Life in quarantine: Why I quit wearing makeup 2 months ago

Welcome to the Twilight Zone. We all live here now. My story is just a strange piece this world on siteand it taught me an important lesson.

My story started with Lent this year. Lent is the period from Ash Wednesday to Easter Sunday when many Christians forego something to focus more on faith. Abstentions are often related to food, but can range from alcohol consumption to social media to Netflix to video games. How everyone incorporates it into their beliefs or not is a personal decision.

I decided to give up my makeup for the 45 days of Lent this year – and I’m still not wearing it.

It felt like a big challenge. The 30th birthday this year really increased my insecurities. Every day, sometimes twice a day, I spent minutes in the mirror to improve and perfect my “look” before showing myself in public. My concerns about my appearance took up too much space in my head.

Born and raised in the deep south, I spent a lot of my life remembering the importance of hospitality, small talk, good dressing and sitting upright (it turned out that piano lessons were secretly intended for this). and make sure your entire face and lock of hair is perfectly styled and then peeled generously with White Rain.

You never know who you could meet in the supermarket, they told me.

I wore dresses and heels almost every day in high school and slept in curlers so often that I think my skull could be misshapen. I learned almost as soon as I could walk how to pose for a picture and that “good hair” should be on my list of long-term goals.

I should note here that I had a really wonderful childhood, blessed by an incredibly loving mother who is equally beautiful and intelligent. But my mother knew that a successful woman often meant playing the beauty game, whether she liked it or not.

Here in 2020 I don’t have radiant, smooth skin. I am an average person and that means I have imperfections. I had acne until my 20s and I now have fine lines. I washed my face on Tuesday evening before Ash Wednesday, moistened myself and went to bed the next day full of fear.

Taking the plunge was terrifying, but strangely exciting. I tweeted about it, along with my first selfie without makeup. I will not disclose how many I took before I agreed. There were too many. Nevertheless, I felt strengthened by the “No Turning Now” obligation for a tweet sent.

But soon my thoughts raced for one upcoming fair. What would my industry contacts and employees think of this simple journalist? What would that Youtube Say comments if I had to make one Video for CNET? These were real questions that I asked myself. After all, a generation of hard-working women had shown me the way, which in the 1970s and 1980s were all too often seen as an accessory and not an asset for their offices. I was afraid I could sabotage my career.

These concerns are not without foundation. There is a lot of research women out there prove that they are judged by their looks. One study even found that over two thirds of employers admitted this feel free to rent a woman who wore no makeup. Another found that the initial assessment of a woman’s trustworthiness, sympathy and competence was higher when the woman was wearing makeup. I’m not looking for a job, but I certainly don’t want anyone to question their decision to include me in their team or involve me in their project.

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I also had personal concerns. In addition to my professional commitments, I had planned a 10-day vacation in Japan in mid-March. Would I look back at breathtaking photos of old temples years later, just to be horrified by my jet lag, oily, impure face that ruined the whole scene?

I successfully passed the first two weeks of work and appointments around the city without cosmetics. The first day was heavy. I wanted to hide everywhere. The first time I saw some family members was difficult. I have been wearing makeup almost every day of my life since grade 7. It was a cover that I never removed even in my closest relationships.

Slowly the days got easier and I felt more comfortable with what I saw in the mirror. I didn’t know that the end of my 45-day Lent on Easter Sunday would be in the middle of you pandemic. There would be no fairs. There would be no vacation.

On March 12, I worked indefinitely from home when our offices were closed. Since there was nowhere to be and no one was around, the whole makeup challenge seemed a breeze.

“Man, I chose the right year for this,” I thought to myself, feeling guilty for loosening my hook so easily.

Then Zoom came around. Slowly but surely, Video meeting appeared on my calendar. Team meetings, happy hour, one-on-one meetings with my editor. Now people were staring at my face under a digital microscope.

I had little tricks that made me feel better, like adding big, distracting earrings to my outfit or putting my head in my hands to hide blemishes around my chin. A huge coffee cup is also great for hiding half your face (a wine glass works too).

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All the time I asked myself, “Does that make me unprofessional? Do people think I’m not trying?” I’ve never been a fool and the idea of ​​being classified like that bothered me. I take care of my job and keep my house tidy. I am responsible and committed, but what if my face says otherwise in its natural state?

I switched on Zooms “Improve my appearance” function faster than anyone else in the history of the world. It definitely helped and it’s completely subtle. Still, I felt weird about it. Like refinishing your appearance on a photo or using a beauty filter, it can seem a little difficult if you think too carefully about why you feel compelled to do so as a representation of yourself.

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As with so many things in life, time was slowly changing my perspective. After the first week and a half in our office, I realized that nobody else was treating me. I was still asked for my opinion in meetings and involved in delightful debates and silly jokes. Not once did I hear the feared “you look tired” or “are you okay?”

That’s probably because I have the best people in the world and they wouldn’t say anything, no matter how rough I look, unless I mentioned it. To say that they are good people is an understatement.

It’s also because the world is not about me. I am a millennium old and an only child, so this point is particularly difficult to work with even at 30. Whether I wear an eyeliner or not will probably not register on any radar. It shouldn’t. We have so many other important things to think about, discuss and achieve in one day. In fact, I felt more focused than ever when it came to getting things done at work and at home.

This insight remained with me when I left the office to work at home, and now, on the 73rd day (27 days after Easter), I am still without makeup and thinking about making the change permanent . (Here’s a bonus: you can rub your tired eyes as many times as you’d like without worrying about smearing your mascara, eyeliner, and eyeshadow.)

On the other hand, I couldn’t. I can show plump lips from back to our first day in the office T-Swift red and eyelashes a foot long just for fun. I still believe that there is nothing wrong with enjoying makeup and feeling best when you look good, whatever that means to you.

Makeup was never the problem; my Dependence was on it.

I don’t know yet where I’ll end up on the subject in our new normal. What I do know is that Lent and a global pandemic have given me a new perspective on what’s important to me, my relationships, and my work.

Giving up something that was so important to my routine was a daily reminder of my faith, a review of where my value came from, and almost half an hour that I came back (women spend one 21 minutes on average apply makeup every morning) to spend time meditating on more important things.

Experience has helped me calibrate the importance I attach to my appearance, that’s right. But it also reminded me of the beautiful network of friends, family and colleagues I have and how wonderful it is to be valued by more than my looks – something I was really afraid of given the history of the USA couldn’t happen world.

At a time when it looks like there is so much missing, the memory of everything I have humiliates me.