Picture this: my mom, the one who birthed me, is the ultimate beauty rebel, marching to the beat of her own drum in a world obsessed with serums and moisturisers. Yup, you heard me right. While I’m knee-deep in the latest beauty trends, she is (voluntarily) blissfully unaware of the chaos in my meticulously organised vanity.
I mean something as simple as moisturiser which is the holy grail of hydration, she treats it like it’s some mythical creature from a fantasy novel. “Why bother?” she says, with a shrug that could rival a teenager’s indifference. Her skin though, is fine. It’s like she’s got an in-built moisturising system, courtesy of genetics or just sheer luck. Basically, at some point in her life, she used some cream ONCE, had an allergic reaction and decided that skincare was not for her. A month ago, she saw a pretty gold bottle of a serum and moisturiser on my vanity and THAT is what made her start using moisturiser. Not my expertise, not my insistence, not even my job – a pretty gold bottle is what it took.
And don’t even get me started on makeup. In my world, it’s an art form, a means of self-expression. But in my mom’s world? Non-existent. Foundation? Concealer? Might as well be speaking a different language. She’s out there, with kajal and dark lipstick from 20 years ago (not even an exaggeration at this point). Ironically, I got into makeup because of her stash. I used to love makeup as a kid, and my dad had a travelling job which ensured we had the best of the best makeup in the house. For whom? That’s still to be determined. She would help me do my makeup for functions and annual days in school but didn’t do anything else for herself.
It seems like we are going in order, so of course, next up is haircare. Now most of us had moms who would condone some sort of a hair care routine. Oiling, masking – anything. But my mom? Nope. Conditioner? She scoffs at the mere mention of it like it’s some frivolous luxury for the hair-obsessed masses. Using shampoos according to hair type or even oiling hair once a week were just things I discussed by myself and then at work. Recently, we went back to one of her old hair stylists and she was appalled at my mom’s frizzy hair, which is when I finally put my foot down and introduced her to hair creams and serums. Finally, now, after years of screaming at a seemingly rigid wall of “I wanna keep it natural”, I got my mum to start using a serum.
But here’s the kicker: despite her utter cluelessness when it comes to beauty, my mom radiates a kind of confidence that’s downright contagious. She’s not out there trying to fit into society’s narrow definition of beauty. Nah, she’s too busy being her unapologetically authentic self.
So here’s to the ultimate beauty rebel, my mom, who’s been slaying the game without even trying. May we all take a page out of her book and embrace our own unique beauty, flaws and all. Because at the end of the day, it’s not about the serums or the moisturisers or the makeup. It’s about owning who you are and rocking it with confidence.
