By 
I'm a 27-year-old woman, and I don't own a lick of makeup.
Well, that's not entirely true. I own a tinted stick of Burt's Bee's lip balm. But short of that, the closest thing I own to a beauty-enhancing product are bobby pins.
For years, I loved painting my lips pink, applying blush to my cheeks, and wearing eyeshadow (gold was my favorite). Why did I stop?
A jealous boyfriend.
For a while, I was in a relationship with a man who I felt was constantly jealous, suspicious, and generally angry with me. Among the many things I believed I had to give up–like my self-esteem, my friends, and the option to go to graduate school–was my cosmetics bag.
At the time, it didn't seem like a huge deal to give it up. It wasn't as if I thought I needed makeup, but I did get pleasure out of putting it on and watching my face transform.
But the way I interpreted it was that my ex thought I didn't look good with it, and that wearing it was "attention-seeking." So I gathered all my M.A.C eyeshadows, brushes, powders, and collection of various lipsticks and glosses, and stashed them all away. I literally hid them under my bed. The truth is, I didn't want to throw it all out because I was ashamed to be making this kind of sacrifice for a boyfriend. Not to mention, makeup is damn expensive!
It seemed to me that I had to adhere to his makeup mandate. But I did want to hold on to some dignity and autonomy, so I slowly cut makeup from my routine, which basically bought me time to gradually justify changing myself for him.
Powder and blush were the first to go. Mascara was next, and I told myself that was okay because my lashes are already long, and I wore glasses anyways. Lipstick was the last of my cosmetics to disappear. I've always really liked lipstick: I like the object itself, I like putting it on, I even like watching other people put it on. So, getting rid of lipstick hurt the most, and I knew I was betraying myself by not wearing it.
Makeup stayed out of the picture after that. In the years since I finally left my ex, I've remained makeup-less. The only times in recent memory that I've worn anything more than moisturizer on my face was when I let my sister give me a makeover (she literally had to sit on my lap to do my eyeliner). But something inside me doesn't want the outside the change at all.
These days, I do think about makeup a lot. Specifically, I wonder why I'm still not wearing it. Is it because I genuinely don't want to wear makeup, or am I still internalizing what I felt when I was with my ex?
As a feminist, I feel strongly that anyone should be able to choose to wear makeup. Some people like the process of applying makeup and experimenting with new looks and colors. Other people want to look a little different than they do with a bare face. I don't have a problem with any of these motivations, and I wouldn't call myself "anti-makeup." And then there's the fact that makeup is a bit of a problematic consumer product. It's primarily marketed to women, who are always already told our looks are one of the most important things about our identity. To be honest, though, I kind of like makeup. I love how I look without makeup, but I also like how I look with it.
In the beginning, I actually did use feminism to justify my lack of makeup. I wanted to reject makeup for all of the very valid problems it presents; I wanted it to feel like it was my choice not to stop wearing makeup.
But the painful truth of the matter is that on some deep level, I know I've internalized the idea that makeup is not for me, that it doesn't suit me, that I can't pull off that type of femininity, that I don't want all the attention that comes with it.
I thought these things because I felt my ex implied them, implied I wasn't pretty enough, implied I didn't deserve to be with someone I love.
It's been a few years now, and while some of the wounds are just now healing, it is a dilemma – one that only recently came to the surface.
Ultimately, makeup is just a few small objects we can toss in our bags or on our bathroom counter, and someday, I'd like to be in a place where I feel I can put a little on without blinking twice – except, of course, when applying mascara.
