Face Off 6

Face Off

This week I didn’t wear any make up. I never don’t wear make up. It’s been a bit of a challenge. It wasn’t a choice. It was a directive. I had a small skin cancer taken off my eyelid and part of the recovery post surgery required bare face. I have worn make up ever since I was 16. It’s weird looking my face every day completely un made up.  My eyes look too small and even more squinty without mascara. My skin tone is a bit uneven here and there. I look tired. Even when I’m not. To me, I don’t look like me, which is stupid, because this is actually me. But it’s not the me I particularly like. It’s the me without the mask. I feel like a turtle without a shell. All squidgy and vulnerable.  It’s like going out in the nude. It’s unnerving, because people get to see who I really am.  Or at least what I actually  look like. Somehow the two things seem intertwined. I realised in a way I have been using make up as a kind of burqua. I feel safe behind it. I am a feminist, so I guess I should have been critiquing make up as a time wasting form of oppression. But I don’t because I think it makes me look better so I decide it’s acceptable, even though men aren’t expected to wear it. It’s pretty clear to me that lady paint is up there with foot binding and clit removal. Less physically harmful, obviously, but part of the same ’there is something innately wrong with you woman’  body modification indoctrination.  I decide to stay home. But that doesn’t last. I need coffee. So I guess I’ll have to go nude face. Every day I put on a ‘face’ before I go out. The ‘face’ I put on is the one I decide that people can see, not the one I really have. It’s a shield against the world.  Red lips, pink lips, natural lips. Blue eyeliner, black eyeliner. Eye pencil. Sometimes shadow. Always concealer. At 49 I have a lot to conceal. I start under my eyes and then work my way down to my arse. Then foundation. I am currently a woman with no foundation. Unhidden. People look at me this week a little longer than they should. It could be the black eye. I know what they’re thinking. Some actually say it. ‘Did your husband…?’  They say it half joking, because women with bruised eyes are unsettling. The bruise tells the secrets of what happens behind closed doors. I joke ‘you should see him’. It’s a stupid joke. People laugh not because it’s funny, because it’s a relief. Relief that the man who is my husband, who they have grown to love, isn’t a wife beater, even though he wears the signature blue singlet. I’m surprised how many jokes I have to contend with about domestic violence. I have been a victim of domestic violence in my twenties, so I don’t find those jokes very funny. I wonder how people would react if they ask in jest if I’ve been punched by my husband and I say ‘Yes’. I wonder what they would say next. I’m tempted but I don’t because the flicker of shame still resides in me. I don’t want people to think I’m one of ‘those’ types of women. Even though I have been. And I know there isn’t actually a ‘type’. And it would be a bit unfair on John. To make him one of those ‘types’ of men. It is a small town, and that kind of insinuation sticks. So I find myself feeling a bit embarrassed about my black eye. Just like I used to when it was from my partner. I volunteer the story of my skin cancer removal to strangers in shops who don’t care or haven’t even noticed I have a black eye. Or perhaps they’re used to seeing women like that. I seem to be very concerned that people know that this isn’t a domestic violence black eye this is just a cancer eye. (It’s not even proper cancer. It’s a start up. Kind of a trainee cancer for when I get older. ) I know what the expression now means ‘keeping face’. The black eye has faded and now  when people see me they say ‘are you ok? Are you unwell?’ No I’m not unwell. This is what I actually look like. A bit sick, apparently. A vision impaired friend sitting a long way from me tells me I look better without makeup. That’s kind. Almost as kind as the woman who saw me naked and told me I look better with my clothes off. Watch out. This could be my new look.

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