As an over-fifty woman, I know a little something about skin care and flaw coverage.
Yes, I said it. I don’t wake up looking ready to face the world each day. There is work to be done. A shower, hair and makeup takes me about a half-hour, but it’s thirty minutes I will not skip. I would consider it environmental pollution to do so. Not to mention the fact that my bare face would better serve as a fright mask than a reminder that an older woman is like a fine wine, getting better as she ages.
The cosmetics companies don’t let you forget that they offer the potions, lotions and antidotes to prevent and reverse the skin’s aging process, if only you’ll (stop gagging at the price and) invest in their worthy products. The thing I hate about their commercials is the models; young creatures with flawless skin, in need of absolutely nothing save a light dusting of powder to remove a tiny bit of their youthful, dewy glow, so viewers are not blinded by their radiance.
How stupid are we, to think that a week’s worth of anything from a jar or tube will make us look better at fifty than we ever did at thirty? Or twenty? And why do we keep trying products at the behest of well-meaning but dim-bulb “beauty consultants” at the mall or home parties, when the products cost more than a week’s worth of groceries, smell like a landfill on a summer’s day or make us look ill? Have you ever walked by a cosmetics counter, or been in the chair for a “free” makeover, and wanted to say any of the following out loud:
- Honey, black eyeliner that thick went out years ago, unless you are using it as road striping, or going out at Halloween as Catwoman to the hubby’s Batman.
- Two hundred dollars? For a one-ounce jar of face cream? Really? For that price, it should not only reduce wrinkles, it should take my car keys, find my car in the parking lot, pick me up at the door, drive me home and fix dinner.
- I’m looking for a nice light foundation. Not clown plaster, not concrete-in-a-jar. If it comes with a little spoon-shaped like a trowel, it’s not my definition of light. And it doesn’t need to be in any shade known as “Celebrity Day-Glo Orange.”
- I like mascara. I need mascara. But there’s lash-lengthening and then there’s fuzzy hair extensions in a tube. I don’t want my eyes to look like Spidey’s cast his web there.
- Miracle eye cream in that tiny little bottle, huh? I doubt it, unless the miracle involves me waking up each morning with my eye makeup fully on and done before I get out of bed, and we’re talking shadow, liner, brows and mascara. For that kind of money, that’s what I would expect.
I’ve been wearing makeup since I was a preteen. I wasn’t your typical kid, sneaking off to the drugstore to buy it, either. It was my mom’s idea. Even at age 13, she could tell I would need help. At least she had the sense to take me to a professional makeup artist to have it done right. So, my current obsession/addiction/need/reliance is my mother’s fault. Thanks, mom. Because of you, I may spend too much (though I do buy on sale with coupons), but I put my best possible face forward at all times.