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!
Image from: TheSocialiteLife