ME and CARA NOME (or how I became addicted to makeup)

          Actually, it began with Pink Tinge lipstick by Avon.  It was the summer of 1950, between sixth and seventh grade.  Although some of my friends had been wearing makeup since the beginning of sixth grade, my mother thought I was too young.  Sometime during that year, my Grandmother Miller began selling Avon products to earn extra cash to supplement the money she made taking in sewing jobs and doing alterations for the Cook's and Conner's clothing stores in downtown Clarinda.

As an Avon representative, she had a large black bag filled with all sorts of wonderful samples of colognes, powders, and lipsticks and cards with color swatches to show anything available that she didn’t have in her bag.  I was especially fascinated by the tiny tubes of lipstick samples. 

Although I wasn’t allowed to use any of the products, Grandma let me carefully take the caps off the tubes to look at the perfectly shaped sharp chiseled lipsticks, and we would talk about my favorite color.  I often begged to have one of the miniature tubes, but my mother was resolute in her determination that I wait until high school to begin experimenting with makeup.

During the aforementioned summer, however, while mother and two of her sisters were having coffee at Grandma Miller’s apartment, I was at my usual occupation of looking through Grandma’s sample bag.  I could hear them talking in the kitchen about my fascination with the samples, and I heard Grandma say, “Why not let her have a lipstick sample.  Most of the girls her age are wearing lipstick and rouge.” 

My mother gave the usual response, “I think she is too young to start all this makeup business.”

Aunt Rena and Aunt Vi piped in almost in unison, “What difference does it make?”  Aunt Rena said, “You have been wearing makeup since you were her age.  Or have you forgotten.”

“No, I do remember, and that is exactly why I don’t want her wearing makeup yet.  Girls start wearing makeup to attract boys.  She is too young.”

Grandma Miller was not one to continue an argument, but she expressed how silly that notion was because, as she came to believe in dealing with her Avon customers, most women wear makeup primarily to feel better about the way they look.  “If it makes KK feel good about herself, why not let her use a little lipstick.”

“Humph,” Mother  muttered, “I don’t know.  She has plenty of time for getting herself all gussied up.”  All this seemed to be delivered with a note of possibility in her voice which I saw as a perfect time to tune in with begging again.

“Please, please, Mother.  I will be very careful with it and will only use if for special occasions.”

“Like what special occasions?” she questioned.

“Like going to church or birthday parties or when I get to go shopping with you in Omaha.”  I tried to think of other times I would want to wear lipstick, but thought it might be wise to place limits.  “Please, please.”

Mother exchanged glances with Grandma Miller who sat quietly listening to this interchange, and with Rena and Vi who were having trouble concealing their mirth.  Grandma raised her eyebrows in a questioning way, and mother relented.  “Oh, OK, but you have to use it for only special occasions, and I don’t want to find it smeared on anything but your lips.  The first time I find it on clothing or furniture or anything else, it goes in the trash.  Do you understand?”

“Oh, thank you, thank you.  I understand.  I will be very careful.  Can I choose the color?”

“Grandma started to say, “Yes, of course,” but she was interrupted by mother who insisted that I could only have a natural color, which at that time, in 1950, constituted nothing more than lip balm, or a light pink color.

“Light pink is fine with me!”  I already knew which shade of pink I wanted, having gone through Grandma’s sample so many times.  “I choose Pink Tinge.”

Grandma retrieved the small sample tube from her bag and handed it to me.  I was as elated as if I had been crowned with a rhinestone tiara.  I was going to look like a princess with my new pink lipstick, and knew it was time for me to start acting like a refined young lady.

That tube of lipstick had a profound effect on me.  I began to take more interest in my overall appearance.  I combed my hair several times a day, and shampooed it more often than mother thought was necessary.  I didn’t have to be reminded to brush my teeth any longer.  Why put lipstick on a mouth that hadn’t been cleaned inside and out?

I read every article in my Seventeen magazines about applying makeup and took note of movie star’s makeup in the movie magazine that piled up in my room.  I wanted to do it just right, but I could never get it to look as perfect as the photos in those magazines.  I didn’t know about photographer’s magic tricks to achieve that perfection.

So…that’s how it all started.  Eventually, I convinced mother to let me buy some Maybelline mascara with my baby-sitting money, then blush and powder, but I never purchased or wore makeup base until I was out of school and working full-time.  Even then, I rarely wore it because I still had young almost flawless skin.  Hard to believe when I look in the mirror now and see the ravages of time on my face.

Through junior high I wore the Pink Tinge lipstick with little concern whether it matched the outfit I was wearing.  I was just happy to have it.  By the time I got to high school, I had several lipstick selections from which to choose, and I wore my mascara, blush, and powder often.  Not every day to school, necessarily, but whenever I performed with the band or chorus, when I did solo work, when I attended Rainbow for Girls meetings, and when I went to church.

Going into the work world as a Teller at Citizens State Bank in Clarinda, I dressed up every day and my makeup became an everyday ritual.  The first thing in the morning I put on my makeup and the last thing I did at night was to remove it.  From that time on, I was never seen by anyone, other than Bill, without my makeup.  I was truly addicted.

Even when I became a stay-at-home Mom after our son, Craig, was born, I still went through the daily ritual.  It seems a little silly now, but makeup had become such a part of me, that looking in the mirror without it was like looking at a stranger.

Through the years, of course, many things changed in that regard.  During times of sickness or recovery from surgery, I let it slide.  I still didn’t like what I saw in the mirror, but weariness let me believe it was OK, but only temporarily.  As soon as I was up and on my feet again, the ritual began anew.

Being involved in community theatre and other entertainment venues all of my adult life, I found it necessary to go heavier on the makeup when on stage.  Stage lights bleach out any semblance of color in one’s face, especially my pale complexion and light, thin eyelashes.  I became quite adept at applying eyeliner, false eyelashes, coloring in my brows, and applying lipstick, using a lip liner pencil to better define my lips.

After each performance run, however, it always seemed to take me several days to tone down the amount of makeup I used.  The false eyelashes always went immediately back to their case, but I continued to use eyeliner and wore my lipstick and blush a little too heavy for everyday use.  By the week following each performance, I usually reverted back to giving a light touch to my face each day.

Now, then…what does all this have to do with Cara Nome, you ask?  Ever since December 1992, when my mother died, I have had her box of Cara Nome face powder either sitting on my bathroom vanity, or in one of the drawers where I keep all my makeup.  I see it every day.  It is a constant reminder of being young, resenting a parent’s ideas on age appropriateness, and the feeling of elation when boundaries are lifted.

That little tube of lipstick changed me.  The next hurdle I had to overcome with my parents was shaving my legs; but that’s another story to be told at another time.

Now I am at a stage in my life that I feel makeup is just a bother.  It takes too much time.  It costs too much money.  I long for days when I can just stay at home with a clean face and not have to do the daily ritual.  In fact, now that I am retired, I often do what I would occasionally do during my working years, by having a ‘jammie day.  A day when I stay in my pajamas or nightgown all day long, I and never touch my face with anything but a washcloth.  It is so freeing.

An acquaintance I met in Albuquerque in the early 90’s told about parties she used to go to put on by a friend of hers.  Her friend called it a “Come Clean Party.”  It was always a breakfast get-together and rules were you had to bathe and wash your hair before you left your house to go to the party, put on clean pajamas or other night wear, wear absolutely no makeup, and come to enjoy coffee and conversation, leaving all cares behind.

Now, I like that idea.  In fact, I would like that to be become my daily ritual in place of putting on the makeup.  Will it happen?  Probably not.