I’m warm not cool: a middle-aged woman learns about makeup

“Hello. I am totally clueless and I need some help.”

It was actually quite a relief to just say it.

I completely surrendered to my cluelessness. I didn’t even try to pretend to have it all together. I unabashedly proclaimed my desperate need for help.

“Don’t worry, honey. I’ve got you.”

Those were the most comforting words possible.

Brandon was maybe 24 years old and was stunningly beautiful. He had the most perfectly applied makeup, with a dramatic cat eye and I’m not quite sure what contouring means but I’m pretty sure he was contoured. He looked like he had just stepped off a Paris runway in order to help me, a middle-aged woman who was lost in Sephora, pick out foundation.

When you grow up in the film industry, you are surrounded by people who do hair and makeup professionally. They carry around kits containing every possible powder and liquid that could be applied to a person. My best friend in L.A. was an Emmy-winning makeup artist, so the idea that I ever needed to learn how to apply these things myself never occurred to me. After wearing heavy makeup on set, I’d never want it for my days off. And my hair? It’s wild and does its own thing and I respect it for that and mostly leave it to its own devices.

But these days, I am coming back into the world and doing some events in which there are bright lights — and bright lights cause everyone to look like a sickly Victorian child if they are not wearing things like foundation and mascara and lipstick so I found myself needing to purchase things like foundation and mascara and lipstick. But I am now on the other side of the country from my L.A. friends and I am flying solo don’t really know how to do this.

So I walked into a Sephora and I found Brandon.

He was kind and didn’t treat me like the clueless hippie I am, as he gently asked if I knew how to apply foundation. (Turns out you don’t just rub it in like lotion, rather, a brush is needed.)

He told me my skin tone was very warm, which makes sense because I feel way more warm than cool. (Not at all cool.)

He seemed invested in my success when he exclaimed “Let’s get you a lip!” and rushed me over to a display that was downright overwhelming in its variety of reds. He chose a lipstick and held it up for my approval.

“Do you like it?” He asked me.

“Do YOU like it?” I responded. I trust Brandon more than myself.

“No. I LOVE.” He said.

I decided I love, too.

I’ve been thinking about my aversion to things like dressing up and wearing makeup. After years of barely leaving my house, it’s unsurprising that anything other than my camo joggers and my “I Just Came to Get Downdog” t-shirt would feel beyond my abilities. But there is something deeper happening here. And it’s uncomfortable.

If I look like I don’t care, I can blend into the background. If I dress in brown and grey all the time, I can hide. No one can accuse me of trying to look like I’m special, no one will critique my attempts to try, and in fact, maybe no one will look at me at all. I can feel safe.

“Why do you always dress like a bird trying to blend with foliage??” My grandma used to ask me.

It’s anxiety. It’s insecurity. It’s fear. It’s not wanting to be seen as someone who wants too much attention.

But playing small gets suffocating sometimes.

I am slowly learning that I can wear lipstick sometimes. I can wear a dress sometimes. I can go on Youtube and learn how to use the curling wand on my mermaid hair and it doesn’t mean I’m a shallow or an egotistical exhibitionist.

I’m allowed to show up in my life — in lipstick or camo or flouncy skirts or Doc Martins — or any damn way I want.

So thank you, Brandon. Thank you for bringing your beautiful soul to the world and reminding me I don’t have to be a dull little house finch all the time.

In a world filled with challenges and struggles, it’s kinda fun to get that much joy from a lip color.

*This post was taken from my newsletter - sign up here for more like this!