By Jess Bailey
When I look at my naked face in the mirror, I imagine I feel very similar to how Picasso, or Da Vinci felt when they looked at a blank canvas. Inspired, excited, and ready for the forthcoming challenge. I begin with my base first, cover up all my red bumps, imperfections and uneven skin tone with a magical liquid that bestows me with glowing skin. I feel better already, but I look sort of like an egg, so in comes contour. I chisel, blend, and ombre my face until there is an illusion of chiseled cheekbones, a strong jaw, and a small forehead.
I feel unstoppable, ready to take on the world, and pose for a nude art class. I'm ready for anything. Next comes my brows. These are my Achilles tendon, the key to all my powers. If my brows are on fleek then the rest is history. I get my brush, thinner than Donald Trump's comb-over, run it through my brow powder (Embark, by Mac if you were wondering) and very carefully draw that first line. When it goes right, oh boy... I will literally dance. It's a good omen for the day and nothing can stop me. I carefully, with great delicacy, fill in the rest of my brows with feather like strokes that make me feel more accomplished than Beyonce. Does Beyonce even do her own brows? I do my own brows, and I do them well. Look at me! Charlotte Tilbury move over bitch, I'm the queen.
Now eyes, the real challenge begins. Doing eye make up is more stressful than choosing what to wear; I have far more eye shadow than clothes. Do I go for wearable and muted nudes, or colourful, cut-crease shimmer madness? I painstakingly apply and blend until it looks like one of those Facebook videos that has set the bar SO much higher. It's a masterpiece, making my eyes look somehow bigger and brighter, but at the same time more demure, sexy, and sophisticated. But the battle isn't over yet, oh no. The next part in my transformation is the hurdle where many fall. The path to full on glam is littered with failed eyeliner attempts, and snivelling wrecks of women who just can't get their wings even. I put that out of my mind, square up to the mirror and pick up the eyeliner pot. I look at it in my hands; so small, so malicious, but so necessary. I take a deep breath and steady my hands... this is it, either I will ace this and everyone will be in awe of my eyeliner skills and perfectly blended eyeshadow, or I'm going to be 20 minutes late to work.
Slowly but surely the eyeliner is on, and oh boy if that isn't the most satisfying thing I've ever done then my name isn't Jessica Bailey. I take a few minutes to get Snapchat up, and take (then delete) about 400 pictures of my amazing eyeliner. Entering the home stretch now, we have mascara. A girls best friend. This shit, I have no idea how, but it literally makes everything look 15X better. Mascara is the unifier amongst make up, the one that brings everything together. Mascara is to make up, what gravy is to a Sunday roast... you need it. If you don't use it there is something sinister and wrong with you and I don't want anything to do with it. The last thing is lips, not much to do here. A quick slick of lip balm should do it. I'm only going to work and I don't want to look too overdone, obviously...