“Dancers should be in costume with their make up on, ready for the photographer at 7PM.”
Truthfully, I am not ready for this. I am not ready see what a grown up version of my little girl is going to look like.
Oh, sure, she loves make up, but she still thinks that a beautiful application of lipstick extends about an inch beyond the actual lips, hardly realistic and I am just fine with that.
I was not allowed to wear make up growing up. Even all through high school. None. Now, I had my ways of getting around that, to be sure… For instance, I had art pastels. The colored chalk sticks made great blush and eyeshadow in a pinch. Or black acrylic paint could stand in for mascara (I was too desperate at the time to worry about what that might actually do to my eyeballs). The trick was keeping it subtle so that my parents couldn’t tell and my brothers wouldn’t realize and rat on me but still enough that I did not stand out to my peers as a repressed, prudish freak. A very delicate balance.
I swore through all of that I would not do the same to any daughter of mine.
Then I had one. And now she is five and in dance and has to wear make up!?!??!!?
So now I am left wondering if the whole issue with make up for my own parents was not that it would make me look like a whore, as they said, but rather having to adjust to the reality of their daughter growing up.
I am not going to ask them, though.
Excuse me while I go watch some tutorials on dance make-up application.