Made Up

I have a group of friends who occasionally remark about a woman, as what I think is probably an innocently meant disparagement: “She wears makeup.”

It never fails to amuse me when someone says this in front of me because, for the record?

I always wear make up.

ALWAYS.

As in, I work from home and I wear make up for that.

As in, I can’t think of an occasion that doesn’t require at least mascara and lip gloss.

But that’s just me.

I’m not mentioning this because I want to extol the virtues of cosmetics. I don’t think everyone should wear makeup.  If you don’t like the way it feels, if you don’t like taking the time, if you prefer not to wear it – that’s your choice.  I don’t care. I’m not going to judge anyone for preferring not to wear foundation.

However, I don’t enjoy being judged for it, as though being a person who likes to be made up (and I do enjoy the whole process, immensely) makes me somehow artificial or shallow or … and this is what I suspect is the real kicker … inauthentic.  

It’s not about the make up, though. It’s about the amount of time I think people spend judging each other. I think we’re all guilty of putting people into categories based on kind of goofy criteria. We make assumptions based on very arbitrary things, and then we make statements based on those assumptions, and are sometimes dismissive of people who might otherwise be incredibly awesome because we haven’t taken the time to question those notions.

And I want to make sure I say this: We ALL do it.

Even as I write about how much it bothers me? I know that I am guilty of it.

I also know this: I’d like to be LESS guilty of it. I’d like to be more aware of where my snap judgements live, and how I can rethink them. Because if there’s one thing I really want, REALLY want in this new year? It’s the ability to meet people where they are, for who they are, which is where and how I want to be met.

Eyeliner and all.