Here’s something I’ll never forget. It was just a couple of days before my nikkah (Islamic and legal marriage contract ceremony) and I sat in a comfortable salon chair, being transformed into a character from a Japanese horror movie.
Let’s rewind a bit, shall we? I enjoy applying makeup and think I have a pretty good idea of what looks good on me. The makeup artist I originally wanted wasn’t available the day of my nikkah. No biggie. I’d do it myself.
My mom and future MIL, however, insisted I get a professional. The salon I was going to for my hair had just hired a licensed MUA, so it must have been fated, right?
I agreed, but insisted on a trial first, being unfamiliar with this particular makeup artist and her work. So, two days before my nikkah, my mom, sister and I went to the salon. While I got my makeup trial, my mom and sister had their manicures done.
The minute I sat down in the chair, I asked the MUA – let’s call her Tina – if I could see her portfolio. Nonchalantly, she replied, “Oh, I don’t have one! I’m so busy I forget to take photos, and I’ve been meaning to make one online but haven’t gotten around to it yet.”
Okay. Red flag, but she seemed sweet and kept talking about all these commercials and stuff she’s done, and she was licensed, so she must have gone to cosmetology school at some point. I gave her a chance. I showed her a photo of the kind of look I wanted, something similar to this:
I made it very clear I wanted a pink smoky eye (my outfit was a baby pink) and she got to work mixing my foundation shade. It took her a good 5-10 minutes to do this, but that was fine – I’m South Asian, I’m used to taking some time to figure out my shade.
I’m sitting there, letting this woman put makeup on my face, praying for it to go well. But I’m not feeling it – I haven’t even seen her work, so how do I know she knows what she’s doing?
Well, after a painfully long time, she finally announced she was done and took a step back. I took a look in the mirror, and just went, um…
Remember the scene in FRIENDS when Ross does Rachel’s makeup because of her injured hand? Yeah, Ross did a better job than that makeup artist.
Despite the fact that I’d specified a pink smoky eye, she’d done purple eyeshadow all the way up to my eyebrows. The foundation was way too pale for me. The blush was a garish pink, applied in big splotches on my cheeks in a way I never apply blush. But the cherry on top was my eyelashes.
Or lack thereof. See, thanks to good lash genes and castor oil, I have pretty long eyelashes, so I never thought it was possible to make them disappear, but this woman managed it.
How? By applying mascara, then liberally powdering my face right after. Twice. The result was that my lashes had been turned white, rendering them impossible to see against the purple eyeshadow.
To say I looked awful would be an understatement, yet I also thought, well, maybe it only looks this bad to me because I know how I do my own makeup.
The tragedy that was my made-up face was confirmed when my mom and sister stepped into the room. I have never seen my mom look so shocked before; her mouth literally fell open and her eyes widened as she stared at me in disbelief and shook her head. My sister was equally distressed.
Fortunately, I got what I wanted in the end – I did my own makeup, and for at least a week after, my mom would say, “Thank God you did your own makeup!”
Thank God indeed, or I would’ve looked like the Joker’s bride.