I want to look good.
But when it’s over 25 degree (celsius) I don’t want to wear make up or spend 20 minutes with my head under blasting hot air.
I want to wear heels.
But fuck sore feet.
I want to have an office that costs $10,000 to deck out, thereby making me look like not only have I got my shit together but I'm totes inspiring.
But I live in a rental house and my office is currently what used to be a 10 year old girls room with purple walls.
I want to shop at Chanel.
But every time I’m in the city I’m wearing a nike hoodie and sneakers and a top that has some sort of unidentifiable stain because I'm one of those eaters.
I want it all.
The make-up-free, and fancy-free life.
And I want all the fancy too.
I want to look like I stepped straight out of The Iconic website.
But I don’t want to dress up.
I want to work in an office.
But don’t want to leave the house.
I want to be the super fit active chick.
But I don't want to wash my hair every day.
Oh, the bi polar of it all.
Why is it that making yourself up makes you feel better about yourself?
Like somehow not wearing make up means you’ve let yourself go?
That you’re not polished enough.
And what does being polished have to do with being productive? And living?
Every woman I know has said this to me at least once:
I feel so much better going to work when I take the time to put on make up and do my hair.
What the hell is that about?
Guys don’t do it.
My man doesn’t do it. He throws on a t shirt and jeans and looks hot as fuck. Sure, he checks himself out in the mirror, but he’s done in 10 minutes and that’s only if he needs my help finding his purple t shirt. Yes, he looks hot as fuck in purple.
And I’m sitting there thinking up tricks to make myself look hot to match his hotness.
Why do I need to do that?
Why don’t I believe throwing on my own t shirt and jeans, make up free, makes me the same hotness as him?
That I’m supposed to create the perfect smokey eyes effect with the blunt eye liner that results in one blood-shot eye because I JUST STABBED MYSELF IN THE EYE.
That I’m supposed to blend and fucking blend and blend the eye shadow so it makes my eyes look bigger and deeper and greener.
That I’m supposed to draw on my eyebrows because without it you can’t even see them and no one looks hot without eyebrows.
The expectation of it all.
That I must do these things before we go out to make me look hot.
And I can’t even pull the ‘fun’ card, like: But I loooveeee pouring myself a glass of wine and cranking the tunes and getting ready to go out.
You guys, I have to drink the fucking wine to get me tipsy enough to agree to put on the make up.
I don’t have to tell you how stressful it is trying to get the winged eyeliner to match. It can make or break my night. It can turn a perfectly amazing day with a fun night ahead into a stressful situation where I end up in tears, on the couch, emotionally eating.
It can turn my super fresh-from-the shower kind of feeling into I-just-ran-a-marathon-even-though-I'd-never-actualy-run-a-marathon not-so-fresh feeling thanks to the pressure to get it right.
It’s not fun.
But after all of that, I do look hot as fuck with make up on.
There's no denying it.
I look fucking hot.
And it's doing my head in.
Why do I look hotter with make up?
That’s when I decided to do some adulting.
I opened up google, and I typed in: the science of make up because that’s what adults do. We google things and you know what I found?
It’s all about sex and periods.
Females of the animal world know that sex sells.
And really, that’s the whole point.
To sell the sex, make the baby, and have your genes live happily ever after.
Most other animals advertise their youth, health and sexual availability through physical signals, but thanks to being an evolved species, we generally don’t go around throwing our last blood-stained tampon of the month in our dude’s direction saying: Look! Last bleed done, I’m totes fertile, let’s bang.
Enter: make up.
The female’s go-to in false advertising to sell the sex, make the babies and have their species live for ever and ever.
And that’s why I couldn’t logically understand it.
Underneath it all, women are just horn bags animals waking around thinking about how to get some dick with the solution being makeup.
Which isn’t so bad.
Because sex (and dick) rock.