Reflections on Covid-19
I live in New Zealand, where we were fortunate enough to
have a government that acted quickly and decisively when Covid-19 arrived on
our shores. This meant that we went into full lockdown relatively early
compared to other countries, and given our small population, it was very
effective. We are now almost (touch wood) completely Covid-free. We have been
incredibly lucky and I have never been more thankful that I live in such a small,
isolated country.
The lockdown period, while shorter than what other countries are (still) going through, was very difficult for me. I remained employed and was paid as normal: in fact, I saved money because I was no longer commuting to work and eating out.
But, and this is a huge but, daycare closed so I had to parent all day every day, and I was still expected to work from home. At the same time. Doing one or the other is achievable, doing both concurrently is a complete and utter nightmare. I’m not exaggerating when I say that it has been one of the hardest periods of my life.
So, naturally, some things fell by the wayside. Beauty was one of them.
Well, I should clarify because it wasn’t as drastic as that. Makeup fell by the wayside. I kept washing my face and brushing my hair, and I did keep wearing perfume because it’s such an engrained habit to apply it after my morning shower. But I wore makeup probably a grand total of three times over lockdown, a massive change from wearing it five to six times a week.
Some might question why I am choosing to write about makeup, of all things, in relation to the pandemic. One of the things that I find most interesting about history is the lives of ordinary people. What their interests were, what they did in their spare time, what they ate and wore. History isn’t just dates and political intrigue: it’s people going about their regular days as well. I think that in the future when historians are studying the 2020 Covid-19 pandemic, they’re going to want to know how it affected the little people, too. And beauty is a significant part of everyone’s life, whether you call it “beauty” or something else. Regular hygiene, taking care of your skin and hair, fragrance, makeup, they all fall under the umbrella. Even when lockdown stops you moving about, you still have a body and a face, and it’s natural that they are affected by such a huge event as a global pandemic.
So I’m going to indulge some navel-gazing and invite you to join in, too.
So, makeup – or the lack thereof. Like I said above, I only wore makeup about three times during lockdown, compared to every day from Monday to Friday and often at least once on the weekend. But it wasn’t because I was finally somehow “freed” of the pressure of wearing makeup: it was because with the stress of simultaneously caring for a toddler and working a fulltime job, I just didn’t feel like putting it on was a good use of my time. If kiddo was asleep, it was time to frantically catch up on work, tidy up the toys scattered across the floor, or collapse on the couch and lie still for a while. If he was awake, it was a constant juggling act of parenting and trying to do the work I was paid to do. The days started around 6.00am and went until 7.30pm with no breaks – he decided to stop having naps during lockdown! – and after that I was just too fucking tired to even move.
Was this fair? No. No one should have to juggle a full-time job and full-time parenting at the same time. But did I have to do it? Sure did, and I was lucky to still have a job, as well as a child.
The thing was, I really missed putting on makeup. I love wearing glitter on my lids, drawing massive wings, putting on a bold lip. I like messing around with colours and changing up how I look. But on the rare occasion I managed to snatch both some time and some fucks to put on anything, by late afternoon when I hadn’t had time to touch up my lipstick or look in the mirror to wipe away mascara smudges, makeup was just an irritation that stopped me rubbing my exhausted eyes. It just wasn’t worth it. I couldn’t see it because I never got in front of a mirror, so what was the point?
Makeup didn’t disappear from my life completely though. One of the fun things about children is that they are fascinated by everything that adults do, no matter how boring or ordinary we think our actions are. Being entrusted with mopping the kitchen floor is a treat, and vacuuming cat hair off the couch is actually a fun activity. He loves watching my girlfriend and I put on makeup, so a long time ago we bought him a bathroom bag and filled it with eyeshadow and lipsticks. Since we were home so much more, we had more time for messy play (and the subsequent clean up), and makeup over lockdown became a popular playtime activity of his. His favourite product at the moment is a deep plum cream stick blush, which he smears over his cheeks, nose, and the back of his neck. I’m not going to lie, it isn’t the most stylish look. But he loves it. He loves the colours, the textures, even the smells of the products. Makeup is play, unhindered by society’s expectations of where the colour needs to go, and it’s entirely free.
When I went outside the home – which was only for my government-permitted daily walk in a fruitless attempt to tire out the toddler – the absolute most that I ever did was put some eyebrow pencil on. I will fully admit to an insecurity about my eyebrows. The hairs are white blonde and when I don’t put any pencil on them, I look like I have none. Ever seen those photos of celebrities with their eyebrows photoshopped off? It just looks wrong. So at this point in my life I don’t even count eyebrow pencil as makeup, it’s just so automatic for me to put it on when I leave the house.
When I was inside the house, I didn’t care who saw me in my eyebrow-less state. My partner? Who cares, she’s seen me at much worse. My toddler? He doesn’t give a rat’s about how I look. But even though when I went outside no one got close enough to see my eyebrows thanks to social distancing, that pressure remained. It was automatic – you leave the house, you put eyebrows on. I’m not entirely pleased with this realisation. While I do think that I look best with darkened eyebrows, that’s a standard that isn’t applied to most men. Why are women expected to put on makeup in order to look their best, to look like they’ve taken care of themselves, to put their best foot forward, when it’s a standard that is only applied to them and no other gender?
The most interesting think that this period of wearing no makeup taught me is that while I might be fine with my bare face, I’ve still internalised society’s standards of what it means to look “professional”. I have always been comfortable with my natural face, having no issues with going out in public with nothing on it (other than the aforementioned eyebrow pencil). But it was only once I started working from home that I realised that I hadn’t entirely escaped society’s insistence that women look better with makeup. The first time I had to attend a work Zoom meeting, I moved to a part of the house that didn’t look like a tornado had gone through it, sat the toddler in front of the TV, and flicked on my laptop camera – only to realise with horror that I had a completely bare face. I never went to work without at least eyebrows, mascara, and lipstick on! I suddenly felt anxious, wondering if people would think I looked lazy or like I wasn’t working hard – the cosmetic version of wearing pyjamas to the office. I didn’t think I looked bad or ugly, but I did think that I looked unprofessional. Even looking at the faces of my colleagues, a lot of them men without a scrap of makeup on and a few with scraggly lockdown facial hair, I felt underprepared and inexplicably self-conscious. Afterwards I realised that despite my best intentions, I had created an association in my mind between being prepared and ready for the workday with having makeup on.
This is clearly bullshit, but it’s powerful bullshit. Why do we, as women, feel that we don’t look prepared, groomed, our best selves, without makeup on? I’ve seen women talk about wanting to feel their best when they go to work, about wanting to present their best face to their colleagues, but why do we feel that we only look our best when we wear makeup? What isn’t your best about a clean face, brushed hair, and tidy clothes?
As the lockdown proceeded, however, I attended more and more meetings with no makeup on, and I slowly became more comfortable speaking on camera without focusing on how I looked in my tiny square. By the end of my lockdown period, I was much more relaxed about my bare face in meetings, and I am hoping that this will continue into the office. I still plan on wearing makeup to work because I enjoy it, but hopefully on days when I’m really rushed I won’t feel pressured to try to apply wobbly mascara on the commute to the office.
So those are my experiences of the Covid-19 lockdown and how they affected my beauty routine. How has Covid-19 affect your makeup choices? How have you been coping with outbreaks in your country?
The lockdown period, while shorter than what other countries are (still) going through, was very difficult for me. I remained employed and was paid as normal: in fact, I saved money because I was no longer commuting to work and eating out.
But, and this is a huge but, daycare closed so I had to parent all day every day, and I was still expected to work from home. At the same time. Doing one or the other is achievable, doing both concurrently is a complete and utter nightmare. I’m not exaggerating when I say that it has been one of the hardest periods of my life.
So, naturally, some things fell by the wayside. Beauty was one of them.
Quarantine roots, no makeup, and raising purchase orders while I act as a human jungle gym
Well, I should clarify because it wasn’t as drastic as that. Makeup fell by the wayside. I kept washing my face and brushing my hair, and I did keep wearing perfume because it’s such an engrained habit to apply it after my morning shower. But I wore makeup probably a grand total of three times over lockdown, a massive change from wearing it five to six times a week.
Some might question why I am choosing to write about makeup, of all things, in relation to the pandemic. One of the things that I find most interesting about history is the lives of ordinary people. What their interests were, what they did in their spare time, what they ate and wore. History isn’t just dates and political intrigue: it’s people going about their regular days as well. I think that in the future when historians are studying the 2020 Covid-19 pandemic, they’re going to want to know how it affected the little people, too. And beauty is a significant part of everyone’s life, whether you call it “beauty” or something else. Regular hygiene, taking care of your skin and hair, fragrance, makeup, they all fall under the umbrella. Even when lockdown stops you moving about, you still have a body and a face, and it’s natural that they are affected by such a huge event as a global pandemic.
So I’m going to indulge some navel-gazing and invite you to join in, too.
So, makeup – or the lack thereof. Like I said above, I only wore makeup about three times during lockdown, compared to every day from Monday to Friday and often at least once on the weekend. But it wasn’t because I was finally somehow “freed” of the pressure of wearing makeup: it was because with the stress of simultaneously caring for a toddler and working a fulltime job, I just didn’t feel like putting it on was a good use of my time. If kiddo was asleep, it was time to frantically catch up on work, tidy up the toys scattered across the floor, or collapse on the couch and lie still for a while. If he was awake, it was a constant juggling act of parenting and trying to do the work I was paid to do. The days started around 6.00am and went until 7.30pm with no breaks – he decided to stop having naps during lockdown! – and after that I was just too fucking tired to even move.
Was this fair? No. No one should have to juggle a full-time job and full-time parenting at the same time. But did I have to do it? Sure did, and I was lucky to still have a job, as well as a child.
The thing was, I really missed putting on makeup. I love wearing glitter on my lids, drawing massive wings, putting on a bold lip. I like messing around with colours and changing up how I look. But on the rare occasion I managed to snatch both some time and some fucks to put on anything, by late afternoon when I hadn’t had time to touch up my lipstick or look in the mirror to wipe away mascara smudges, makeup was just an irritation that stopped me rubbing my exhausted eyes. It just wasn’t worth it. I couldn’t see it because I never got in front of a mirror, so what was the point?
Makeup didn’t disappear from my life completely though. One of the fun things about children is that they are fascinated by everything that adults do, no matter how boring or ordinary we think our actions are. Being entrusted with mopping the kitchen floor is a treat, and vacuuming cat hair off the couch is actually a fun activity. He loves watching my girlfriend and I put on makeup, so a long time ago we bought him a bathroom bag and filled it with eyeshadow and lipsticks. Since we were home so much more, we had more time for messy play (and the subsequent clean up), and makeup over lockdown became a popular playtime activity of his. His favourite product at the moment is a deep plum cream stick blush, which he smears over his cheeks, nose, and the back of his neck. I’m not going to lie, it isn’t the most stylish look. But he loves it. He loves the colours, the textures, even the smells of the products. Makeup is play, unhindered by society’s expectations of where the colour needs to go, and it’s entirely free.
When I went outside the home – which was only for my government-permitted daily walk in a fruitless attempt to tire out the toddler – the absolute most that I ever did was put some eyebrow pencil on. I will fully admit to an insecurity about my eyebrows. The hairs are white blonde and when I don’t put any pencil on them, I look like I have none. Ever seen those photos of celebrities with their eyebrows photoshopped off? It just looks wrong. So at this point in my life I don’t even count eyebrow pencil as makeup, it’s just so automatic for me to put it on when I leave the house.
When I was inside the house, I didn’t care who saw me in my eyebrow-less state. My partner? Who cares, she’s seen me at much worse. My toddler? He doesn’t give a rat’s about how I look. But even though when I went outside no one got close enough to see my eyebrows thanks to social distancing, that pressure remained. It was automatic – you leave the house, you put eyebrows on. I’m not entirely pleased with this realisation. While I do think that I look best with darkened eyebrows, that’s a standard that isn’t applied to most men. Why are women expected to put on makeup in order to look their best, to look like they’ve taken care of themselves, to put their best foot forward, when it’s a standard that is only applied to them and no other gender?
The most interesting think that this period of wearing no makeup taught me is that while I might be fine with my bare face, I’ve still internalised society’s standards of what it means to look “professional”. I have always been comfortable with my natural face, having no issues with going out in public with nothing on it (other than the aforementioned eyebrow pencil). But it was only once I started working from home that I realised that I hadn’t entirely escaped society’s insistence that women look better with makeup. The first time I had to attend a work Zoom meeting, I moved to a part of the house that didn’t look like a tornado had gone through it, sat the toddler in front of the TV, and flicked on my laptop camera – only to realise with horror that I had a completely bare face. I never went to work without at least eyebrows, mascara, and lipstick on! I suddenly felt anxious, wondering if people would think I looked lazy or like I wasn’t working hard – the cosmetic version of wearing pyjamas to the office. I didn’t think I looked bad or ugly, but I did think that I looked unprofessional. Even looking at the faces of my colleagues, a lot of them men without a scrap of makeup on and a few with scraggly lockdown facial hair, I felt underprepared and inexplicably self-conscious. Afterwards I realised that despite my best intentions, I had created an association in my mind between being prepared and ready for the workday with having makeup on.
This is clearly bullshit, but it’s powerful bullshit. Why do we, as women, feel that we don’t look prepared, groomed, our best selves, without makeup on? I’ve seen women talk about wanting to feel their best when they go to work, about wanting to present their best face to their colleagues, but why do we feel that we only look our best when we wear makeup? What isn’t your best about a clean face, brushed hair, and tidy clothes?
As the lockdown proceeded, however, I attended more and more meetings with no makeup on, and I slowly became more comfortable speaking on camera without focusing on how I looked in my tiny square. By the end of my lockdown period, I was much more relaxed about my bare face in meetings, and I am hoping that this will continue into the office. I still plan on wearing makeup to work because I enjoy it, but hopefully on days when I’m really rushed I won’t feel pressured to try to apply wobbly mascara on the commute to the office.
So those are my experiences of the Covid-19 lockdown and how they affected my beauty routine. How has Covid-19 affect your makeup choices? How have you been coping with outbreaks in your country?
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