make up class, 101A, remedial

I went to the makeup seminar at the UConn Health Center today. My friend Brenda went along with me, and that was a good thing. None of it really registered in my overstimulated little mind, but Brenda seemed to be following along. How many steps do you think there are to doing makeup? A lot more than you're guessing, my friend. Working from notes, I see 15 steps: cleanser, spf moisturizer, regular moisturizer, concealer, foundation, powder, blush, powder again, eyebrows (without actual ones as templates this is more complicated than you might think), eyeshadow (three shades? who knew?), eyeliner, mascara, lipliner, and finally, lipstick. Then another dab of powder here and there. 

She lost me at the two moisturizers.

The aesthetician actually began talking about nails, which are likely to chip and shred during chemotherapy. I'd like to preserve my humble but serviceable nails, if possible, and listened closely to this part until it became clear that most of the tips were about what not to do when you get a manicure, not something generally on my docket. So I don't have to worry about nails other than keeping them moisturized and hoping for the best. My nurse says that often they don't actually fall off; they just "turn brown and get flaky." Nice.

The facilitator, by the way, was one very well made-up aesthetician. I have no idea how old she is, that's how well made-up she was. When we moved from nails to the face, she announced, "First, apply concealer anywhere that you have imperfection." That seemed a mighty broad brush to me. I began to conceal my entire face, imperfection by imperfection. Not that I don't like my face! I like my face just fine. But let's be real -- it's been around the block. 

Turns out she's only talking about dark this and sunken that, and she gives an art class review about lighter things seeming closer to us than darker things, how to make things "pop" by making them lighter and darker. I know these basics of makeup seem familiar to lots of you, but I have not spent a lot of time making my facial features snap or pop. I've mostly dealt in crackle. 

She wasn't sure of what to do with my epicanthal fold, that nice little eyelid flap that is one of my biracial tells. For others in the class, there was a line of some third color that "goes in the crease" of your eyelid. My crease disappears into itself, like a roller shade, so we left my lids with merely two colors. Saves money, time, and space.

Brenda had to help with drawing in the eyebrows.  It's a bit like those guys you see out near the highway with their survey equipment; it involves taking your eyebrow pencil and setting it flat against your face at different angles, marking three points where your eyebrows are supposed to be. Then you "feather in" strokes of pigment that should look like hair. Then you pinch somewhere (I don't actually remember where) with your fingertips. But for someone for whom drawing a little M in the sky remains a small miracle when it looks something like a bird, this will be the toughest task of all. I feel pretty intimidated by the whole eyebrow thing.

Here is a shot of me going after an imperfection with some imperfection-colored foundation. The American Cancer Society had put all kinds of cosmetic goodies in our bags, though some offered more pop than I would ever be up for. The Burt's Bees lipstick that Brenda brought was more my speed than the luscious plum that made me look like I was having trouble expelling carbon monoxide. 

I was the baldest participant, so I got to be the headwrap dummy. Here is a toothy shot of me wearing a t-shirt that has been cut and turned into a turban. Nifty trick. Will demonstrate upon request. Fun fact to know and tell is that if you slip a kotex in between scarf layers right around the hairline, you'll get a more "realistic" look of a lump where hair should be. It apparently took several years for people to move from sticking the kotex directly onto the skin to moving it into the safety of scarf layers. Problems arose with the first generation of kotex wearers when the scarf would slip, revealing the pad, stuck to the bald head. Then someone took it to the next step of invention and put it between layers of scarf. Don't you just love evolution?

The rest of the participants had a fondness for this poofy wig on the left, but I didn't. I felt like I should be an anchorwoman on the morning news, asking people to stay tuned for an update from Brian on that storm that's coming in -- isn't that right, Brian? In fact, I didn't feel a need to leave with a wig at all, but they were giving them away, and there was just too much of a playful, dress up atmosphere going on. I got carried away. 

The short, straight one here, with some gray polyester hairs sprinkled in here and there, is the one I walked out of the hospital wearing. By the time I got to the post office, though, my head was too cold. I took off the wig, wrapped my head back up in the scarf, and did my errands. I am not that happy going in cognito, I find.

I'm sure some of what I learned today will come in handy when I feel particularly washed out. I'll spend that day trying to remember how to follow the 15 steps. I will note here that the very kind facilitator advised us: "You'll need three mirrors. One to get way up close, one to see your whole face, and one to stand wa-a-a-y back and see how it looks." As long as everyone stands wa-a-a-y back, I'm good to go.