You need to see my face when I saw my photos as a bridesmaid. I could not recognize myself. I still have not come to terms to believe that is me.
And everyone said it was good that day.
As bridesmaids, we were all to have the ‘same’ make -up.
Before the make-up artiste started, I asked her, “do you want me to get my foundation? I don’t use MAC, the only foundation that I have found to work on my face is Marc Jacobs. MAC feels like Yokozuna sitting on your face”
She said she knows what she’s doing.
I let the expert do her work.
Moments later, the bride and co-bridesmaids said, “Engoz, e don do now,” because I kept on going back to the make-up artiste to re- line my lips, my eyebrows, nose, in fact re-do everything.
At least let me resemble myself, and if that is too much to ask, let me look like a human being small!
Wouldn’t you say that is a healthy compromise? *Sigh*
They all echoed I looked good.
I finally said ok o.
I face-timed my partner, because we always have this petty banter about my ‘wind-erosioned eyebrows’. Wind-erosioned, because I have very sparse almost non existent eyebrows and I always refuse to have them overly drawn. I usually just keep it light on the eyebrows with a not too dark brown eyebrow pencil.
I know what fits me. Thank you very much!
Anyway, he said it’s good but he didn’t really like the colors, but the artiste got my eyebrows drawn well.
I said ok o.
At the church, I asked my sisters their verdict.
They said, “Wow! Engoz you look different, we’ve never seen you look this glamorous.” The compliment also came with a reprimand to stop griping about it.
I said ok o.
But deep down I knew this was ridiculous.
When the pictures came out, I was speechless, he was speechless, my sisters were speechless.
I looked like a goat with blush on her cheeks and lipstick on her lips. My eyebrows were so dark and looked like it did not belong on my face.
Now I know why God gave me the eyebrows I have.
My sisters laugh me ehn. Dem laugh me ehn, if not that I have a thick-skin, I for cry.
This is the second time I have used a make-up artiste, and both of them have dealt with me mercilessly.
The first time- it was a church dinner and there was going to be a ‘fashion parade’ which I was annoyingly encouraged to join.
Out of the gracious heart of my Pastor’s wife, she hired a make-up artiste.
Even those ‘willy wonka’ hat wearing older women in my church with questionable knowledge of everything beauty shouted in shock when the make-up artiste finished with me.
I looked like I was embalmed. They insisted I cleaned it off.
The make-up artiste on the other hand insisted that her work was perfect.
I have finally resigned to my fate. I’m not that good doing my own make-up, but at least I look like myself when I’m done.
As if all this isn’t enough, years later, Marc Jacobs discontinued the only foundation that worked for my face.
Kuku kill me now!