My 15-year-old resident makeup expert is skilled not only in the art of cosmetics, but also in that of a finely tuned compliment. If only she were running the world
It’s been a busy winter. People I love are getting married, engaged, and bat mitzvahed. They want me to be there (they find me delightful!) and I am happy to comply.
Thanks to the plethora of funky second-hand stores in my neighborhood, I have the appropriate attire for all of the events. However, I recently realized that the time had come to level up my cosmetics game. I don’t wear makeup on a regular basis. When you’re as delightful as I am, people rarely notice your face. But also, I don’t really understand how makeup works. And, similar to the names of many people I will see at these events which I cannot seem to remember, at this point, I’m just too embarrassed to ask.
When I made aliyah, I brought with me my well-loved tube of Raspberry Rush lipstick from L’Oréal Paris. A decade later, that stalwart gal has been worn down to a nub. The thought of all the upcoming soirees made her look visibly exhausted, and so I headed to the pharmacy to procure a new lipstick that would make me even more delightful.
Once inside the store, I was instantly overwhelmed. Not only was there no Raspberry Rush to be found, but over the past 10 years, the land of lipstick seems to have expanded into an empire of lip products, including lip stain, lip oil, lip lacquer, lip gloss, lip liner, liquid lipstick, and lip finish. Armies of tubes lined the pharmacy walls in intimidating displays. Did I want to try a lip finish in the daring shade of Uncut Ruby? How about a lacquer in the haunting hue of Vampire Love? Do I prefer a plumping effect? To be long-lasting? Have a multidimensional shine?
Unable to make sense of this daunting landscape, I panicked and left empty-handed. I messaged my resident makeup expert — she is 15, lives in my house, and is inexplicably related to me, given her effortless skill in cosmetic situations. “Lipstick is scary! Can you meet me at the pharmacy after school? Help!!! <3 ????????”
We returned to the pharmacy together that afternoon. My daughter patiently explained the various products and their merits. We tested a few and settled on Wine Not. I got home in time to get dressed and stain my face for wedding number one.
But what had seemed so promising in the flattering pharmacy lights turned out to look garish and hideous on my face. (I’ll tell you exactly Wine Not!!)
My daughter watched in horror as I scraped and scrubbed it off of my lips. Curse you, L’Oréal and your improved long-lasting formula! I pulled out my trusty nub and headed out the door, with promises that we would try again the next day.
As I drove to the wedding, I lamented my makeup failure and the fact that I am unable to be a role model for my daughter in the realm of femininity and grace. I wanted to be able to take credit for her confidence in the pharmacy aisles, to know that I was the reason she was turning into such a good and delightful woman.
Just a few days later, my daughter played in the championship game of her flag football league. She plays on a team of local middle and high school girls, coached by my teenage son, and it has been remarkable to watch the team learn the game and develop into skilled players who know a hitch from a post.
The final game was played against the young women from Modi’in. These teams had competed fiercely against each other all season, trading wins and losses in evenly matched competition. This was no exception. The score was tied until the final minutes of the second half, when Modi’in proceeded to score. And score. And score. The Efrat team held back their tears and played bravely until the end, but their frustration and anger was obvious.
As the game ended, my daughter walked over to one of her opponents, grabbed her by the arm, and said something which I couldn’t hear. For a second I worried that some postgame, sore-loser, trash-talking was afoot. But the girl from the other team smiled widely, her eyes lit up, and she said, “That’s, like, the nicest thing you could have said to me!”
Later, I asked my daughter what she had said that prompted such a warm response. “I told her that her hair always looks amazing. Like, at every single game.”
I had worried that I hadn’t taught my daughter how to be a good woman. But it seems that she already knew. Being a good woman doesn’t mean having the best lipstick in the room; it means knowing how to compliment the woman who does. Better yet, it means knowing how to spot the woman who’s feeling insecure about her nub-draped lips, and telling her that she is crushing it. These are the kinds of women that I want to be and know and raise. These are the women who should be running the world.
Imagine if this type of authentic, supportive encouragement made its way into political affairs.
President Trump would call up the ayatollah and say, “Your Eminence, might I interrupt this riveting debate about the pros and cons of running a dictatorship to say that your creepy beard is looking particularly voluminous today?”
The supreme leader would respond, “Why, Mr. President, I’ve been using a new beard enhancement product and I am just tickled that you noticed. Might I add that the armada of battleships that you recently parked in my neighborhood is looking oh-so-threatening? Well done, sir! Give me a moment to free the Iranian people from the grips of my terror and we can head to the salon. I’ll introduce you to my beard guy. He does wonders with a combover!”
So wear your nub with pride and confidence — because despite what the cosmetic companies would have us believe, the secret to being delightful and beautiful is not in your lip liner or in your mascara — but it is in your smile and your eyes, and in the words and the kindness within them. Be the reason that someone’s eyes light up, because nothing makes us feel multidimensionally shiny like a genuine, heartfelt compliment. Be generous with your friends and your foes and your dictators. And if nothing else, find a color that you love and buy it in bulk.
** This article was originally published on blogs.timesofisrael.com
