I don’t normally wear makeup to work, mostly because my lazy priorities lie in getting that extra time in bed. I’ve never been a morning person, and flip between jealousy and annoyance at those who have themselves together before 8am.
Sometimes I try to pretend I’m an organised morning person and take advantage of a quiet train to put some makeup on: coverup, mascara, blusher. To ‘frame the face’, as Jeremy Renner recommends. Nothing crazy that requires two sponges, a paint brush and the the support of the entire Kardashian family – less than a two minute job normally. And never on a packed train.
The reactions of fellow passengers can vary. Most people don’t care or aren’t conscious enough to notice. Some other women take it as a cue to pull out their own makeup. Then you get the odd man, normally in his 20s-30s, who can’t seem to handle it.
They look over constantly and seem to get very uncomfortable. I’ve even had a few tut their disapproval (this morning, for example – hence the blog post).
I’m petty sure I understand why.
They don’t want to know how sausage is made.
By sausage, I mean my face.
By my face, I mean the thin cover of lies that pretends I’ve got actual colour in my cheeks and eyebrows that don’t have gaps like a morse code training book.
It’s like that time I watched a YouTube video of how caviar is made. I knew roughly what it was made of, but seeing it actually happen up close… not cool.
It spoils the magic. I guess that makes us the Penn and Teller of the makeup world.