When the world rocked over Samantha Brick, my fingers itched so much to diss her and the world for taking a thing like that so seriously. But I held back just in time and instead wandered around MakeupAlley for that elusive mattifying+SPF+radiance-boosting loose powder to prepare for summer. I’m afraid that it is indeed very elusive.

So it is probably already very easy to gather that I myself am no stranger to the topic of beauty, and I would go as far as to say that this also contributed to my growing-up. In fact, it is only recent that I could bring myself to admit to that fact, because there was a time when I couldn’t and instead would openly ridicule it. Yet even then I couldn’t deny that I was also secretly intrigued by it.

It’s probably because I grew up in a society where the majority seemed to be obsessed about having fair skin and so on, and in contrast my parents were very anti about the whole thing and they’re a beautiful couple. And there was every reason to; by intuition I knew that physical appearance have no correlation with personality. Lots of nice people don’t have Pantene hair or SKII skin or Sensodyne teeth. In fact nobody I knew did. Even though yes, it was darn obvious that so many of them tried and even pretended.

So I wore my very brown skin and battle cuts and scars with pride, because they symbolised this rebellion against mass fakery and general stupidity. There was a particular kink though. Visiting our posh relatives down in the city was always a bit awkward. They would open their posh doors with big, lipsticked smiles, and as we kissed their moisturised, bejewelled hands, they would exclaim “My, my! Your daughters are really splendid! You’re quite fair aren’t you. And you’re so white! Ahh they’re all so cute!! And, erm, this one is – tall?”
I couldn’t understand why I always get hurt by it, and I used to hate myself for that because as far as I was concerned, the whole thing was a betrayal of my own principles.

Like a cystic, the kink never got smaller and as I splashed into teenagehood, there were REAL cystics and that was when I began to seriously reconsider the meaning of physical appearance. And the mirror is telling me that I’m ugly. Darn it. Why me?!

And because I was a teenager and getting into troubles and conflicts and tragedies, plus a healthy dollop of hormones added to the dogpile, I really began to believe that I was the black sheep of the family, as reminded by my sisters almost daily. And that my mom had lied about my hair being beautiful and special when it’s not cos it’s so obviously greasy and a mess and going all over the place. I don’t know why, but I got very angry when my mom once commented that she wished to have my sister’s hair. But you said that you’ve always wanted MINE!
And that was a real turning point. As much as I hated my face, I have never had a bad word against my hair and besides, it was convenient as a veil to hide my ugliness … but what’s the point of using ugliness to conceal ugliness? Double ugliness!! With much spite, I had it cut as short as possible and it was kept like that until a year ago.

But I couldn’t give up! At aged 13, I bought my first moisturiser and even to this day I could remember the guilt I had from it. It sparked off a whole new revolution and I bought more lotions and potions, mostly cheap ones from drugstores. (They were really expensive for me at that time!) I knew that this time I was really tossing my principles in the bin but I didn’t care. And that made me feel ashamed as well so I openly proclaimed to the world about the illusions of beauty. This I hoped would counteract the guilt, but it never did. In fact I only felt more pathetic, deservedly so I guess.

And every time the potion failed, I was reassured by the simple fact that like all car boot sales, there is always a gem hiding somewhere. So I bought more and more … practically the whole drugstore! Gradually it became desperate and frustrating and even when applying a new product, I was already deeply mistrusting it. The whole thing became more violent and one day, I couldn’t bring myself to face the mirror at all. Some time later, I hated all forms of photography, and I remember that I would get so mad if somebody accidentally forgot my warning and took a photo anyway. Even today I still feel squeamish if I see someone going around with a fat Nikon around their neck.

I knew that the whole thing was a disease. As I realised that I’ll soon be running out of my teen years, I fought against it harder than ever. Start with the easiest. If I’m gonna get upset about stuff like zits then so be it. How do other people cope with this? Well they use makeup. Makeup. Believe it or not, I avoided that word harder than the worst swear words my body-spray-mingled-with-hormones-smelling friends have tried to teach me. But why did I see it as a taboo in the first place? It was because of my Principles. My Principles said that makeup is fake and cheap and very very bad. But I need it! Therefore my Principles must change, or they can go to hell. And change they did, and gradually I became more comfortable with my Bourjois 16h Sleep Effect.

Even then I would apply it discreetly, and never ever admitted it to anyone. If they commented that my skin is improving, I just smiled sheepishly; on good mood days, very pleasantly indeed ;D Meanwhile I worked on other areas of the disease. I knew that I always get embarrassed by beauty adverts, so I targeted that. From the age of 17, I began to immerse myself with the fashion world and gradually developed an appreciation of fashion itself. (This is why I am still fond of it, being my pet system!). I also began to listen to how they defined beauty, and soon I had a keen eye on models; I remember how proud I felt when Natalia Vodianova really became an international success. In fact these models became my silent supporters. As the waves of models kept passing over me, my scrutiny declined and alas! I became bored and actually got tired because they have ceased to become so unique; on the contrary they all looked the same!

Inevitably that is a turning point itself, but if anything I was hugely alarmed by it. Did I just diss beauty?! I panicked. How could I?? Beauty is too sacred to be looked down to! Again I had to step back and reassess. Soon I was reluctant to admit that actually, I was right to be bored. The models DO look the same. For the first time in my life, I began to seriously consider if it was the industry which got it all wrong.

Furthermore, I was also learning – or re-learning – how nice people could also be plain-looking at the same time. For me, it was a phenomenon because the two couldn’t coexist. But as I looked closer, I realised that they are indeed beautiful, but in a way that I couldn’t explain very well. In fact I was downright perplexed by it, even now I am still amazed. But it was an important turning point because it allowed for another weird thing to happen: When I look closely at some beautiful people, I could see nothing but ugliness!

What a revelation. Whilst the seed of cynicism was officially planted, I began to carefully reconsider the models touted by the fashion industry but shunned by me. Shunned? Another realisation banged on me. Is it right to sift people like that? Anyway I looked into Lara Stone and Cindy Crawford. I realised that they were shunned because one had a gap between her front teeth and the other had a big mole. Never have I felt so ashamed of myself. How could I? I silently thanked the fashion industry for this education.

Imperfections should be celebrated! (/squeaky voice!) It is imperfections which separate one from another, giving us diversity and making us all so unique and fascinating! True, the fashion industry is notorious for keeping their models chopsticks and bones, but come to think of it, some of the catwalk makeup made it look as if they’re emphasising the imperfections rather than toning them down. No, wrong word, not ’emphasising’ but ‘celebrating’!

Heheheheh. Hiccup. It dawned on me like a graceful falling autumn leaf. It gently nudged me to the bathroom. I went in and faced the sink. And then I made myself to look up. Look away quick! No get back to it. I squinted at the face squinting back at me. I pushed back my hair. And voila, imperfections in all its glory.

I practised this once every few days, then I stepped it up to almost every day. I am happy to say that my phobia with mirrors is cured and now I look at it every single day. Well more than that. Because I have come to the conclusion that actually, I am very pretty! These days I couldn’t stop rushing to the bathroom randomly just to take a peek at myself, and then thank breathlessly to it and to the God which gave it to me. Yes you may call me vain, and I will certainly not deny it, no, by God I will say “Whoppee!” instead!

Now, I have had my toiletries and makeup completely stream-lined, and even though I still get hormonal breakouts, they’re not as bad as before. Maybe it’s because I’ve calmed down a lot and don’t get too stressful either. Maybe it’s also because I’m much cleverer with my makeup now! But one part of me is still more precious than any others, and I have kept it long and conditioned since last year as a silent tribute. I think I was wrong for thinking that my mom had lied, because it is indeed definitely my very best feature and I’m so incredibly lucky to have it.

I no longer use the word “imperfections”, rather “features”. I do admit that it took me a bit longer to accept my eyes and teeth. Having so much different blood in you doesn’t necessarily mean that sought-after unique Pan-asian look, on the contrary I seem to have bits from different parts of the world all jammed in together! But hey that’s something to be proud of innit. Even today I am still amused by the [very] varying feedback from other people, ranging from “You look very Malaysian so yeah” to “I thought you’re Arab/Chinese/half-white”. Ironically nobody had ever called me Indian, which is what my sisters had me classified as.

As for my teeth, yes they are uneven and yes they’re not as flashy-white as Jordan’s, but remember why I refused braces in the first place! It was because one of it got knocked in half by a badminton racket, (and I won the match), and although dentists have done their best to inject as much of their white stuff to fill in the gap, it was still ish. Nevertheless, it was a battle scar. So I should feel glorious.
As for the uneven tooth, well, all I can say is I was wiser as a kid. I remember a 10-year-old me fingering it thoughtfully, “Well, at least this will be a reminder for me that no matter how much of the world I’ve conquered, I will never be perfect.”

I hang my head with shame and promise to embrace it all.

As it turns out, I am not alone in this struggle. There are many internet communities confessing the same thing, and it almost felt like sisterhood. So I do give credit to them too. Also it’s not just ‘normal’ people, but currently it is quite trendy for celebrities to come out and declare that once upon a time, they too have been associated with the term “ugly”. They don’t exactly go bwahaha about it, (although I note that some do), but it does make you feel all warm and awww for them. I could see how Anne Hathaway felt very insecure about her looks even though half the world insisted the very opposite. It was just a matter of time, I hoped. When she finally announced that she was very happy with herself, the least I could do was to blow a kiss to the computer monitor.

Now that one of my sisters have just entered teenagehood, I am adamant to educate her on what beauty really means, and that her new spots are really not a big deal as she makes out of them. Like me, she was also embarrassed about having to use lotions and potions. But I am not going to let her go through what I did. I am also much more masterful over myself; lately I strongly denied another of my sisters’ ‘black sheep’ terms instead of painfully accepting them with a scowl. And they confessed that they have never meant it seriously! A bad joke, huh.
Although we’ve outgrown all that, I am never letting them do that to the younger ones, even if they really do mean them as jokes.

I guess that’s pretty much all of it. My philosophy of beauty is much simpler now; for me, women are the fairer sex and therefore by default will always be beautiful. Sometimes I do get pangs of the need for ultra perfection, sometimes I do despair when another dastardly plague of that time-of-the-month comes! But sometimes too I do get sick of looking at these models and sometimes, I definitely stop peeking in the fashion world. Because ultimately, all beauty is superficial! Of course it is. Even Simon Nessman isn’t as great anymore, though that doesn’t stop me from ogling at him! But yeah. I just wish that the world would realise about the true nature of beauty. That its value is indeed great, but what is it compared with the rest of the things in life? What with plastic surgeries and photoshops and eating disorders and suicides … so much insecurities and wrong priorities! ><

Drastic turn of this ‘article’ ;D

Okay, as an ‘expert’, I can condense the whole makeup philosophy in a few lines!

There are 3 types of people who wear makeup: 1) The ones who use it for camouflage; 2) The ones who see their face as a canvas to play around with and 3) The ones who use it to enhance their natural features.
Obviously everyone has some kind of combination of all of them, but it depends on the person which type applies strongest to them.

There are also 2 different strengths: A) The ones who over-apply and B) The ones who apply ONLY where necessary.
Again, people may come in middle ground as everything after all is perspective-wise, but I find that this classification is useful as it also correlates with your level of self-esteem. Is it a coincidence that most teenagers have a lot of makeup on, be it for the ‘cakey look’ or just plain fun?

For me personally, I try to be 3B because now that I’m almost a grown-up, I want to aim for that polished, groomed look. And being somewhat part of the minority group in society, it’s even more important for me to assure everybody that I’m really quite British. But recently I have begun to expand my views on makeup, that rather than it just being a tool for one to look acceptable by society’s standards, it can also be played around with! So no harm in extending that eyeliner just a bit more to a cat flick, or add a dab of turquoise shimmer across the eyelids :O

OR

Heheh, so much has changed! It is also very late now -_- I would like to conclude with a funny scenario between me and my grandpa, since he’s also coming over next week. A few years ago, we were walking around in the city centre to look for a lamp shade – yes, I typed this correctly – and whilst my instinct told me to go to the local junkshop, my grandad insisted that we should go to House of Fraser. So we went in there, and soon I found myself standing awkwardly before their beauty floor. My dear grandad waited patiently. I just stood dumb-like. And then he gently said to me “But wouldn’t you like to get a lipstick?” And I was leik “What?!” And he said “I have never heard of any woman who doesn’t like lipstick.”

Although we did get a very expensive lampshade in the end, I was in very deep thought about this lipstick on the way home. Come to think of it, that was how the makeup revolution kick-started :O

P.S. Gonna post my favourite links on another pc since Mac is super clever for not allowing hyperlinks for some reason >_>