The Mourning After
AFTER WALKING PAST LONG, CREAMY BLONDE HAIR EXTENSIONS ABANDONED AND BEWILDERED AT THE SIDE OF THE ROAD, GEORGIA CORCORAN GOT THINKING ABOUT THE MAKE UP HANGOVER.
Scuffed into a drain. Shambled bewichery lost in the heady darkness. Ever seen someone peel their false eyelashes off? It's grim. Like a lipstick bullet to the heart. Why can't everything be beautiful all the time? Often I delay removing my make-up at night as doing so slightly deflates me. I have happily been pretending that face is as published. Then it becomes something less. It's a dreadful thing. Similarly I'd rather not wear a padded, push up in the first place if I know I'll be taking it off (hello boys). The difference between on and off is too striking and I'd hate to mislead anyone.
Beauty isn't genuine. It's a pretence, but thankfully it lets you pretend with it. Isn't it horrific, seeing just a crease of liner left, lopsided lip-gloss or visible brush strokes laid into thick foundation. As if the world is falling apart slightly. Santa Claus isn't real all over again. It would be too discomforting to mention the sinister false eyelashes detaching from one corner. To give up the game and admit deceit. Much nicer to just go on pretending. There's refuge in the magnificent.
Speaking of Santa, around now you may notice make-up brands have introduced special Christmas products. This year Chanel has an inspired black, red and gold palette, Dior introduces us to a 'flamboyant collection' - also gold - and Lancome came up with 'The Golden Hat Collection'. Beautifully embossed pressed powders, blushes and shadows in enticing mirrored compacts - glitzy things. Why? Why do women care for make-up so beautifully presented? The packaging gets thrown out and the soft, shimmery layer on of these palettes (called 'overspray' believe it or not) wares off within a couple of uses whereby you are left with a crumbly square of pigment. Once touched it's forever imperfect. Some do collect them and psychotically never use them. To prove a point? 'My untouched make-up compact and pure, virginal skin. I'm perfect and it's perfect.' Everything's perfect. It takes a lot to maintain this illusion though. I'd rather wallow in my grubby, glittery epic party make-up until the hangover's gone. Like a grandiose building with peeling wallpaper and mould gathering around it's ornate stucco. It's outwardly exactly how I'm feeling inside, I deserve it and to wash it off would be cheating.
Again, I'd rather not mislead. 'Effortlessly beautiful' is only ever written or dreamed about. Sometimes being reminded of this can be quite haunting though. Like false nails that have flicked off onto cubicle floors.
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