like Donald Trump isn’t.
Sure, occasionally I’ve been required to temporarily make up with make-up ... bridesmaid duties, family portraits and, ahem, my 2016 Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Calendar shoot ... and I always feel like a drag queen ready to belt out Gloria Gaynor’s I Will Survive. And survive I have, make-upless, until recently, when a different drag came into my life – middle age. I took a good hard look in the mirror and didn’t like what was staring back at me: a tired, lined, dehydrated, frumpy version of my former self. Goodbye sparkle and dewy freshness, hello invisibility and meeting the eligibility criteria for cheap caravan insurance. A conversation I had years ago with a beauty editor came to haunt me during my nighttime hot flushes. Apparently, when you age, your facial features recede, so we can add that to our lists of reasons why ageing ROCKS. Your face gets sucked back into your skull and you may end up looking like Steven Tyler from Aerosmith. Nice.
So a touch of colour here, a bit of shading there and Pot o’ Gloss over the whole bloody lot might keep me ahead of the march of time. Might make me feel more vibrant, more like Helen Mirren in the red bikini shots and less like, um, well, me. Taking a leaf from Nan’s book, I bought just the bare necessities from the beauty bar and am light with my touch, aware I’m being watched by my family for signs that I may have lost my mind. The husband has instructed the kids to call him immediately if there is a code blue – blue eyeshadow or mascara – as this would require an intervention. In the meantime, it doesn’t feel so bad to, sometimes, put your best face forward.