In the thick of fashion week-ing, when that warpaint substance you call make-up was actually required to make me look semi-presentable to the world and to hide the green/flushed red pallor of a nasty flu, Rachel of blog Rabbit Write asked me to participate in a project she organised entitled 'No Make-Up Week'. Fairly self-explanatory there, me thinks. I didn't participate at the time on the first aforementioned account but coming back to it now, I'm now thinking perhaps there isn't too much point in my case.
By the way, I'm barring all FUN or more accurately, trend-related make-up here. Orange lips (found the perfect shade at Sisley‚Ä¶yessssh!). Black ones. Glittery lashes. Glow-in-the-dark eyelids. A blue zodiac sign drawn around the eye with a crayon. All of the stuff that gets me somewhat interested, only because there is an array of colour palettes to look at and I can go "Ooooh‚Ä¶look at those COLOURS!".
What Rachel was actually referring to and exploring, was the stigma around make-up that supposedly women are expected to wear – the sort of thing that women are almost forced to put on. I feel dread pouring on me as I type. It's the boring stuff. The stuff that takes a while to get right because of flesh shading, pigmentation, texture etc. The stuff that makes women spend a fair buck on. The stuff I HATE shopping for because it's a groan of a chore and make-up counter people confuse me with tech-jargon in their quest to try and ply more products onto me.
I'm revisiting the subject now because I owe Rachel one for not joining in the festivities at the time (though in my defence, I really would have made fashion week-goers want to step far FAR away if I DIDN'T war paint my face when it was err‚Ä¶bleeding and sniffling‚Ä¶) as well as taking the opportunity to ponder whether I COULD just do away with the stuff when in reality, I try and wear as little of it as possible.
If I had it my way, I would personally do away with putting on any of that concealer, powder, foundation larks. Reading Tavi's take on no-make-up, I almost want to burst into a Disney-esque ballad and sing about how NICE it would be to turn back ten years to the skin that I had that was pretty much flawless, to the times when there were reduced levels of stress and a lack of exposure to smoke and err‚Ä¶other elements. Then I could get away without that three-minute routine in the mornings that consists of a smidge of concealer around the nose, chin and then under the eyes and a touch of powder on the nose. Eyeliner is I guess, more erring towards the 'fun' make-up thing though in truth is more of an accent that is part of the waking-up process in the mornings, going naturally after putting my contacts in. It all doesn't amount to much in my case but it of course does make something of a difference.
Or does it? Can I just do away with it altogether. I've never been clever enough to figure out the full-on war-paint that a lot of women do wear on a daily basis. So why partake at all if I am just a lazy dabbler and it in fact takes three minutes out of the day? Related to a fashion slant though, more tellingly, when I am sans-make-up, in my outfits I somehow rely on a more layered or protective mode of dressing, which is loosely related to the days when I'm travelling/flying and pile on layers of tees, jumpers and shorts over leggings etc in shades of grey, black and white. Or when I'm running errands during the day which means going out without the face-paint, I then counter-act by dressing in this layered mode of comfort. I've only noticed this odd pattern of mine when I thought about Rachel's analysis on the subject. I'm wondering whether it's just directly two fingers up at looking remotely attractive to the opposite sex, which then of course delves into all kinds of murky waters when connecting abundance of layers directly to a man's waning interest in looking at what's under all of those clothes.
Not that I of course don't go into a big blobby layered mess when I do have that three-minute routine of slap on. Somehow though, without those make-up smudges, it seems that clothing layers are automatically piled on with a particular aesthetic leniance that Leandra Medine of The Man Repeller would LOVE to get her hands on (gosh, the way I offend in SO many ways in reference to her diatribes makes me ever-so-grateful for the other half‚Ä¶).
I guess this is a big lo' long post about my almost-no-make-up antics which isn't all that exciting in the scheme of things but seemed to want to bounce off my chest onto the blog anyhow. Instead then, let's get back on track and enjoy some interesting layers such as this Zambesi bomber jacket with patchwork leather sleeves and a matching grey wool bustier top from the winter 2010 collection, bunged over a A.L.C. sleeveless silk shirt with a leather Peter Pan collar. The sheer opt-art trews completes the other half of my purchases from Paracelso. Luxor Tavella told me I should wear them as a turban – I've just about figured out how to knot them up at the bottom so I'll upgrade to turban action later. Then there are these J.W. Anderson S/S 11 boots that aren't here to stay but perfectly complete this particular layering carnage.
Just noticed in these two pics that sunlight hides a ton of sins too…