I love applying makeup. Not the finished look, but the process itself. There’s something so therapeutic about the methodical, repetitive nature of gently dabbing a sponge on your face to blend out the harsh edges, carefully lining your eyes with a soft eye pencil, or the last swipe of lipstick to get the perfect clean line. It’s equal parts both art and science: the pursuit to achieve perfect symmetry, the trial-and-error of finding a style that flatters your features. The creative experimentation, the self-expression, honing what essentially is the ability to shapeshift. When I finish the final flick of eyeliner, and by some rare miracle, my two eyes look similar, it results in a sudden rush of serotonin akin to that of a runner’s high.
This could perhaps be why if my makeup was particularly time-consuming to do, removing it feels bittersweet. Stripping off all of your earlier hard work, it’s back to a blank canvas. Still, there’s relief to be found in returning to a bare face. After a long day, my face feels tight, eyelashes starting to clump together like little spider legs, lips back to being chapped and peeling, their earlier rosiness nowhere to be found. Sitting on the bus, watching the city lights pass, illuminating the cloudless night sky, there’s nothing I look forward to more than arriving home, and washing off the vestiges of a long, tiring day.
If you’re really going to hone in on the connotations and denotations of it all, I guess there’s something to be said about the symbolism of washing off the mask donned all day. People gravitate towards makeup for a plethora of reasons, whether personal or professional. While experts are still torn over whether or not the beauty industry ultimately causes more benefit or detriment to self-image, makeup can still be a helpful tool for self-expression and building confidence (think drag queens, or brides on their wedding day). For me, makeup isn’t a crutch I rely on to overcome insecurity, but rather a way to feel a little more infallible, a nifty hack to cheat a late night (I wonder, does concealer usage increase exponentially during exam periods? Will report back with my findings). In a sense, when I watch the last remnants of beige-coloured water whirl down the sink, it’s a reminder that the day is reaching an end and I can finally let out a sigh of relief, setting down my façade of invincibility, and simply letting myself be.
I’ve repeated this methodical face-washing routine nightly for the past three years. Having experimented with an array of potions, gels and balms, I’ve since concluded that my favourite method is the trialled-and-tested Korean double-cleansing method. First, a cleansing balm or oil is gently rubbed into the skin. In my case, this involves massaging it into my pores, as if I’m basting a Christmas turkey with garlic butter. Next, water is added to the mix, to form a milky emulsion. Lastly, you finish off with a water-based cleanser, working it into a foamy lather before cleaning off all traces of the earlier oil. When I look in the mirror, I resemble a just-birthed baby: face soft and a little pink, hair sticking up in every single direction, with a giant, beaming grin on my face (and the occasional tears, if I accidentally get the cleansing oil in my eye).
It’s a reset of the system, both physical and mental. If I’m preparing for a late night studying, I’ll sweep my hair back with a giant headband, make a big mug of tea, and prepare to hunker down. If it’s a rare early night, I’ll do my regular skincare, before hopping in bed with a book. Either way, both experiences are greatly enhanced when I have clean skin.
Now excuse me. I have to go wash my face.
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what i'm currently reading: welcome to the hyunam-dong bookshop by hwang bo-reum
song recommendation of the day: apple cider by beabadoobee
favourite recent discovery: the MUJI café
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