The simplistic power of girl love
Every Tuesday night, a local non profit, the hub of resources and support for people that suffer from substance use in Kensington, hosts an evening of wellness, self care and refuge for women in the community: Offering showers, clinical support, dinner, and bonding.
A friend of mine who usually does the makeup wasn’t available tonight, so I filled in. As women approached the table, that was scattered with various palettes of colors and textures, this apprehension to ask consumed their presence. “that purple shadow will really make those green eyes pop. Do you mind if I try it on you?”
Their shoulders instantly relax as they sit in the chair in front of me, tilting their chin towards the fluorescent light above us. As i brush pigmented powder over the creases of their lid, I become lost in thought. I am these women, and these women are me. I ask if they like shimmery eyes, and they all said yes. Who doesn’t like shimmery eyes? They all asked for concealer under their eyes, which I bonded over because my dark circles are from my grandmother and god bless her but Christ the amount of peach tint I put on my face every morning is shameful.
Every now and again, my girls would begin to lean, and as I return with a new brush I softly say, “I’m going to add a little blush to your cheekbones”. They perk up and as I spread some rosy hue, I compliment their bone structure. Women have such strong bones, covered with such delicacy, no matter the scars that may conceal their softness.
I am no professional, and with each new face I was nervous of them not liking their look. Each of them beamed upon seeing their reflection. And that meant more to me than I can put into words. Helping another women, who in this case is battling a war I have never fought first hand, see her beauty and feeling that pride in herself, was empowering.
Seeing another woman pleased with herself empowers me to feel the same. What a beautiful cycle.