这一年，我素面朝天.docVIP

这一年，我素面朝天 　　I’m low maintenance1）， I always told myself. I’m a slick-of-lip-gloss and one coat of mascara kind of girl. But the first day I went to work without makeup I wore sunglasses. In the office. 　　To be fair， that was mostly because my bleary eye was still secreting a mysterious cloudy liquid. I was recovering from a nasty eye infection and under doctor’s orders not to put any cosmetics―not even sunscreen2）―near my face. I didn’t know then that I was living my first of 365 days total without makeup. 　　I felt naked at first. I had never worn more than mascara， blush， maybe a bit of eyeshadow for special occasions. But I didn’t realize how much those little embellishments protected me. They were my armor in a world where being female feels like a never-ending appraisal3） of beauty. 　　In the office， my bare face seemed unprofessional. The first time I went to a club， I worried they would turn me away at the door， or at least ask me to apply a layer of lipstick before joining the bronzed， contoured4） girls with feline eyes inside. Out on the streets， pale-faced and dry-lipped， I felt like I was fighting a battle I didn’t believe in： That by sidestepping5） makeup I was becoming a poster girl for a rebellion my heart wasn’t actually invested in. I was not an anti-cosmetics crusader then. But the experience has turned me into something of a convert now. 　　That year taught me that makeup may be a shield， but it is not a weapon. It is a transparent cloak6） that everyone but you can see through―all potions have limited power. You look the way you do， and you can either accept it now and get on with your life or you can continue painting your face in the vain hopes that one day Angelina Jolie will gaze back at you from the mirror. She won’t. 　　Wearing mascara never hid what I looked like from others. No nightclub turned me away. Men did not recoil7） at the sight of unpainted lashes. Women didn’t make snide8） remarks. People told me I looked nice just as often