the life and musings of a kinky slut


Today I want to talk about a subject that, for me, is frivolous. It has almost no impact on my life, yet is prevalent throughout our culture: makeup.

Some of you who know me may smile at the thought of me writing an entire blog entry about this topic, being that I don’t in fact ever wear makeup, but that is part of the reason why I decided to take a moment from my hectic day and expound a bit on the subject.

Recently a male friend, when I offhandedly mentioned that I don’t wear makeup, asked me why. I thought about it for a bit. Not many people ask me that question. Most just accept the fact when I randomly mention it and move on.

There are the practical reasons why I don’t. It saves me money and time in my hectic day. It isn’t necessary for me to be made up for my job, and could actually be a distraction/hassle in my work.

There are the superficial personal reasons. When I was young and tried it with my mother once, I didn’t like the feel of it on my skin. I’ve seen my mother all done up (she LOVES makeup, by the way). The look just didn’t fit my personality; it’s just not me.

And then there are my deeper thoughts about the cultural practice in general.

I’m not trying to sound above others when I say this, but I like knowing I look the same to someone when I go to bed with them as when I wake up beside them.

I don’t see the need to hide my flaws from people, to smooth over the blemishes on my face. I like to believe there are people who will be attracted to me for me, flaws and all.

I find it empowering to not have to wear makeup, to not have to conform to this particular cultural norm, to just step up and step out as plain old me, accepting, embracing my less than perfect skin and still feeling beautiful.

I’ve seen certain people, my mother included, for whom makeup is an art that heightens their beauty. With them, I understand why they love such adornment. There is a reason why professional are called makeup artists, because it is an art. But it is just not something that I wish to absorb into my own sensibilities.

The closest I’ve come to wearing makeup is body glitter on my eye lids and cheekbones to accentuate my face. And, truth be told, I like it when I find the random flecks of glitter here or there on my person.

I’ve thought about trying mascara, though this would specifically be for scenes. Being that I cry a lot, I’ve wondered how it would look to have my face blackened from my tears. But I have yet to play with this.

I have one tube of lip gloss that is probably five plus years old, as well a single tube of black lipstick that I’ve owned since high school. Neither has been used in years.

I adorn myself in jewelry (necklaces, earrings, bracelets). I have a growing and eclectic sock collection. I’m increasing the hot dress section of my wardrobe, and I hope to increase my shoe selection as well (though, with a 10 wide foot that has been challenging).

There are plenty of ways that I am very much a girl. There is no doubt about that. But this one thing, this one part of the cultural stereotype of feminine, just does not fit me. And, well, I’m okay with that.

Categorised as: Random | Wisdom

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