Drink Positive

So today is the final day of the month, and hence the last day of Face-Off February. This month's challenge was hard for two days, then liberating for twenty-six. I'm excited to put on makeup tomorrow for the first time in four weeks, but I'll be honest—the experiment changed me. I'll be far more likely to give the stuff a miss on occasion. Absolutely no one cares about the state of my face aside from me, bless them.

March, don't fail me now…

Onward! Tomorrow marks the start of Meager March, during which I'm not allowing myself to make any frivolous purchases. When I devised all the months that comprise Discipline Year, I thought this would be one of the easier ones. But in recent days I've been noticing all the treats I'll mourn in the coming weeks, as I've been indulging in them—beers and meals out with friends, spontaneous iTunes downloads, movie tickets. Hmm…this isn't just about saying no to shoes or clothes or jewelry. This could be far harder than I expected.

Though it may arguably be cheating, I did make one frivolous purchase ahead of time, as an insurance policy. Just now I walked to the bodega and bought a bottle of cheap champagne, my standard celebratory treat for new book sales. Although I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm expecting to have occasion to pop it open in the next month, there is a chance I could. And I'm trying to think positively, so accordingly, I'm planning for the best. Cheers to that!

Eff-Off February

Thought I'd give you all an update, now that I'm more than a week into the make-up-free month of Discipline Year, Face-Off February.

With the exception of a few desirous twinges, I've adapted shockingly well to this challenge. About two days in I got a lovely little break-out on my chin…was my complexion suffering from withdrawal? Nah, this is a pretty typical monthly annoyance for me. Who still gets break-outs in their early thirties? Me! Anyone else out there? Now I wouldn't say I was tempted to cheat and dab on a bit of concealer, but I certainly wished I were allowed to.

I've now been seen without makeup by strangers in the street, acquaintances at the gym and local shops, and beloved extended family members, and as any rational person would expect, no one's batted an eye. Walking around in public sans makeup after half a lifetime of daily usage is an interesting experience… As I told someone on Twitter, I feel simultaneously invisible and conspicuous, at least for the first few minutes. I feel like no one's noticing me, and everyone's noticing me. I'm all naked up in the face, and it does feel that way now and then—naked. A mix of vulnerable and liberated. Mainly liberated.

Since going makeup-free I've changed in a few subtle ways. I care less about what people think of me. I've adopted a bit of an "it's my face so fuck right off if you don't like it" philosophy. Hence the title of this post. This is what I look like, deal with it. Of course, nobody cares except me, so perhaps that eff-off is aimed at myself. It's working! I no longer fear being seen without cosmetics. Granted, if I were still single I suspect this challenge would have been a lot more trying. I hate how pathetic and borderline sexist that sounds, but I'm being honest.

Another thing that's changed is that my efforts to look put-together have shifted, now that the cosmetics have been culled from my girliness tool kit. Before this experiment (and at the start of it) I had bronchitis, and I'd pretty much given up on wearing real pants. My body was so grumpy and uncomfortable, I threw it a bone and lived in yoga pants and pajama bottoms for two weeks. But after the makeup went away, loungey pants were one sin of schlumpiness too far. I took a hard look at myself that first morning in my flip-flops and novelty tee-shirt, PJs on a weekday and a bandanna over my hair and thought, "I have become a living cartoon, exemplifying what it means to stop trying."

And so I've been dressing more carefully and wearing more jewelry, even if it'll be covered by my coat when I leave the house. I've been shaving my legs more frequently, a chore (oh yes, a chore) which normally falls by the wayside a bit in the winter. [Before you judge, I am blessed with the transparent-Irish-leg-hair gene. It's a fair trade off for also possessing the go-directly-from-albino-to-sunburned tanning-ineptitude gene.] I've been playing shoe dress-up, clomping around the kitchen in heels, obviously fiending for a hit off the old what-it-means-to-be-feminine pipe. I've also discovered a handy crutch. If I wear my glasses (which have fairly bold, dark frames), they take the edge off the conspicuously-naked-face sensation. Almost as if I don't feel like there's enough going on with my face, on its own. But toss some glasses on and I feel I'm more adequately accessorized. Face-jewelry.

I've also been taking more care with my hair, which I normally just allow to air dry if I don't think I'll be seen in public without a hat. I'm compensating, clearly… Yet it doesn't feel like an obligation I'm striving to fulfill. I just miss the little dress-up routine I indulge in each morning when I do my makeup. Though I'm not a glammish woman, I do miss getting gussied up in my own small ways.

But overall, this has been a interesting and liberating experience so far, if not dramatically life-changing. No major revelations have struck me yet, just a growing sense of adequacy in my natural state. Which is all I could have hoped for, really. I know I'll be going back to makeup when the month is up, but now that I know how un-traumatizing it is to live without it, I suspect I'll be far more likely to skip it now and then. I recommend this challenge to other Camp Two makeup dependents…though I wouldn't push it on someone who isn't intrigued by the prospect. It took me years to get to a point where I was curious enough to try this, but now that I'm here, it's cool to know I can sneak into Camp One whenever I like, and pass for a native.

Shock and Awe, Take Two

It's day two of Face-Off February, and I must say, I'm adjusting rather nicely to this challenge so far. Unlike yesterday, I didn't automatically reach for my missing makeup bag this morning. In fact, as I finished up in the bathroom I thought, "Hey, this saves a lot of time!" and flounced off (as much as one can flounce with bronchitis) to begin my naked-faced day. Bonus: my coffee was just slightly warmer than usual.

Now I must admit, I was hoping for a bit more "Wow, you're so brave!" in the comments on yesterday's opening post, and bit less "You look great! Which picture is which?" Which is which? You better be blowing some kindhearted smoke up my ass, oh wonderful friends, because I don't invest those five to ten minutes in front of the mirror each morning to look like I literally did nothing. Close to nothing, sure. But I mean, come on. A touch more pity wouldn't go astray. This is supposed to be an experiment in deprivation.

It's just you and me this month, Chapstick.

So in an attempt to prove I really am roughing it, here, I just snapped a shot in some of least flattering light there is—webcam light. Also note the scarf worn indoors, and the knitted-hoodie-over-cardigan ensemble in a neutral-on-neutral color palette, always a bold look. Sorry you can't also see the pajama pants and wool socks-under-Birkenstocks I'm rocking to round out this outfit. Top that off with a swipe of original black-label Chapstick, and I am ready to conquer me some red carpet events. Luckily the scrap of carpet I use to keep my chair from scuffing the hardwood floor is red, so that'll keep me indoors with minimal witnesses.

Face-Off February…go!

So it has begun! It's Face-Off February, second month of Discipline Year, and one I'm dreading a bit. No make-up for the entire month… Let's see what we're working with, hmm? Here's a before-and-after I took a week ago:

My pre-Face-Off February before-and-after mugshots.

The left-hand picture is my totally unembellished face. Not so bad, really, now that I see them side by side…though I was sitting right in front of the window, and sunlight is kind. The right-hand photo is after the application of liquid-powder foundation, brown eyebrow pencil, a bit of blush, a tiny taste of eyeliner, taupe eye shadow, one sweep of "brownish-black" mascara, and tinted lip balm (I hate the feeling of lipstick). That's me on an average-plus day. On a plain old average day, I don't bother with eyeliner or shadow. Bonus: I took these the day before I dyed my roots, so you can catch a glimpse of my encroaching silver up top. There's way more where that came from!

The women I've chatted to about this month's challenge seem to fall into two camps. Camp One never wears makeup, and they don't see the big deal at all. Camp Two's members have been wearing makeup since junior high and won't even fetch the mail without at least mascara on. I'm more of a Camp Two girl, but obviously, I'm not so afraid of my own natural face that I won't lock the cosmetics away for twenty-eight days. Hmmm, twenty-eight days…not unlike rehab.

I know intellectually that my face is just fine. I know that the average dude can't look at a woman and tell whether she's made up or not (my husband) and if even if he can, he doesn't really care. Women who are into makeup, however—they notice.

I used to be much more of a Camp Two recruit. It wasn't until I began a volunteer job at the New England Aquarium in 2005 that I realized it was possible to be seen with a bare face and survive the experience. My job there involved bobbing around in a wetsuit chest-deep in cold water, feeding the penguins and cleaning their exhibit, and makeup doesn't last long in that environment. Certainly not mascara.

At first, that felt weird. Oh my crap—people are seeing me without mascara! You know how in Disney movies, even the female animal characters have eyelashes? I had one of those moments, as if my gender were suddenly thrown into question. As if eyelashes are like the female cock and balls, and going bare was a castration of my femininity. That sounds so ridiculous now, but here we are. Anyhow, working at the aquarium got me over my irrational fear that I may cease to exist as a viable (or indeed, identifiable) woman in the absence of cosmetics.

The other thing that loosened me up about makeup was my relationship. My husband was the first man I really lived with (platonic roommates and one very brief, epic cohabitation FAIL notwithstanding) and you just can't spend the entirety of your marriage avoiding being seen without your bra on or your cellulite masked by candlelight or your face done up. Plus my manfriend is from Oregon—he's a beardy outdoorsy man with intermediate chainsaw skills and little patience for fussiness. He doesn't notice whether or not I'm made up. Not because he doesn't look at me. More like the presence of makeup is a tone heard on a non-human frequency, or a color imperceptible to his eyes. It just doesn't register. Bless him. Which isn't to say I've changed my routines too much since we've gotten comfy with one another…just modified them a bit. It's pathetic to fear the reverse might be true, but it's very reassuring to know you'll be loved equally at both your best and your worst.

Sorry, tangent. So anyway, let the experiment begin! Let's see just how comfortable I get in my own natural face this month. If nothing else, I'll save myself at least five minutes each morning, as well as the annoying under-eye-finger-wipe that any mascara-wearing woman caught in a rain- or snowstorm can appreciate.

Farewell, my put-together sisters. See you in March!

Gymuary non-update

It's been a while since I've brought everyone up to speed on how Gymuary is progressing, and I'm sad to say it's not because of my deep appreciation of how boring it is, listening to people talking about what they did at the gym.

As it turns out, January is a pretty lousy pick if you're determined to go to the gym every single day for a month. At least in New England. We're now twenty-nine days into January, and I've only gone thirteen of those days. As a consolation to my overworked guilt gland, I never once failed to go to the gym simply because I didn't want to. The spirit was willing. Those gym-fails were due to two blizzards, two days of dangerously low negative temperatures (I walk to my gym), one injury, and now bronchitis. I'm bummed. I'm also just a little impressed with myself for having not wonked myself up worse than I may have out of blind determination. As one of my yoga instructors likes to tell me as I'm triangle-ing, I hyperextend.

Basically, it'll be a miracle if my bronchitis goes away by Monday and I can make it in for a final Gymuary workout. Trust me, I'd love nothing more. I have cabin fever like you wouldn't believe, plus I do my best story brainstorming while I'm exercising. I'm itching to work out. And so sadly, Discipline Year's first month is sort of a big fat FAIL, but for legitimate reasons.

Onward and upward! It's nearly Face-Off February, and luckily, I can't fail that challenge due to circumstances beyond my control. A cosmetics tsunami won't sweep through and force foundation onto my face. The only thing that can cause me to fail is an acute attack of vanity. In fact, February is one of few challenges this year that will actually save me time, and demand less of my effort and energy than normal. I've got my before-and-after mugshots ready to go, so tune in on Tuesday as I kick off the next Discipline Year challenge.