I suppose that's not true. The fact is, I love makeup. I've loved it since I first smeared on some of my mother's Tangee lipstick and decided orange wasn't my color. Actually, I think I decided lipstick was icky, but hey, I was only nine. Only four years later, I was a master at skulking past the makeup counters at the drugstore, surreptitiously flicking my finger over various trial samples, and oh-so-casually applying it without benefit of a mirror. They had mirrors, of course, but I didn't want to pretend I was going to buy anything so I had to avoid conspicuously trying on the stuff. The skulk-and-run operation sometimes resulted in different colored eyelids, wildly smeared lips, and a melange of blusher on my cheeks, depending on how easy it was to get to a mirror without catching the sharp eyes of a saleswoman. That's how I learned to choose makeup. I learned how to apply it by reading Seventeen magazine and following various diagrams that promised to make me look just like Maureen McCormick or Marie Osmond (gag). During the late 60's and very early 70's I favored lavender lids, blue mascara, powdery pink cheeks, and super-glossy lipstick. I'm sure I looked like a tropical fish with an unsavory disease but I thought I was very stylish. And you know, for the times, I was pretty with it.

My grandmother was the epitome of chic to me when I was growing up. She had no eyebrows at all and had to draw them in with a dark brown pencil each day. She wore rouge, actual rouge, not blusher, applied very carefully to stain her cheek just the right shade of red. She loved dark lipsticks and false eyelashes and I thought she was as glamorous as a movie star. She was still using makeup techniques popular in the 1930's. Whenever I want to look exotic, I use my grandmother's trick of drawing the brows on with a high, demilune curve and white shadow underneath to accent it. Combined with smokey black eyeshadow and dark red lips, even inveterately modern I can contrive to look like something from an old movie.

Now that I'm queen of the earth tones and veteran of more beauty magazines than I can recall, I know how to look "natural," subtly enhancing my features instead of slapping the stuff on. It's fun. I enjoy getting a reaction from people who rarely see me made up. They can't work out why I look different, they just know I look especially good. It's a great excuse to go rummaging around the trial samples on display at the department stores near where I work. I don't care about saleswomen seeing me try it on anymore. That's their job, and my job is to try things on until I find what I like. Don't get me wrong, I think I look good without makeup, but I know I look more professional on the job with it.