My first make up items were a gift from a school friend. I was seven and it was quite clearly aimed at people just my age. My mother was horrified.
My mother had resisted to that point anything that she considered a traditional view of femininity. My hair was short and practical. My clothes were unisex and practical. My reading materials were intellectual and practical.
That I longed for a deeply impractical Barbie house filled with cartoonish over-feminized Barbies was probably very painful.
Mostly of the make up set I remember the scent of the perfume that came in it. I’m not actually sure I could describe it, but I can still conjure it up inside my head. I can’t remember the colour of the lipstick – though based on a light googling of Tinkerbell memories I’m assuming it was some kind of cute pink. I also have no idea what colour the eyeshadow was either.
I do remember the usage restrictions that were placed on the set. Only under supervision. Not outside the house. Only
occasionally rarely. I also remember how clearly unhappy any desire to use the makeup made my mother. I don’t know how it made me feel. Guessing by my lack of nostalgic longing I assume it didn’t feel much. Or my memory is so awful as I get older that I just cannot remember.
Nor did it start me on a heady path of makeup usage. My mother’s restrictions worked pretty well. Seven year old me had no desire to accumulate mascara, lipgloss and all manner of other face colouring implements. At least if it did, it only did so in my subconscious.