I Like My Face, and I Don’t Need A Boyfriend In Order To Do So

I’ve been in a little bit of a slump recently. I haven’t been finishing any books I’ve started, barely making it to page 50. As a result, I’ve been a little less than motivated to blog.

But a good rant will cure almost anything.

My mom and I have few points of contention. We get along for the most part. But one of the most frequently debated of these few points is my appearance.

See, I’m very much a “wash-and-wear” sort of girl. My hair’s fairly straight by nature, and so when cut in a good lob, I don’t have to do much work for it. Granted, my hair is super thick, so it’s critical that I have my hair layered or thinned out when I go for haircuts.

Likewise, I don’t wear make up. It takes up too much time, money, and effort for something that would leave me paranoid all day, only to be wiped off in the evening. If I’m feeling a little self conscious about how red my face is, then I’ll put on a little powder foundation, but that’s it. I see no point in eye makeup, since I wear glasses.

This drives my mom insane since this results in my standards being significantly lower than hers. I don’t mind when she points out when I have a zit or something like that, since I’m usually aware of it already. But then she said the following to me today, and the idea wouldn’t leave me alone:

Do you need to have a boyfriend before you start taking care of your face?

As I stared at her as if I’d been slapped, she quickly changed the subject to whether or not I was looking for a boyfriend.

What didn’t shock me was my mother’s interest in my non-existent love life. What didn’t shock me was her idea that I don’t take care of my face (I care very much about my face, as well as the rest of my body).

What shocked me was the sheer idea that I needed a boyfriend in order to care about my face.

If I’m not going to start wearing makeup on my mother’s suggestion, what makes her think I’m going to start breathing in coloured powder (which are probably clogging my pores) and poking my eyes with pencils (who thought it was a good idea to stick a pointy object near your eye anyways?) for a boy?

To quote Hank Green,

Girls are not the photons that hit the corneas of boys.

And at the very least, I’d think I’d know better than to pick a romantic partner who only thinks of me as a set of photons.

I’d think she’d know.

The mere idea is simply insulting. If I’m going to start wearing makeup, it’s because I want to. If I’m going to walk out the door with Mount Pimple on my face then so be it.

It’s not my responsibility to do up my face for other people so they have something nice to look at. It’s my responsibility to take of my face because it’s my face. It’s me.

My love life isn’t a point of contention (yet) between my mother and I. But if she thinks that I’m going to change myself for a guy, then it just might be.


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