My break-up with make-up was a long time coming

My decision to stop wearing make-up on a daily basis didn’t arrive suddenly. It wasn’t a feminist declaration, or a protest against society’s beauty standards, like Alicia Keys claimed when she gave up make-up in 2016. There was no movie-worthy moment where I stared at myself in the mirror with a full face of make-up before scrubbing it off furiously, revealing “my true self” in the process. No, my parting from make-up was gradual and done reluctantly. In fact, I still love the stuff.

In my bathroom, I still have caddies filled with make-up that I rarely use. It seems a huge waste to throw them away, even though half of them are probably expired. And sometimes, on special occasions, I will slap a little foundation on, practice my eyeliner flick and line my lips in red. I like how make-up changes the way I look. Every feature is amped up; my eyes become darker and coy; my cheekbones more defined; my lips suddenly luscious and sexy. Make-up is gloriously transformative and creative; the fact that some men claim it’s “cheating” makes it an even bigger thrill to use.

But it’s my skin that doesn’t agree. Ever since I was a teenager, I have struggled with problematic skin. My “party trick” in high school was to show how easily my face fills up two oil blotters, which soak up excess oil from the skin. Gross, I know. It was a way of gaining some control over the shame of having such shiny skin, at a time when matte skin was desirable. Now, when influencers show off their glossy, dewy skin and extol the virtues of the “glazed doughnut” or “glass skin” trends, I baulk and think of the years I spent being told that a shiny forehead was the most unattractive thing in the world.

Then there were the spots. They populated my cheeks and chin like angry, red volcanoes, threatening to leave craters in their wake. I recall my mother’s friends clucking at the sight of the landscape of my skin and reassuring me it would clear up the minute I hit my twenties. Then they would shoot a furtive glance at their own clear-skinned daughters and inwardly thank the heavens they weren’t cursed like me. My mother warned me not to pop the spots – but like any self-respecting teenage girl, did I listen? Of course not. It was just too tempting to squeeze them. Now, though, all I have to show for giving in to that temptation are scars that pattern the surface of my face.

I also had eczema, which usually manifested itself on the insides of my elbows or around my neck, but sometimes also in dry patches on my face too. These itch like hell, and anyone who has ever had eczema knows it’s almost impossible to keep your hands off those patches. The eczema has largely gone away now, but I still get a flare-up every now and then. I scratch. They bleed. Together we stay up at night worrying about what triggered them and when they will go away.

Given my long laundry list of skin problems, I should have known that make-up would only make things worse. Acne-prone skin is sensitive and products like foundations, primers and concealers clog pores and cause congestion, which can lead to breakouts. According to Sk:n Clinics, a network of dermatology service providers in the UK, it’s quite common even for people who aren’t normally prone to acne to experience acne cosmetica, which are small bumps, uneven skin texture and roughness, and spots that occur as a result of make-up or other hair and skin products.

But I wanted to be involved in a community that I so admired. I still watch make-up routine videos with a sense of envy, marvelling at how these experts change the structure of their faces with strategically placed bronzer, or colour their eyelids with a cut crease so sharp that it looks like it stings. My two best friends are similarly so talented at make-up that I’ll catch myself staring at them, caught up in how beautiful they are. If I’m honest, I feel naked and plain around them sometimes. But I know I’m not alone in this, with research showing that nearly half of women (44 per cent, to be specific) feel vulnerable about how they look without make-up on.

In university, when I hit my twenties, I persisted with wearing make-up every day. After all, I’d left my worst skin years behind, right? That’s what I was promised! As it turned out, these were all terrible lies. My skin did not magically improve, although the contraceptive pill helped more than any product I slathered onto it. To my shock, I watched as those previously pearly-skinned girls around me reached the same age and suddenly began to struggle with cystic acne, pigmentation and sensitive skin, as though they had reached a second puberty. This isn’t far from the truth, even if they don’t tell you about it in school – studies show that hormone fluctuations become more pronounced as women enter their most fertile years, therefore thrusting new changes onto the body. This is why, for some people, skin issues sort themselves out with age, while for others they emerge long after adolescence.

It’s taken years of trial and error to get my skin to calm down. Regular facials only seemed to drain my bank account with little to show for it, as did taking on a multi-step skincare routine. I drew the line at seven steps, but eventually realised that I didn’t need all those products. I changed my diet and, at one point, took up juicing in hopes that it would kill two birds with one stone – clear skin and weight loss seemed an attractive result. To no one’s surprise, this did not work. I gave that up after I watched an acquaintance turn orange from drinking too much carrot juice.

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But the biggest thing that has helped my skin is breaking up with make-up, a split that I’m still coming to terms with. Foundation no longer clogs my pores on the daily, which means I deal with fewer and less severe breakouts. It’s a relief to have one less thing to worry about, and it means an extra 30 precious minutes in bed in the morning. Nevertheless, I’d envisioned myself as the type of grown woman who’d always look put-together, with slick eyeliner and perfect powdered skin. I had to shift my thinking and remind myself that I don’t need make-up to do my job well or feel beautiful. It also means I’ve avoided the dreaded “You look sick” remark women are often subjected to if they choose not to wear make-up for one day. Other experiences that make the case for going bare-skinned more reassuring include being able to rub my eyes without looking like a raccoon afterwards, and not worrying about hair getting stuck on my lips when the wind blows.

Teenage me would be sorely disappointed that our skin didn’t magically clear up and that make-up isn’t a part of our routine. But it’s worth it to not deal with acne breakouts on a regular basis, which can be quite distressing and take a toll on self-esteem. When I do take the time to spruce up, it feels more special. I’m comfortable in my own skin now in a way I never have been. We’ve finally agreed to a truce to end the war I waged against it as a teenager. I still plan to appreciate make-up artists who create stunning looks and post fire emojis under all my best friends’ selfies. It’s just not for me, and that’s OK.