I realise this won’t surprise you, if you’ve ever seen anything I’ve ever done, but I’m wholly uninterested in perfect.
I don’t want polite and A* and ‘bang on … I don’t know how she does it’. I want ramshackle and holding it together and laughs and mistakes. I want to fail (have you ever seen me turn up at a black-tie event? Exactly) and I think we all put too much pressure on ourselves to be just so. We can’t strive for perfection because we’ll lose.
I don’t want to make the perfect salad, I don’t want to rear the perfect children (I will always think they are anyway), I don’t want to have the perfect relationship. I’ve got very little time for the pressure that comes with it all. If the dressing is whisked and 100 per cent, if the kids all are always tidy and get firsts from Cambridge, if, after being together for 22 years, my husband rushes home every single night, kisses me and then makes tuna steak whilst humming Bob Dylan – what happens if something is a bit off? The dressing splits, the kids hate college and drop out, he comes home late and wanders into the other room while opening (and spilling) a bag of crisps. Basically, what if there are crumbs?
The house is immaculate, the pale pink angora throw is on the chair at the right angle, the flowers are in carefully mismatched glasses on the mantlepiece. The music is tasteful but cool and at just the right level as everyone lays the table while chatting about Dickens. Oh look, is that a crossword the teenager has started? Isn’t it just superb he doesn’t like being on his phone? Let’s all complete it together. Tell us the clue to 10 down again baby, it’s probably an anagram.
It’s all so much. It’s all, quite frankly, too much. Perfection isn’t attainable or, if it is, something has to give. The working mother who always looks spotless, how does she have the time? The house that is 24/7 tidy, what’s going on there? Don’t they, uh, live in it? The family holiday that went without a hitch? Wait, no delays, no sunburn, no row about Scrabble? I don’t get it.
If you’re worried that everything won’t be perfect here comes the rub. Get ready. Perfection is, when all is said and done, completely and utterly boring: a bit meh, a bit blah, a bit forgettable. Think of the people who seem to have everything going perfectly in their lives. Yes, those ones. Do you want to hang out with them? Be honest. They might serve the best Sunday lunches – I made two kinds of potatoes, don’t hate me! You must try my chocolate fondant, they always come out right, no idea how! After all that, I bet you want to leave, I bet you want to run. The friend who only has good news – Life is amazing, the job is fulfilling, the kids all sleep twelve hours a night, I’ve never faked an orgasm. Is that someone you want to see? I’m not talking about envy here – you might covet their career or their lie in – but it’s not just that: it’s that perfection is dull. It’s not fun, we don’t want to be around it.
Allow me to illustrate further. Have you ever tried to create the perfect evening? Let’s imagine that six people are coming round for supper. The house is bonkers clean, you scrubbed the skirting boards with a toothbrush and you’ve spent all day creating a picture-perfect curry. The eight-year-old is going to hand round crisps (hummus chips – you remembered to buy!) and the wine is chilled. The cheese board could win awards (how brilliant I bought figs) and the candles have been lit since five so the room smells like a tuberose field. They arrive and the conversation is good, no awkward moments, the food is hot and delicious and you finish with berries and cream and everyone goes home.
Whatever. I bet that wasn’t your best night, the one you’d replay again. Yes, it went well but you were like a swan, manically kicking your legs while asking your husband to hand round the mango chutney with a smiley face. It’s all too much effort, isn’t it? You’d have got into bed not feeling full of joy but like you’ve just had a day at work, finished your thesis, been put on the spot. It feels fake, or at least somehow untruthful, not very you, not totally human.
The best nights are the nights that go wrong – you forgot to put the potatoes on so serve ice cold new ones by accident (you realise this once everyone has sat down); you used mint extract instead of lemon because you were rushing and have now created an actual toothpaste cake (this happened to me, we laughed, spat it out and it’s still talked about five years on); the wine is warm because the fridge door doesn’t fully close; the cheese that you bought in a panic smells like a giant’s ball sack has been placed on the table. Everything is a bit disordered, a bit wonky.
The eight-year-old can’t sleep because of the noise so curls up on a friend’s lap. You laugh your heads off at your attempt to cook dim sum (they’d unfurled and were both a little bit burnt and a little bit raw) and you get into bed thinking, ‘I have the best friends, I love my life, the kitchen is going to look like we’ve been burgled tomorrow, I need to get that fridge looked at. I will never, ever make dumplings again.’
This exact same principle is true of make-up and your general physical appearance. Not a hair out of place is not something I can get behind – it’s not sexy at all. I’d like every hair slightly out of place, please. When it comes to eye make-up the scruffier the better. Use a good inch of your kohl to make the night worthwhile. Look like you’ve got ready in two minutes without the aid of a mirror and just don’t stress about it. Perfectly applied highlighter is a bit worrying, a bit too headgirl. Chuck it all on and hope for the best.
I am helped in this by very bad eyesight – I had a prescription of minus 15 before an operation nine years ago and I still have not-quite-right eyes today. So if you have 20:20 vision stick your face on with the lights off and if you wear contact lenses please remove them before you get out your make-up bag. What we’re after here is a blurry image, a sketch, an outline, a face that has been done with guesswork. That’s hot, that’s deeply casual, it’s easy and it’s mainly saying ‘I’m not really that interested in what I Iook like, a mess will do.’
Flawless is vain, perfect is dull. Don’t be that person. If you’ve got twenty minutes to get ready spend no more than three in front of a mirror holding a wand. You have much more to give, so much more inside you. Funny stories, chat, falling over, dancing, great conversation, hooting. The shell is just that – a shell. It’s going to disintegrate in front of your very eyes. One day you’re bouncy and OK and the next you’re one of the Golden Girls (this is a positive btw) so your appearance – whatevs.
Also, the best nights end with even more mayhem on your face; your make-up at midnight is like a diary of the evening. You missed your mouth while eating chocolate mousse, you cried with laughter so your mascara is everywhere, you got caught in the rain because you forgot to order a cab before trampling onto the street because you were chatting with mates and now your hair is sodden. Basically, looking like you’ve fornicated in a puddle denotes a fantastic night.
What you do with the rest of your face – so long as it doesn’t take more than three minutes – I can’t comment on. And, as someone who likes to look like I’ve slept in tangerine gravy, I probably shouldn’t try. You might be into something far more natural – go for it. I am a big believer in lip salve and have tried all of them (I know I exaggerate but on this I’m being truthful) and I’m pretty thrilled by eyebrow wands (the big fluffy mascara rod things, not the pencils – that takes precision which is something I don’t have). But eyeliner – well, that is my area. So here you go. When it comes to eyes, I strongly advise you to do the following:
Put more on.
Yup, that’s basically it. When you think you’ve done enough, when you’re pretty sure you’ve piled on as much eye shadow as your eyelid can hold, I’d like you to shake your head at your bathroom mirror reflection and add some more. Rough it up and get it right into the corners, stick some kajal on the water line, maybe chuck on some navy or some sparkly stuff just to deepen it some more. Then, and this is crucial, mess it up. The key is to look like you’ve applied it three days before. It’s got to be smudgy (the perfect cat eye – I’m allergic) and really rub your eyes after application and swirl the black everywhere. Use a brush if you must but I’d prefer you to use your fingers. Just make it mucky.
Don’t use an eyelash curler unless you’re into torture and high risk and put on more mascara than you think is healthy. Don’t try using fake lashes at home (it’s practically impossible and at the end of the ordeal they will still look fake) but invest in eyelash grow gel if you can be bothered. No, I’m not sure it works either, but you get a nice little placebo buzz after a couple of weeks – wow, they’ve grown. I look like Penelope Cruz.
So that’s it really. Sometimes life gives you toothpaste cake when you were expecting lemon. Don’t try to make things perfect, particularly not your face. Where your make-up is concerned, go with more, then some more, then mash it up. Balls to perfection. Class dismissed.