‘Mommy, I need makeup’
Claim your beauty—so that your daughter can confidently claim hers, too.

The other day, my daughter June was watching me put on makeup.
I normally wear very little makeup. Foundation/powder/cover-up has never agreed with my skin, so normally I wear just a little blush or bronzer and mascara. Watching her watch me, I had flashbacks to when I was younger and I would stare in awe as my mother "put on her face," as she would say. I loved how one tiny little pencil could make her eyes look so blue, and how that red crayon made her lips pucker out like rose petals. Suddenly, June broke me out of my nostalgia and said, "Mommy, I need makeup." "Oh, honey, you don't need makeup. You're so beautiful." "No, I need makeup. Can I have some? Can you put some on me?" With those 3 sentences, I realized that I am already teaching my daughter what it's like to be a woman, and it’s starting in a place I didn’t want her to focus—her physical appearance. I come from a long line of beautiful women. Strong British jawlines, bright blue German eyes, high Czechoslovakian cheekbones and olive skin, almond shaped eyes, and feisty red hair. June was blessed with all this and more. She has Native American blood from her father and the deepest brown eyes, like dark chocolate. Her skin is flawless, her nose the sweetest little button, and she has perfect rosebud lips. She is going to grow into a beautiful young woman, and not just on the outside. Her full name is Juniper, which means resilience. She's also named after two of my grandmothers, strong names full of history and purpose. She is funny, intelligent, compassionate, and above all, she is fiercely loving. So when she says, "Mommy, I need makeup," my natural inclination is to tell her all of the above, which of course she doesn't understand. She just wants to do what I'm doing. She thinks that, if Mommy does it, she should be doing it, too. Where does that leave me? Do I stop wearing makeup? Do I hide in the bathroom or quickly apply it when she isn't looking? I don't think this is the answer. I wear makeup because to me, it’s fun. I'm very comfortable in my physical appearance, and I want to accent the features I appreciate. I am at an age where I can look in the mirror and see all the things I like, versus all the things I don't like. Sure, I have days when I grumble at a pimple or two, or my hair just isn't doing what I want it to do, but for the most part, I'm confident in how I look.
I normally wear very little makeup. Foundation/powder/cover-up has never agreed with my skin, so normally I wear just a little blush or bronzer and mascara. Watching her watch me, I had flashbacks to when I was younger and I would stare in awe as my mother "put on her face," as she would say. I loved how one tiny little pencil could make her eyes look so blue, and how that red crayon made her lips pucker out like rose petals. Suddenly, June broke me out of my nostalgia and said, "Mommy, I need makeup." "Oh, honey, you don't need makeup. You're so beautiful." "No, I need makeup. Can I have some? Can you put some on me?" With those 3 sentences, I realized that I am already teaching my daughter what it's like to be a woman, and it’s starting in a place I didn’t want her to focus—her physical appearance. I come from a long line of beautiful women. Strong British jawlines, bright blue German eyes, high Czechoslovakian cheekbones and olive skin, almond shaped eyes, and feisty red hair. June was blessed with all this and more. She has Native American blood from her father and the deepest brown eyes, like dark chocolate. Her skin is flawless, her nose the sweetest little button, and she has perfect rosebud lips. She is going to grow into a beautiful young woman, and not just on the outside. Her full name is Juniper, which means resilience. She's also named after two of my grandmothers, strong names full of history and purpose. She is funny, intelligent, compassionate, and above all, she is fiercely loving. So when she says, "Mommy, I need makeup," my natural inclination is to tell her all of the above, which of course she doesn't understand. She just wants to do what I'm doing. She thinks that, if Mommy does it, she should be doing it, too. Where does that leave me? Do I stop wearing makeup? Do I hide in the bathroom or quickly apply it when she isn't looking? I don't think this is the answer. I wear makeup because to me, it’s fun. I'm very comfortable in my physical appearance, and I want to accent the features I appreciate. I am at an age where I can look in the mirror and see all the things I like, versus all the things I don't like. Sure, I have days when I grumble at a pimple or two, or my hair just isn't doing what I want it to do, but for the most part, I'm confident in how I look.