On the 4th of July, I decided to stop wearing make-up for the summer. I usually go all out for Day Job, but with the 80+ degree heat, putting foundation, powder, blush etc. on my face had the same effect as pouring the stuff down the drain.
I had no idea how freeing it would be.
I know. Silly, isn’t it? But that’s about 10 minutes in the morning I get back. Ten minutes I can write.
That’s the ability to rub my eyes when I’m tired and not worry about the cosmetic outcome.
That’s me, re-emerging from the corporate me that ruled my life for so long.
So I have to make a decision about Tuesday morning, when my Day Job’s Summer Dress Code is no longer in effect. Putting on make-up isn’t the same things as the males having to put on ties again. Ties are part of the uniform. Make-up is for . . . enhancement, which is something about which I know longer care.
I’m a wash-and-go woman. I don’t fuss with my hair (gave that up years ago). I don’t even blow dry my hair. My stylist does a fabulous job with the cut and color. I just have to show up at her salon every 6 weeks or so.
I asked my friends, just for input. They don’t like the way they look without make-up, so they wear it. Which is fine.
I asked my husband what he thought. Non-issue for him. His opinion (besides my own) is the only one that matters to me.
There are a lot of things about getting older that suck. Reading glasses. Aches and pains. But being more comfortable and accepting of my body–which includes my face–isn’t one of them.