appearance matters, believe it or not

Appearance.

This may seem like a trivial topic, but it crops up everywhere.  Most recently in my own life, where I’ve been taking extra care of my own appearance for the first time in years.  I remember growing up, and a memory from 5^th or 6^th grade in the school cafeteria.  I was just sitting eating my lunch (possibly from my New Kids on the Block lunchbox), when a girl (don’t remember who) commented on my hairy legs.  Around the same time, a boy in my class (I remember this one, but will never tell) suggested I needed deodorant.  At the time, around age 12, I was still very much a little girl.  I read books all the time, collected Barbies, and wore outfits such as this:

 I’m the one in the polka dots.  This is actually 4^th grade, but it doesn’t matter.  Times were different back then, or at least my little section of the world was.  Today’s girls of that age are dressing like hoochie mamas. 

Flash to age 13, when my mom allowed me to start shaving my legs and wearing makeup.  I had braces, contacts, and a perm.  I began a ritual in junior high of putting on a little makeup and doing my hair every morning before school.  By age 15, I remember being horrified if I forgot to put on mascara or curl my bangs for school.  I was actually pretty decent-looking in those days:

This is me at age 17. Hair in a ponytail, bangs curled, and mascara applied- all ready for work in my Hastings shirt.

You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone- this is very true.  The very next year, when I was 18, the process that gradually diminished my looks began.  Now, at age 30, I have literally lost my smile and any symmetry I had in my face.  Life sucks, and obscure medical problems really suck.

I believe I wore makeup at least half the time up until I was around age 24, when I started feeling like there was no point.  Deep depression ensued, and it was all about my having bad luck, bad genes, and no more smile.  I went through a brief period of time at ages 25 and 26 where I would sometimes make an effort to apply makeup or do something with my hair.  Then I had kids, and the makeup stopped almost completely.  I also developed an allergy to most mascaras.

At my very first job, I got paid slightly more than the other new hires because the recruiter liked my smile.  I used to smile all the time.  Now I can’t unless I want to look deranged.  Treasure your smiles, people!

Within the last month, I’ve started wearing makeup again and this time around I’m serious about it.  I feel more confident and presentable and attractive when it’s on.  Makeup, plus a little care about overall appearance, can work wonders on a trampled-upon, damaged soul.  For me, it’s a mask for the pain and anxiety and depression I fight constantly.  When I’m not in a moody funk, I will go the extra mile to look better nowadays because it makes me feel better.