First, let me just say, people make selfies look so easy, but they’re really not.

But I’m not here to talk about selfies, I’m here to talk about makeup.  Or the lack thereof.

When I turned fourteen I was allowed to start wearing makeup.  I have three older sisters, and most of my friends had been wearing makeup for years, so I felt ready for this step up in my life.  I started with the basics (most likely green sparkly eyeshadow, clunky mascara, and bright blush, am I right?!), and would bring a little with me to school for some fine-tuning throughout the day.  After about a week or two I realized a few things:

1. I felt like I couldn’t touch my face or I’d smudge my masterpiece  2. I was waking up really early to put it on  3. I didn’t necessarily feel any different about myself, with or without the makeup

So, I stopped.  Just like that.  I traded in my makeup for a little more sleep, and the freedom to rub my itchy eyes whenever I please.  I have seasonal allergies, so that’s a biggie, for me.

To be completely honest, I never even noticed.  I’d just get up and go.  Until one day, in tenth grade.  I was in class, and we were having an emotional lesson, I wish I could remember the topic, but basically, every girl in the room, myself included, was sobbing.  As I looked around with my wet eyes, I noticed that all the other girls kept wiping the mascara from under their eyes, without much success.  That was the first time I really realized how freeing it was to have a naked face.  Life was just… simple.

Years later, when Rauland and I were newly dating, we were cuddled up on the couch (aaaaw) when he sat up, looked me square in the face, squinted his eyes, and then asked, “Do you wear makeup?”  I was completely taken off guard, and felt little self-conscious, because I never thought about it.  When I answered “no” he smiled, relaxed back into the couch, and whispered, “that’s really cute”.  And that’s when I knew we were meant to be together.  Okay, not really, but I was glad he appreciated that little part of me.

With the exception of a little bit on my wedding day, I haven’t worn makeup since I was fourteen years old.  Not because I was just born with it.  Because I’m pretty plain Jane.  Not because I have any opposition to makeup, the makeup industry, or the beautiful women who wear it.  Because I don’t.  At all.  I choose not to wear makeup because I’m comfortable and happy without it.  And basically, just because I’m lazy.

I have freckles.  Not the cute, bold kind; the kind that give an uneven skin tone.  But every once in a while someone notices them, like, someone who I’ve been friends with a long time, and they have one of those “how did I never notice that” moments, which just makes me smile.

I have dark circles under my eyes that make me look tired all the time.  But I got those from my gorgeous grandmother.

I have crows feet.  But they’re my smile lines.  I expect a whole lot more wrinkles in my future, and the truth is, I don’t want to be young forever. I want to live a good, long, happy life.

I barely have eyebrows.  But at least I don’t have to pluck them!

I have little eyes and blonde lashes.  But they’re MY little eyes and blonde lashes.

“Women are beautiful. They only think they need makeup.”

-Rauland (my stud of a husband)