Beauty rules: why women make themselves beautiful

Honey, how do you look? Yes, I want to look good. Not only for myself, but also for my husband. Is that why I am a bad, evil and stupid, silly female who is only out to please the self-important, sexist men?

Now, I could have written, “blonde female,” but that would be a lie – I go to the hairdresser every two months. Have lots and lots of light blonde highlights done. And yes, there were times when I couldn’t have taken down the trash even without makeup. That was during puberty, so I hope that excuses me. Later, there were times when the question “My God, if he sees me tomorrow morning with smeared mascara?” didn’t arise. One has already said goodbye before dawn clammy.

These changeable times were then over with the beginning of the month-long and year-long relationships. Nevertheless, there were a few beauty rules that were not up for discussion for me. “Never, never, never will (m)a man see me with a mask on my face!”, I agreed with my best friend. And, “That’s just what’s missing, him seeing me rub cellulite cream on my face.”

As I said, yes, I want to look good for my husband – how I pull that off is none of his business. Until I found out how exhausting it is in the long run: For example, I have to lock myself in the bathroom for a minimum of 20 minutes to get my Anti-Aging Mud Mask To let it soak in until it crumbles like old concrete. But of course I can’t say that. Because my husband would rattle on the door and say, “You don’t need a mask. I like you as you are. Come on, open up, I love you even with a mask on your face.” Maybe, but I don’t want to put his feelings to the test. So I make up an excuse: “Oops!!! I must have accidentally locked the door. Sorry, honey. But now I’ve just finished watching the painted nails And can’t unlock the door.”

Beauty Rules in your own bathroom

For 10 years, the bathroom door in our home was locked for shorter or longer periods of time when I had repair work to do. By now, my husband knows how to deal with a crumbling healing clay mask on my face and a greasy Olive oil pack in my hair look. How I prop myself up in the shower, staggering as I try to keep my balance while using the disposable razor to rid first my right and then my left leg of hairs. “You kind of remind me of a drunken flamingo,” my husband said the first time. Today, he sometimes stands behind me when I stand in front of the magnifying mirror with a stupidly contorted face in order to shave with the Eyelash curler to bring the eyelashes into shape and not pinch the lower eyelid. “Women are strange creatures after all,” he thinks, puts my tea down and goes back into the kitchen.

I still want to look good, for me. And I want my husband to think I’m pretty. If I can, I’d also be happy if some man or other out in the world thought I looked good. But since I gave up my loneliness act in the bathroom, I know that my husband also thinks I look good with tired complexion, dry hair and legs where it sometimes stings, loves. And also with Face mask, hair pack and disposable razor in my hand. And the other men don’t see me and it’s none of their business.

PS: My husband has been taking out the garbage for a long time. I need longer in the morning to look good.

Text: Conny Eyssen

Photo: Brooke Cagle,