Every girl remembers their first bra. Mom told you that you were “becoming a woman”…so now we had to cover up your “womanly assets.”
So you took that “mother/daughter day” to buy a terribly uncomfortable cotton “training bra” that you were so embarrassed to buy but so desperately excited to wear. The perfect dichotomy of emotion: embarrassment mixed with utter excitement.
I remember standing in my mom’s room as
I put my first training bra on. It probably looked
something like this:
I tried to act so nonchalant as if I didn’t really care, nor really want to wear one. Little did I know that years later that fake disdain for my bra would turn into a real one…as much as we love shopping for lingerie, face it ladies, we hate wearing it. Men would rather have the lingerie on the carpet than on our curves anyhow.
While I definitely remember my first training bra, I definitely don’t remember the first time I wore makeup. Growing up with an Italian father and as an only child, not to mention, the only girl, didn’t exactly make it easy to “become a woman.”
All those things that girls look forward to, first bra, wearing makeup for the first time, getting your ears pierced, thongs, prom…all of those transitions were somewhat of a struggle.
“If God wanted holes in your ears, he would have put them there himself!”
-My dad, when I wanted my ears pierced for the first time
“What is this butt floss doing in our house?”
-My dad, when he saw my first thong
But makeup? Makeup may have been the toughest. Growing up an only child meant that I wanted to be an adult so much quicker than my peers because I was constantly surrounded by them. None of my parents had friends with kids my age and I certainly didn’t have any cousins my age that lived near us. All I saw was my mom putting on her blue (yes, I’m afraid to admit, she wore blue eyeliner…it WAS the early 90’s so I forgive her) eyeliner & “rouge”…I wanted to do it too.
My first bout with makeup was powder out of a Tinkerbell compact and clear mascara. I thought that I hit the jackpot when I acquired this compact. To this day I have no clue where that compact came from but I’ll believe it was a gift from the makeup angels who sat at their vanities every morning scheming up ways to get me my heart’s desire.
Without foundation, the powder didn’t really adhere to my skin, and let’s face it, clear mascara is only good for grooming eyebrows, not for lengthening lashes…but as a twelve-year-old girl, I felt beautiful. I’m sure it didn’t really make much of a difference in the way I looked, but it made a hell of a difference in the perception of myself.
I don’t think I started wearing a full face of makeup (see: foundation, powder, eyeliner, black mascara, blush, etc) until I was in highschool, at least fourteen or fifteen years old.
Yesterday I saw a little girl with a face ready for the runway. She had “smokey eyes” at eleven years old. I couldn’t stop staring at her. There she stood in her skinny jeans and form-fitting top with liquid liner and lipstick on. I couldn’t get over how mature her face looked with how young her body was.
I know kids are “growing up faster” these days, there’s so much more pressure to be “beautiful” at a younger age, but this girl was barely out of elementary school and was ready for a black tie affair. I should have known she was in trouble when the “parents” (not sure if they were hers) who were with her used the checkout line at the grocery store as their own personal bedroom. Of course she’s going to be wearing makeup when her mom is making out in front of the National Enquirer.
Don’t get me wrong, I remember the days of playing in mom’s makeup, spreading lipstick on my face for “Prince Charming”…but I was never allowed to doll myself up and go buy eggs looking like that.