Thursday, July 19, 2012

Toorak is a Strange Place #1 : Makeup

I raged.

I've moved to a suburb where it is impossible to buy makeup.

I'll admit, buying makeup - along with bras, jeans, and when in a foreign country, tampons - is not one of my strong suits. Being that I'm of the female gender, I should have mastered at least a few of those activities by now. That sadly, is not the case. And now that I'm living in the midst of "luxury" it appears buying makeup has become even more of a difficult, drawn-out process.

Hell, you'd think that living in suburb known for its wealth would be conducive to things being first-world easy. Not so it seems; I write this from work, because our phone lines are apparently unfit to exist. This week my workplace has also doubled as the place where I shower, because our shower head has given up on life. That though, is an entirely different story. 

I digress. Back to makeup: one of my many missing skills. Missing, like my makeup. Lost during the move, or maybe I forgot to pack it, or maybe I just didn't really care. I have one thing of foundation, one blush, one eyeliner thing, and I think at one point I had some eye shadow but I'm fairly certain that went missing a while ago. The reason for my scant collection of face paint is two-fold: Not only do I rarely wear anything more than mascara (which I do buy often) and thus see no point in buying truckloads of it, but I find the process of buying makeup to be overwhelming and confusing.

Apparently there's a layer of stuff that you put on your face before the foundation? Is there something to put on afterwards? HOW MANY LAYERS DO YOU END UP WITH?? What colour goes with what on your eyes? Why does that matter? Which part of your face does the blush go on? Do I care? HOW THE HELL DO LADIES GET THAT LIQUID EYELINER STUFF TO GO ON IN A STRAIGHT LINE? DO YOU ALL HAVE THE STEADY HANDS OF A SURGEON??

I remember the first time I bought make up for myself - keep in mind this probably happened after I finished high school - the scene happened a lot like this: 

Shopgirl: Can I help you?
Reb: (looking terrified and confused) Um...I need make up. 
Reb: Um...yes? Yes. I think so? Yes. The kind that doesn't look like I'm pancaked in paint. Thanks?

I have at times attempted to learn these mysteries of being a Lady.The moment I started wearing eyeliner was a victorious, momentous day. That being said, my approach to eyeliner is to haphazardly scribble near my eye then smudge it to oblivion. Still, I learned!

Me, up until a couple of years ago.

You know, if I were to start wearing makeup everyday, people would get used to seeing me wearing make up every day. Then if I stopped all of a sudden, people would immediately think I had the plague, or leprosy. Such is the slippery slope of bothering to look good. Girl, ain't no one got time for that.

Anyway, last week I acquired a giant pimple in the middle of my face. A real doozy, a big red sunvabitch situated not on my chin or nose but right in the middle of my cheek. Good stuff it was, really convenient that was. I enjoy that sort of addition to my head right before a party. I looked like a Clearasil ad, but without a cut to a smiling, blemish-free me. 

Off to the shops I wandered, with an immediate first stop that yielded no victory. All the shades available were very, very white. They ranged from "Don't Spill Anything on the New White Rug" and edged towards "Slightly Sunkissed". Nothing at all within the "Ethnic Brown" spectrum at all. Darn.

So I walked across the street to the nearest pharmacy. I walked inside and immediately roundhouse kicked in the head with confusion. While there were more shades than my previous stop, another problem reared its ugly, shiny head. The only makeup they had- and this is no exaggeration whatsoever - was the super expensive kind in boxes with very reflective surfaces. Nothing else. Just designer wares at roughly mortgage-your-house-to-coat-your-face prices. Of course, I'm speaking in hyperbole. To a lady who wants the very best for her face because she values good quality make up, I'm sure those prices are completely reasonable. And while I hardly am the type to buy the height of CHEEP CHEEP CHEEP, I can hardly justify spending all that money on things I barely give a single shit about. I mean, I could spend that money on things I want! For instance, records. Or a new jumper for Elvis. Or a jumper with a picture of Elvis on it. Or a new dress. And new boots! I do need new boots. I do not need designer makeup. 

I stood there in the pharmacy, surrounded by shiny reflective surfaces, looking lost and probably vaguely in pain. Then I left. I walked home, defeated and deflated with a second face growing out of my cheek. For those of you playing at home, I did in fact pass another pharmacy on the way back. Unfortunately for everyone involved (me), it was closed. At 6:15pm on a Friday. 


Look, how I feel about making myself up is somewhere in between LOOK GOOD AT ALL TIMES and NEVER BOTHER. I do care about having a giant monstrosity of a pimple on my face. I shower every day. I have been known to walk down to the shops wearing a ripped t-shirt and obnoxious Peruvian trousers, but I buy nice dresses and I (for the most part) make sure I fit within my own bounds of "Cool. I'm looking good today." Should I be ashamed of not wanting to spend a month's rent to stock up on expensive makeup? It seems I will be driving to a shopping centre to hit up a Priceline, tail between my legs. 

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