Painting our faces
The day I embraced my face
I still remember my first make-up kit. Playing dress-up, wearing plastic princess heels, smearing neon eye-shadow on my eyelids, and adding an unacceptable amount of shimmer on my cheekbones. I grew up wanting to add more Barbies to my doll collection and convincing my mom to do her make-up.
Middle school was when I saw glimpses of real makeup around me. Mascara, glossy lips, maybe a little bit of highlighter, adorned with thin golden hoops. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t come home and try to recreate that look instantly. I stole my mom’s makeup pouch only to realize that she had a three-step make-up routine: Fair and Lovely cream (…I know), kajal (which she didn’t use?) and a Dior mauve lipstick (okay, promising). It’s safe to say, I rocked a no-make-up look for a majority of middle school.
Growing up South Asian, my family embodied traditional skincare remedies and homemade facemasks. My mom was a proponent of no-make-up: just moisturizer, some powder when she wanted to ‘brighten’ her face, and lip balm to tie it all together. Instead of going shopping for make-up in India, we’d stock up on Vatika hair oil—a ride-or-die classic—and a bunch of other ingredients that made for the perfect face mask if you wanted to rid your hyperpigmentation.
Just mix some turmeric, sandalwood powder, honey, yoghurt and a bit of water and put it on your face, was my mom’s response to my whining on wanting to buy make-up so I could “fit in” with my friends.
High school was an experiment to say the least. Some days I’d define my eyebrows a bit more than usual, or I’d try a different shade of highlighter. Contour and bronzer were too advanced of a quest so I stuck to streaky concealer and an unflattering shade of blush. I loved experimenting with eyeshadow and would stay up late to perfect my blending.
Eventually, with a transition to university came tackling the imposter syndrome that the Covid-19 pandemic imposed. Studying from home. Calling family from home. Calling friends from home. Cooking food from home. A new home.
But funny enough, I grew to reconnect with my roots again through Bollywood cult classics. My best friend and I made it a weekly tradition to tackle one classic alongside mediocre takeouts. We admired Geet’s relentless fight for love in Jab We Met and cried with Naina as she parted ways from Bunny in Ye Jawaani Hai Deewani.
Then came Kate and Edwina in Season 2 of Bridgerton—the infamous historical romance book-to-show adaptation on Netflix. The main characters were both South Asian and the leads of an incredibly popular Western series. Many people may think that this shift in the cast is a “breath of fresh air,” but to me? Well, it was more than that.
It was when Edwina referred to Kate as didi (older sister in Hindi). Kate’s preference of a morning cup of chai over English breakfast tea. The haldi ceremony. Kate massaging coconut oil in Edwina’s hair. The South Asian artisan influence in the embroidery and beading of the gowns. The chunky gold jewelry and the jhumkas.
All along in Western media, South Asians were portrayed to be different. The funny one. The smart one. The odd one out. But Kate and Edwina were portrayed to be confident, assertive, and worthy of love. They weren’t imitating anyone. Instead, they were empowering.
It would be cliché to say “I felt seen,” but at that moment, I didn’t feel the need to blend in, I didn’t feel the urge to change. Instead, I felt the need to be myself.
Now, instead of lining my eyebrows, I brush them through with some eyebrow gel. I replaced streaky concealer and the excessive highlighter with a skincare routine. I embrace my dark eyelids (which, technically, doubles as natural brown eyeshadow) and use a blush that adds a subtle glow. Contour and bronzer are still too advanced for my taste so instead, I stick to using a brown liner on my waterline.
My mom finds herself coming to my room now. Not to steal my make-up pouch but to ask me to apply a little bit of blush on her cheeks, fill in her eyebrows for her, and add a bit of mascara, even when her eyes get a little watery. Funny how she swore by the homemade turmeric face masks and coconut oil, yet still rocks a red lip and a saree on a night out.
Tradition or trend, inspiration or representation—it’s worth reminding ourselves that both can co-exist. What matters in the end is that you feel like yourself and nobody else.
