I’ll come clean: I take first dates seriously. I know this because friends constantly chime: “dating is supposed to be fun! Relax!” I’d spend at least an hour trying to (and failing) stalk my potential date online, analysing their conversations, perhaps going back to the advisory council (a select group of friends), drafting and re-drafting my replies. Eventually, the date would roll around, and that’s when I’d begin to stress.
I’d routinely try on outfit after outfit, in a bid to have an elusive aura of, “I care but not too much”. I’d painstakingly apply my highlighter, go to the salon for a blow-out so it looks fresh but not obviously, of course. I’d arrive at the venue with enough time to spare to do a quick double-check and make sure nothing managed to get caught in my hair or teeth in the 20 minutes since I’d left home. Remind me again how they consider all of that “fun”? I know, I’m cringing too.
Fresh into the dating minefield, I decided to give my friends’ advice a whirl and decided to chill out when meeting guys. With my new “relaxed” mindset, I made a conscious effort not to overthink, and dive into the spontaneity of the situation. Fast forward to a few evenings ago when I went on a blind date. My prep was a little like this: laying in bed watching reruns of Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries, pacing back and forth in my tiny apartment, and pouring a big glass of wine. (I did change outfits a few times though — maybe I’ll get better at the “relaxing.”) Armed with an almost-bare face (a swipe concealer doesn’t count) I anxiously made my way to a super trendy bar closeby. Here’s the deal: I wear lipstick to take out the trash. I wear eyelash extensions to school, and quite frankly, wanted to prove to myself that the world wouldn’t end if I went out (almost) bare-faced.
The bar was dimly lit, and we laughed, we drank, we talked. There was no amount of alcohol that could mask how naked and exposed I felt. In between generous gulps of gin cocktails, I wondered if the overhead lighting was accentuating my old acne scars. What about my blueish dark circles? I desperately wished that a fairy godmother would appear with a magic make-up wand.
Funnily enough, I couldn’t believe that something that mattered so much to me had no significant bearing to the success of my date. I eased into it eventually, and left the bar with a giddy stomach-flipping feeling. My date walked me back home, I was floating on champagne bubbles, and as we said our goodbyes outside a shady nightclub I live next to, I finally relaxed. I knew I may never see him again, and it was comforting knowing that my make-up free face wasn’t such a big deal.
All of it comes down to personal preference, I suppose. Dripping in bronzer, eyeshadow, and glitter (more glitter!!!) does make me feel a whole lot better, so I may not do this again. Make-up adventures aside, I have decided: I’ll be reserving all future bare-faces for after a good date.