Camryn Quinn is finally getting what she wants...sort of. Moving into a dorm and away from her not so supportive father is a good first step, but like everything with him-it comes with strings. She must attend the college of his choosing for at leas...
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I sit cross legged on the floor opposite Alyssa. My eyes are closed because she's insistent that for the process to be successful, both eyes must remain closed until she gives the signal. I rebelliously pop open my right eye to inspect what she's doing.
Her tongue is sticking out of the side of her mouth and a deep line has formed between her eyebrows. It's a tell tale sign of her deep level of concentration. I try to not take that as an insult. As if putting make up on my face is proving to be a difficult task.
She takes a big fluffy makeup brush and dips it into a skin colored powder. She begins with applying it to my left cheek, then my right, followed by my forehead, chin and nose. Alyssa takes her time slowing moving the brush back and forth against my skin. It tickles a bit, but is almost equally relaxing.
Alyssa was overjoyed when I suggested she do my makeup for tonight, practically skipping to the nearest Sephora to buy new products to match my skin tone. As much as I would kill to be the shade of tan Alyssa is able to maintain year round, I am not into a look that looks too done. And bronzing myself anywhere close to Alyssa's tone would make one well done Camryn.
"We have to be on at least mile twenty five, right?" I ask for at least the billionth time since we started this whole process, Three. Hours. Ago. Alyssa promised me it's a marathon, not a sprint, but I would have figured her pacing would be a little better than this given all the experience she has applying her own full glam looks.
I've been a girl for eighteen years now and still cannot understand why we, as a species, think it is necessary or even appropriate to waste over ten percent of each day following a beauty routine. As if it's not enough to have a whole routine to put makeup on, we also have to have a whole routine to take it off. Washing our faces with chemical filled products so we don't get acne, or show signs of aging. It's exhausting. It's more than exhausting, it's debilitating. Literally, I've been in this position for so long that I couldn't even stand if I wanted to. My right leg fell asleep twenty minutes ago. The left is not far behind it. All of this could be avoided if we just banded together and refused to give into the mass beauty market. I make a mental note to add, petition to adjust the world beauty standards to my agenda.
Even with my internal struggle, I continue to sit here and let Alyssa paint my face like a canvas. Something that I asked for, I remind myself to ensure I don't take it out on Alyssa.
"I imagine hell holds a striking resemblance to this," I say, opening my eyes once again.
"Everything is your own personal hell!" She yells in my face.
She's not completely wrong, but I'm getting better. I've widened the scope of what is considered a hell, removing some things from the list. Sitting here for three hours for a process I assumed would take thirty minutes however, is still top ten scenarios.
"What are you putting on now?" I can feel something cool being applied to my eye lids.
"Primer, so that the eyeshadow stays on and doesn't get clumpy throughout the night."
