Growing up, I always heard women say that they didn’t wear make-up because “they had good skin.” That was never a reality for me. I had acne. Because of this, I didn’t look people in the eye, when they spoke to me. I knew how bad I looked by the stares I would receive. It was a short cursory glance when I was clear and a long dissecting gaze when I was broken out. It was like I wasn’t a person. I could see them trying to pop my pimples in their head. I suppose it’s no different from what I did every day when I looked in the mirror, staring the redness into oblivion.
I think that the media has hyped the misconception that every girl wants to look like the airbrushed pictures in magazines. I personally didn’t find that to be the case. All I had to do was look around me and see friends, co-workers, and family with smooth unblemished skin without make-up.
I always thought about how things would be different, if I could just change my face. I dreamed of not being afraid to take pictures. I thought of going to the spa and getting a facial without wincing. I dreamed of a boyfriend touching my face without wondering if he saw or felt my pimples. There were days that I looked in the mirror and cried, before deciding not to go to class or work because I couldn’t make my face presentable for public consumption.
