My Beauty Routine: Sand, Putty & Paint

In junior high and high school, I was overweight and unpopular and didn't have a lot of thought to spare for matters of personal beauty beyond washing my face occasionally and repining over pimples. I did once have some lipstick I liked: it went on blue and turned pale pink. But I was twenty before I started using makeup.

I developed a crush on a guy in my physics class in college, joined Weight Watchers, dropped forty pounds and in general went through the self-discovery phase most girls had passed through long since. I bought blusher, lipstick, eyeshadow (lots of eyeshadow) and mascara. I couldn't find foundation light enough for my skin, because in those days, girls were supposed to have a "healthy" tan. I found laying out in the sun boring, and I hated the sun in my eyes; there were limits to what I'd do for vanity.

The young man in my physics class, being a proper geek, remained totally oblivious (or, at least, seemed to), but I started attracting attention. By the time I was twenty-two, I realized that the kind of shy geek who appealed to me would never approach, so when I fixed my sights on a likely candidate, I approached him. We celebrated our thirtieth anniversary last year, but that's another story.

As an engineer married to an engineer, I had sufficient money in my twenties to indulge in department store beauty preparations and makeup. I basically fell victim to the first helpful cosmetics consultant to accost me when I ventured timidly into that department in Robinson's, and remained loyal to Borghese for a number of years. I did somewhat guiltily betray that trust when I snuck over to the Clinique counter to buy opaque makeup to protect my skin from sun exposure.

A total stranger had once complimented me on my lovely skin and commended me for not sunbathing (eternal blessings on him!). At that point, I decided I could never get more than a second-rate tan, but I could be first-rate fair. I had always worn hats any time I'd be outdoors for any length of time, and I started buying the best sun protection lotions as they were introduced. Titanium dioxide, PABA, PABA-free, SPF-15, then 30, and now 50.

After my kids were born, I stopped wearing makeup. I was lucky if I had time to take a shower, and I never got enough sleep. Makeup had no place in my life. I pared my beauty routine down from special soap, toner, moisturizer, a weekly mud facial, and ten-minute daily makeup to an occasional wash with milder soap, and moisturizer. I'd add sunblock if I actually got to leave the house. I also regained all the weight I had lost and a little bit more.

At forty-nine, I was a wreck. I was overweight and had developed rosacea with facial edema so that I looked like a boiled sharpei. That was the year my mother had her stroke, and my father ended up accompanying her to the hospital in a second ambulance because his implanted defibrillator hit him (turned out he was suffering from a hyperthyroid condition). As I cared for my parents, I couldn't help but consider that they are only twenty-two years older than I am. I didn't want to be as old as they were when I got to that age. When I had a pipe burst upstairs in my house later that year, it turned out to be a blessing in disguise.

We had gone out of town for a couple of days, so when we got back, the damage was considerable. Ceilings had fallen in, the floor was an inch and a half deep in water (the living room carpet undulated like a water bed as I walked across it), and water cascaded down in my kitchen like a waterfall. We were out of our house for almost six months, and I not only got a whole new interior with mostly new furniture, I also got a new body.

The suite hotel we stayed in had a workout room, and between that and the appetite suppressing side effects of the antidepressant (why would I need an antidepressant, you ask) I started taking, I lost forty pounds over that six months. Then Olay sent me a sample of its Regenerist Daily Regenerating Serum.

It's like the free cigarettes the tobacco companies sent to the soldiers in WWII. They get you addicted and build brand loyalty. I confess. I am addicted to Olay. My granny used Oil of Olay, which came in a glass bottle in those days. It was pink. I thought of it as "Oil of Old Lady." Now Olay has, like everyone else, proliferated into an overwhelming array of products such that I wish there were an American Standard of Testing and Materials-type handbook available. How many of these things do you need? Can you create an explosion by mixing the wrong ones together? What's the difference between serum and moisturizer, and do I really need to put both of those on before adding sculpting cream?

At any rate, I have quite an involved beauty routine. Twice a week, I sand my face and neck with some orange-scented scrubbing stuff and then add a clear activator that makes it warm and does something to exfoliate the skin. I then wash this off. To get all the little (plastic, I'm assuming) microbeads off, I pretty much have to take a shower even after I've plied a washcloth multiple times. Mind you, I had to wash my face - with an Olay facial cloth - before starting the sanding process.

After my skin is nicely dry, I apply the layers for the day. I start with eye serum, gently applied in a circular motion using my ring fingers (because they are the weakest fingers), outward on the upper lid and inward on the lower lid. Then I tap the lower lid with my finger tips to stimulate the collagen, or whatever it is that's supposed to make my lower lids look less wrinkly. After this, I slap on the above-mentioned regenerating serum all over my face, throat and chest (I've got cleavage, and I'm not afraid to use it). At this point, I have several moisturizers from which to choose, but they all contain sunblock of varying degrees. I apply one. After the moisturizer, if I'm not already so tired of the whole business I quit right there, I get out the sculpting cream.

This comes in a ruby red jar with a silver lid, which is probably because it costs nearly thirty bucks, and Olay wants to make you think you're getting value for your money. It's still going in the recycle bin when it's empty. I scoop out a small amount of cream and hold it between my fingers as if I'm praying (please make me look ten years younger...heck, make it twenty) to warm it up. I dab dots of it in my problem areas, smooth it out and then follow the brief facial massage routine that comes with the instructions.

Now, presumably, I'm ready to apply makeup. I sometimes even do, but very little. I've discovered that liquid or cream foundation, even stuff specially designed for "mature" skin tends to settle in my pores, giving me a dotted-swiss appearance. If I use concealer to tone down the slight ruddiness from the rosacea and apply foundation over it, I can look like I've been done in house paint. In general, I use cream blusher (very little) on my cheekbones, light mineral powder, eye shadow (in purple-ish, ruddy brown, pink, cream: all colors found in nature), brown mascara on my upper lashes only, brown eyebrow pencil, and Burt's Bees Guava lip gloss. Done properly, I don't look like I'm wearing makeup. I just look like me, only better.

This gets me through the day, unless I'm going to spend all day outdoors, in which case I skip the sculpting cream and bathe in SPF 50 sunblock. I dust it with the mineral powder to make it less sticky, but I may or may not do anything about additional makeup.

My bedtime routine is more simple. I start by washing my face with disposable cleansing cloths, then use night time eye cream applied with the same circles and taps as the daytime serum. Sometimes I use special eye pod thingies, when I remember I have them. Then I use a light night cream on my face and a richer one on my neck and chest. Hooray. Floss, brush, bed.