To Make Myself Up

Lured by a sale I saw for half a second on an Instagram story ad, I recently bought and immediately canceled a subscription for Ipsy, a monthly delivery service of beauty product samples. Initially, I was just excited that I had scored a good deal — I would be shipped five products and a makeup bag for a little over $6, and if you’ve ever browsed at a Sephora, you know how expensive even the tiniest tubes can be.

The random assortment of products happened to be those that complemented my existing routine perfectly, and that I had been wanting to try: a darker lip liner; a powdered bronzer; an eyeliner pen instead of pencil. I felt as giddy as I had been when I bought my first tube of clear mascara in the seventh grade from CVS.

At the time I bought that mascara, and for years afterward, I was more eager to experiment with makeup than I was interested in perfecting my skills or establishing a daily routine. Even as other people my age began getting their brows microbladed and wearing lash extensions, I remained more keen on playing around with blue eyeliner, purple mascara, and concealer that never quite matched my skin tone. Paired with a lack of earnest practice, I sometimes felt more juvenile compared to those peers who had somehow already acquired such dexterity with makeup.

Around the same time, I was entranced by the possibilities of iMovie. I also happened to fall into the tween craze of Bath & Body Works, joining thousands of other 11-year-olds on Instagram in posting oversaturated video edits of product reviews and shopping hauls. On my iPhone 6, it took hours — to film and splice, download music and fonts, add filters and text, craft a caption and thumbnail, and post — for merely 15 seconds of fame. I reveled in every second. I imagined that if I had received this package in the mail back then, I would have absolutely documented the unboxing experience and demonstrated each of the products for my sub-50 loyal viewers.

Eventually, my filming frenzy petered out, and somewhere along the way I grew disenchanted with Bath & Body Works. I swapped out PocketBacs (their infamous miniature hand sanitizers) for Glossier, gradually opting for more common products from higher-quality brands. I developed some confidence in my abilities and started wearing select products somewhat regularly. I still don’t wear makeup religiously, but I use it enough to have a routine and a regular lineup of products I trust.

So when I received my bargain of a package, I didn’t expect to feel particularly emotionally swayed. As I cut it open, though, I was surprised to be hit with a wave of delight and nostalgia. Oddly, unboxing these products and brands I had never heard of felt like opening a time capsule.

Ultimately, it wasn’t the material items, necessarily, that seemed to elevate my dopamine. It was the feeling of unfettered creativity and curiosity the package engendered, one I realized I had not accessed since my Bath & Body Works days. I suddenly felt inspired to ideate looks I could attempt with these products; to maximize this meager purchase into full-fledged personal productions; and to continue adding variation and novelty into my ritual of makeup and self-care.

Of course, it was simply exciting to finally get my hands on a package I had been expecting — and one I had ordered primarily for my enjoyment rather than out of necessity. There’s something especially personal about makeup that I think heightened this point for me, too, because I understand it as something you can wear without necessarily flaunting. That is, you can tell when someone is wearing makeup, but you rarely think about the exact brands, shades, or finishes they use to achieve their preferred look. I think looking into someone’s makeup bag can be as personal as observing their bookshelf or playlist: you can tell a lot about their taste with just one glance. The package felt like a cue to myself to look forward to all the ways I will continue to curate and expand my palate.

Around a year ago, there were some circumstances that resulted in me having to part with several of my belongings. As I’ve rebuilt my inventory since then, this delivery felt especially symbolic, and admittedly even more like a gift to myself than opening a package already does. Like Ipsy’s subscription service, offering a different rotation of rouge every month, I’m reminded that my life has indeed been fickle, and will continue to present many surprises. Yet, I’ve been reminded that inviting variety and recalling my creativity allows me to connect with a younger, arguably more clear-headed version of myself, and channel her imagination.

As I finish up my senior year at Harvard and anxiously look forward to building a career in the world of media and entertainment, I’m inspired to revisit the roots of my love for production while also opening myself up to all of the possibilities that could be in the bag. I think I might find something I didn’t know I needed. And if not, I’ll find a way to put it to use, and try my best to just enjoy experimenting.

I think I’ll renew my subscription, for just a little while.

— Associate Magazine Editor Chelsie Lim can be reached at chelsie.lim@thecrimson.com.