 Wysłany: Śro 22:05, 04 Wrz 2013 Temat postu: My year without makeup-spun1 |
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| My year without makeup
This is adapted and excerpted from "The Beauty Experiment: How I Skipped Lipstick, Ditched Fashion, Faced the World Without Concealer, and Learned to like the Real Me." This really is who I'm: a lady. I'm a daughter, a sister, a friend, a wife, and a mother. At seven, I was a woman with braids and rainbow hair clips, and at thirteen, I came to be an adolescent with acne,peuterey jacket manufacturers, orthodontics, and teased bangs. At nineteen, I was a college student battling her freshman twenty-five, then a new graduate with a discount poly-blend office wardrobe. For nearly a decade after that, I had been a completely independent young woman in confusing relationships who paired thrift-store finds with designer shoes. At twenty-eight, I became an overjoyed fiancée with a shiny new ring, then an anxious newlywed with a brand new mortgage. After i was thirty-one, I swelled up into a pregnant goddess with superlative melons, then collapsed, nine months later, into a zombie with magenta undereye bags. Then that happened again. Today, at thirty-seven, I'm a busy work-at-home parent and spouse. Of all days, I wear jeans, and shoes with traction. I've got a yoga membership I probably will not consume. On Fridays,http://parajumpersoutletjackets.webmium.com/, I drink a beer while watching television and fall asleep before ten. Regardless of this remarkably average female chronology, Personally i think I've one small, hard-won feature that's extraordinary. It is primarily the: After i look in the mirror, I don't see wrinkles, anxiety, zits, or exhaustion, whilst they are all there. Instead, a face, a person, a personality, a life. If someone asked me basically felt beautiful, I would have to answer honestly: yes. I did not start out by doing this. Some might call me "low maintenance,http://wheretobuyrogerviviershoes.webmium.com/," however in the three-and-a-half decades of my entire life, I did countless ridiculous, bizarre,where to buy roger vivier shoes, and embarrassing things in beauty's name. I constipated myself with chocolate diet shakes the summer I was fifteen. I broke inside a pair of punishingly uncomfortable high heels by putting on all of them with hiking socks and jogging laps around a parking area. I was caught kickboxing during my room wearing three sweaters along with a raincoat in hopes of dropping weight before a university formal. Convinced of the powers of exfoliation, I tried to scrub the cystic acne off my back having a foot pumice. I once paid a great deal of money for any bikini wax that left me polka-dotted with blood from the crotch down, and the other time, I mutely obeyed a teenage beauty technician who barked "Lie still" while caustic eyelash-dying solution burned under my lids. I felt perversely thrilled, afterward, that the treatment had only fogged my peripheral vision. I'd not actually gone blind. In college, I was an anthropology major, educated to recognize ritualistic, illogical, and masochistic behaviors in other cultures. But when it found my very own beauty craziness, and also the insistent voice in my head that drove me into it, I merely didn't choose to question. This crap seemed trivial, and that i had a lot of other,parajumpers jackets, better, items to think about: my professional aspirations, my love life,Woolrich Parka G��nstig outlet, and the world around me. Sure, my own lack of physical beauty and constant requirement for personal correction and enhancement were often foremost during my mind-usually when I wished they weren't-but I assumed that certain day I'd simply outgrow the freaky diets,kevin durant nerf shoes release date, the wardrobe crises, and the occasional substitution of prettiness for poise. For thirty-two years, I endured the enigma of my female beauty craziness the way in which I lived with the Bermuda Triangle: it was weird and creepy in the persistence, although not my problem to solve. Things changed at the end of 2005-or began changing then. I had been living in San Francisco with my husband, John, my mate and the great passion for my entire life, when he was transferred to Hong Kong by his company. This was something we'd both long been dreaming about: John is really a Chinese American who had been born in Taiwan, and this move would give him an opportunity to reconnect using the Chinese culture and language being an adult. Being an avid overseas traveler, I had been thrilled to become going abroad for over a couple weeks. We'd experienced Bay area just a few months anyway-I had yet to determine an expert or social networking and figured I could write anywhere. My job opportunities in Hong Kong were less clear, however in the weeks prior to the move, I fixated on another joyful development: I'd just conceive with our first child. John worried about having our baby so far from family, however i brushed these concerns off. It was adventure! It was life! Our flight to Hong Kong was my first business-class seat ever, and that we were met your day after our arrival by a team of relocation specialists-both Chinese and European-in silk scarves, bejeweled shoes, blowouts, and Chanel suits. (They might happen to be knockoff Chanel suits-but wouldso would I know? Forty-eight hours earlier, I'd been munching spirulina bars in the Rainbow grocery and selling engineered socks to female triathletes in Noe Valley.) These relocation specialists came with advice for any wide-eyed and inexperienced expatriate, and I listened up. At their recommendations, we picked a private hospital and a safe, convenient address (with a pool!), and that i joined a women's club. I went to some events and started making lunch dates. Hong Kong, like many other cosmopolitan cities outside America, is a place where street shoes vastly outnumber sneakers, and also, since it seemed the next step, I began dressing up for those lunch dates. I began wearing foundation to the grocery store and drifting into shops to sample hundred-dollar cosmetics. After i visited a healthcare facility to possess our baby, I took mascara along for those all-important first pictures and postpartum visits-all from people I'd known just a few months. Once the baby weight didn't appear as quickly as online forums promised, I tried to counteract my hideous rib cage spreading by putting on a spandex corset five hours a day. I purchased thicker makeup and brighter lipstick to disguise the haggard face I met in the mirror. Weekly, sometimes daily, I discovered myself digging through bins in a street-side sample warehouse near our apartment, believing something at the bottom of the bin might have the ability to make me happy, or satisfied, or sexy, or whatever it had been that suddenly, inexplicably, I wasn't. In February 2007, I threw in the white flag of surrender. I'd be a nervous, critical, angry, insecure woman. I had been not the girl or the role model I needed to become, especially in front of the big-eyed baby daughter. I was at war using the world around me and at war with myself-the only self I had. And so I swore off Beauty and all her trappings: makeup, new clothes, salon haircuts, jewelry, the works. I told very few people things i was doing, took detailed but sporadic notes,peuterey jacket products, and had merely a vague a feeling of an objective: something required to change for that better. Technically, my beauty experiment lasted for any little more than annually. It was an unusual,parajumpers vest, uncomfortable thirteen months, and while Let me report it magically cured me of beauty craziness, this didn't. What went down was a lot more like what happens whenever you stare at those poster-size optical illusions, the ones that seem like a chaos of computer-generated black dots-at first. Should you consider the dots of sufficient length, though,http://rogerviviershoesshoponline.webmium.com/, unfocusing your vision and relaxing your mind, a scene emerges in the chaos. A happy dolphin swims via a hoop; fish flicker behind stalks of kelp. The image becomes startlingly clear, and also you can't believe you ever missed it. It had been most of these shapes and patterns I noticed in the past year of my experiment. They were often surprising, sometimes confusing, and usually didn't reflect well on me. Some were so elemental they seemed impossible to change. and had a second baby as the first started to confront the world of shopping malls and miniature plastic-glitter high heels. I made new friends but had familiar conversations about beauty craziness. I did research and browse books and discovered a world beyond my own experience where culture, gender, and economic identities are as jumbled up as junk inside a messy purse. And I came to understand that beauty is really a lens through which to see many facets of female experience. I've changed since my experiment, however, you may not know it to look at me. Make a group of makeover shots, only the before and after don't look so different- same face, same body, same wardrobe, pretty much, just a few years further into life. The difference would be that the woman within the "before" shot is forever checked out. In the after shot, the girl within the picture is the one seeing. 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