Most of the time, I look like a hag. Though I wish this was untrue, it’s hard to deny when I check myself out in the mirror. The reason? I hate makeup.

When I was eight years old, I distinctively remember sitting at the kitchen table and watching my mother put on her makeup, just like she did every other morning. It was an elaborate ritual, lasting for five or ten minutes and transforming her from my mom into some painted-up, clown-type figure with a mask.

“You know,” I told her then. “When I grow up, I’m not ever going to wear any makeup. And I’m going to save so much money because of it. Just think about how much money you spend every year on makeup.”

I don’t remember how my mom reacted, but she probably rolled her eyes at me. Read More »