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I made the final touches, and put down the makeup brush. From over my shoulder, someone handed the bride a mirror. Gulping down a knot of anxiety as she examined my handiwork, I found myself thinking: After a lifetime of feeling like an outsider in the "girl" world, how did I wind up here?
Since the day when I was seven or eight years old, and my mother found me curled up on the bathroom counter, purloined makeup strewn around me, I always had an interest in beauty. But, I always felt I lacked something in the execution. Early experiences had taught me the first tenet of female beauty: It's a social process.
Not exactly my strength.
I'd watch the other girls in their social groups:
"It's called Sea Plasma!" one girl would reverently gasp, presenting the bottle with the flair of a TV spokesmodel, "It's made with seaweed! Feel how soft it makes your hair!" With that, she'd hold out a lock of her hair to felt and admired. After the requisite Oohs and Aahs, the bottle would be offered up, and passed around to a select few.
Such exchanges baffled me. How did one become part of that inner circle? I didn't know. So I did my best. On my good days, I felt like I was succeeding. On my bad days, I'd wonder if I was getting it right.
When I succeeded, I succeeded because I kept it simple. Dab on a little cover-up for the dark circles, put on a little mascara and lipstick, maybe a little eye shadow, and I was done. Those things were easy.
Foundation, on the other hand, was hard. I studied up, but somehow just couldn’t master it. I tried different application methods: a sponge, my fingers, etc., but more often than not I was disappointed in the results.
More formal work events were terrible. Feeling the pressure to look perfect, I couldn’t forgo the foundation. I'd begin hours before the event, ending in a total makeup meltdown. "There's a line!" I'd screech to my husband, running late and desperate to get it right. The harder I tried to fix it, the worse it would get. Soon, I had uneven blotches of foundation all over my face.
Crying, my eyes puffy and red, I'd eventually give up, scrub my face clean, and start all over again. By the time I got out the door, I was hopelessly late, hysterical and my nerves would be shot. Aahh, to be able to do my makeup just once and get it right.
Then, a few years ago, I began seeing these late-night infomercials for the latest fad in makeup. It looked to me no different than finishing powder - but the end results looked pretty convincing. No lines, no infuriating "blending" - just "swirl, tap and buff." Could this possibly work? Could this be the solution for my many foundation flops?
While Christmas shopping at the local mall, I breezed into a little store, and let them do a demo on me. Pleased with what I saw, I came out armed with a list of supplies - which, of course, went promptly to my husband. He bought every last piece. Christmas Day became a makeup marathon...and I was hooked. I could do this! I could put on foundation without freaking!
A few years later, my in-laws came to visit. We'd promised to take them to a broadway-style show, but as luck would have it, we were running ridiculously late. Speeding back home in the taxi, my Mother-in-Law was steadily getting more and more upset. "We're not going to make it!" she said, "We haven't eaten, we still need to get dressed...and I have to do my makeup! We're not going to make it!"
"Don't worry," I said, "We'll make it. Listen, why don't I do your makeup? You and I have the same color complexion...let me use my makeup. It'll go much faster - and you'll love it. You'll see!"
In my enthusiasm, I didn't stop to think about the fact that I’d done someone else’s makeup only once – at 12. And that hadn't gone well. I didn't think about all my makeup meltdowns over the years…or the possible disaster that could result should I screw this up.
Why? I don't know.
Imagine my relief, when, as we walked to the train station, I caught my Mother-In-Law admiring her makeup in the window of a building. She liked it! I had done it!
A year later, my husband and I arrived at his sister's wedding. Seeking out his parents, we got the run-down on the schedule for the day. As she laid out all her clothes and supplies, my Mother-In-Law pulled out the largest makeup case I'd ever seen. She turned to me. "Do you think that this will be enough?" she asked.
"I'm sure it will be." I replied, smiling, not sure why she was asking me. I soon learned why when she said: "She wants you to do her makeup."
“She” meaning the bride. For a moment, I froze… Doing my Mother-In-Law's makeup for a night out was one thing...but doing wedding makeup? If I got it wrong, well, I could only imagine the vibes at holiday gatherings!
I felt a knot form in my stomach, but as I panicked, I knew I couldn't say no. This was the one request the bride had made of me. How could I turn her down?
So, I gulped really hard, took some deep breaths and gave myself a good talking to. Then I went for it.
As I sat there, eye-to-eye with the bride, I was overwhelmed with a strange mix of emotions: fear, anxiety, pride, peace, wonder, happiness. I looked around at the roomful of women, and thought of all the other "girly girls" that made up the wedding party. Of all of them, she had chosen me. I never dreamed that I would be here.
To them, this was commonplace. To me, it was anything but. "They'll never know what this feels like for me." I thought to myself, "They'd probably never believe it." As the immense thankfulness washed over me, I found myself fighting tears.
When they handed the bride the mirror, I held my breath. She looked into it, and gave a happy smile. Something bloomed in my chest – a feeling I still can’t describe – and I smiled, too.
Maybe I wasn't such an outsider after all...
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