Isn’t it strange, how a few material things can signify a change that must have happened without you noticing?
I used to be the kind of person who hides behind a painted facade and is dismayed by the mere thought of being seen barefaced. I vaguely remember the first time I discovered concealers: aged twelve, the future suddenly seemed so bright and grown-up! A layer after another… when I turned seventeen, I wouldn’t even take the trash out without having a full face on. Pathetic, right? And a bit sad. At least that’s what I thought about it back then. A person with a thick layer of face paint but a not so thick skin.
However, it took me years to do anything about it. There were school trips I dreaded weeks in advance; also countless comments on how I looked and was supposed to look and blah.
The 2018 plot-twist: I looked at my make-up kit one day and realized there were only a very few items left. A creamy concealer + blush and a handful of other basics. Seems like the layers have worn off eventually. I guess that I subconsciously found more comfort in living in my body and the urge to resemble a pretty illustration simply faded away. There isn’t any morals to the story though. While I feel much lighter and much more confident than years ago, I didn’t miraculously become a brand new, immaculate person. There are still the same freckles and acne scars on my skin. The difference is, I confronted my insecurities to see how banal they really are – and then, shifted the focus elsewhere.