Saturday, December 13, 2014

Mari Madrid speaks to me...


As someone really, really close to a lot of people who put a high value on make up and non-surgical cosmetic enhancement, believe me I understand that some of those different folks' strokes with which I just cannot relate all have their own merit, particularly for those who approach it from an artistic and skillful rather than a purely cosmetic perspective. Furthermore, I understand that enhancement isn't the worst thing. Makeup can genuinely enhance facial beauty without being so grossly deceitful and that is a positive thing.

But at the end of the day, everything that Mari wrote in the post above is exactly how I feel about it all. I don't personally wear makeup unless I have to (read: weddings) and it was literally just in this last week that I began wearing lipstick to work - if you could even call it that considering I realised that in contrast to my friends' advice to 'put on more!', I actually genuinely preferred just that little dusting of colour on my lips to give my face a little bit more life and so dab a little on. That is more than enough.

As someone whose grown up with an ailment that, for years, was grossly apparent on my face and my body and has since left traces, scars and bruises that will now be lifelong friends, while not always being entirely happy with how I look thanks to the wonderfully human trait of vanity, I have grown to appreciate that what people see is indeed what they get, at the very, very least in terms of how I look. There are no surprises, there is no filter, no hiding behind a mask - there is simply me. I feel an abject horror of those women who look like completely different people without makeup on and I am unabashedly glad that I will never be one of them and feel that desperate need to hide my actual self.

It also means that the mantra with which I grew up - it's what's on the inside that counts - has only been strengthened. Looks can always deceive and in the end, my focus for personal improvement will always aim itself more heavily on my character over my appearance and I do my best to consider others the same way, still often needing to battle the more superficially human nature by which I judge people based on how they look, but trying nonetheless.

And you know, were I to take it further, each mark and scar is essentially a part of who I am and what I've been through and continue to live with. They are a part of my story which makes me, me. Considering my relative personal transparency (I'll pretty much talk about anything, with anyone, within general propriety of course), there then exists some form of cohesion between how I approach the way I look and my actual personal character.

But there I drift into douchey territory so I'll pull back.

What it comes down to? Aside from essentially trying to look nice, neat and presentable, I'm happy to face the world with my actual face. I'm comfortable in my own skin (well, for the most part... cheers, eczema) and feel very little need to abide by a standard of physical image that will never, ever be inclusive of all. While I would love it if this wouldn't bring with it odd looks and often grossly inconsiderate criticism, to each their own. I've nothing to hide and I'm happier being who I am and not who others want me to be.

Monday, December 08, 2014

My Trip to Europe! In magnet form...


Having now returned home after an incredible 5 weeks away in Europe, I am quite happily settling back into the swing of the life I put on hold, hiccups and all - my jetlag is hitting me around 6pm every night like clockwork since I got back; I've returned to work a day before the financial shutdown deadline so buckling down and getting onto invoices and reimbursements now that my head's wrapped around just what the hell else has been happening; my skin cannot figure out what has happened to the weather now that I've come home to temperatures 10 times that which I'd been enduring in Europa, so it's in a state of mad rebellion and I'm still battling coughs and wheezes from the cold I developed while away, my lungs also not entirely happy to be back in good ol' humidly hyperallergenic Sydney - but those things aside, I'm most definitely relishing being back in my own home and my own bed and my own city, reuniting with my own life. 

I have a few thousand photos I need to sort through but for now, instead of waiting till that's done, I thought I'd at least get up my magnet collection - one from each city, barring Dresden (shame). 35 days, 18 cities and loved every second of it. 

Now, shall it be forever immortalized on my fridge.