the art of getting ready
i think we're going to be late again
The bathroom is ocean-themed—Carolina blue walls paired with white and navy towels, sand dollars on the walls just a shade darker than the white marble counters.
You’re sitting on the edge of the bathtub watching your mother. She’s posed in front of the mirror, brows narrowed as she applies a stick of pigment to her lips. The rich, deep color reminds you of fresh cherries. You’ve been kicking your legs back and forth watching her routine for the past twenty minutes, waiting for her to set her face and style her hair with satisfaction so you can go out to dinner. You’re getting hungry, and impatient.
Still, there’s something captivating about the way she applies the powders and pigments. Her hand presses so skillfully over the highs of her cheekbones. Her fingers navigate a spiky-looking brush so close to her lashes, yet they don’t poke into her big brown eyes. She doesn’t even flinch; you wince a little just thinking about it.
She sees the way you’re watching her in the mirror and smiles, her teeth miraculously clear of any of the cherry-red lipstick (a skill you never quite learn). You aren’t allowed to wear makeup yet, but she see’s the way you’re looking at her with veneration.
“Say ah,” she tells you. You open your mouth. When you close it, the sparkly pink gloss makes your mouth taste like real cherries. Enough of a treat to bide over until dinner, you decide.
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You’re allowed to wear makeup now, but you still aren’t good at it. That’s what you bashfully tell a friend as she asks you what products you brought in your pencil pouch turned makeup bag. It’s the hour before your school dance and you’re getting ready with about ten other girls—some you know well, some you rarely speak to—in someones bedroom. It’s hot and cramped and you’re a little overstimulated, especially since everyone seems to look better than you do (You look lovely. Teenage insecurity is something special).
Two girls are digging through another’s jewelry bag. They lift sparkly hoops to their ears and compare which ones match the sequins on their dresses best, nodding decisively and shaking their heads vehemently as they weigh their opinions. It's a matter of life and death, at least socially. A few girls are already ready, tapping their high-heels on the bedroom floor as they scroll on their phones. Some are taking selfies in your friends’ floor-length mirror. Others are waiting to change into their dresses. When they shyly emerge out of the bathroom and do a spin, the whole room bursts into cheers and claps.
You’re applying your eyeliner amid the cheerful chatter, trying so hard not to laugh because your hands still shake a little and you need full concentration to get it right. As you smooth out the black lines, someone pulls out perfume and sprays it across the entire room. Someone else pulls out nail polish that matches your dress perfectly.
You’re going to be so late.
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This bathroom isn’t nearly as well put together as yours at home, but it's still more organized than your drawer in the dorm. You’re at a friend's place again; this time, it’s a college apartment. She’s blasting 2000s pop songs as you two get ready.
It was a journey to get here. Neither of you have a car, and you missed the bus, and the next bus came late, and then you had to walk fifteen minutes along the highway to her complex. Now you’re finally inside and you’ve sweat all your makeup off—luckily, you brought it with you in case you needed to touch anything up before the party.
You leave your friend's bathroom so her roommate can use it and find yourself sitting cross-legged on the floor of her barren bedroom, staring at your reflection in a mirror propped against the floor. As you lay out your products in methodical order, your friend runs in and out of the room, grabbing clothes from her roommates' closets and holding them up to her body for you to approve. Yes to the skirt, no to the top. Actually, no to the skirt too. Yes to those pants, but not with that top. What about a dress? No, too much. Show me that skirt again?
By the time you finish your makeup, she’s settled on an outfit and started hers. You pass some of your products—a brown lipliner, a sparkly highlighter, a setting spray that you’ve learned doesn't set anything but sure feels nice—over to her outstretched hand. The two of you talk on and on about your semesters as you search for an Uber. You forget your lipliner in the driver’s car on the way back, but you don’t miss it too much. It had a good run.
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Your childhood bedroom hasn’t changed in years. The products piled high upon the dresser have, though.
Some of it is the same, like the pink tube of mascara you’ve sworn by since tenth grade. Others are new, like the high-end skin tint you proudly bought yourself a few weeks ago and didn’t really love but couldn’t bother to return. Powders, creams, primers, serums, brushes—it’s all strewn across the dark wood.
Your younger sister shoves your shoulder to make room in the mirror and you shove her back, complaining as she picks up your concealer and applies it to her face. She’s going to have to pay for the next one, you tell her. She rolls her eyes and skips the song on your playlist to something she heard on TikTok.
The two of you fall into routine, smiling at the mirror as you pretend you’re getting ready for your millions of adoring fans. “Today, I’m joined by my sister,” she chirps as she blends her blush. “Be sure to like and subscribe,” you say as you tap out your setting powder. Your mom walks past the room and gives you both a look, but it’s just for show — the two of you have been doing this for as long as you can remember. She's used to the performance. You could say she’s your only subscriber.
There’s one glaring issue with your room — the giant window on the wall opposite your dresser makes it hard to see the details of your look. You can’t finalize your face in these conditions. Both you and your sister wordlessly begin packing up your things, arms full to the brim as you make your way down the hall and back to your mother’s beach-themed bathroom. The lighting is always better there. And besides, you want to borrow her cherry-colored lipstick.
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