Oh, For The Love of Foundation!

I have an almost dangerous addiction to the make up aisle at department stores. I like nothing better than swatching creamy foundation on my face like warrior stripes (I have combination skin leaning towards dry, so tend not to go down the powder/stick route). I also love the feel of a true matte and the look of a peachy nude. I could go on about this all day.

However, I’m just here to talk about a recent experience I had when I tried to buy make up. I live in Pakistan now; I’ve traded the scorching deserts of Qatar for the scorching greenery of this place. So far, it’s been alright. Everyone has trouble adjusting, I’ve heard.

Anyway, going back to the point: I walked into one of the major department stores here and made my way to the make up aisle. Of course, I was swarmed by eager, buzzing saleswomen as they tried to make me sample their wares. I fought the cluster and wound up in front of a shiny glass cabinet. It had rows upon rows of equally shiny glass bottles. Each bottle contained potentially perfect skin.

I was disturbed, though. All I could see were shades of porcelain, eggshell white, pink toned fair potion. Where did I fit in? I called over one of the busybees and asked her to find my shade. She looked at me for all of 2 seconds, nodded her head and dug out an obscenely pale shade of liquid foundation. This she swatched on my hand. I wanted to laugh; the pinky white goo contrasted horribly with my olive tone. I looked at her, eyebrows raised.

“Jee, this one, it’s perfect for you!” she trilled. Okay either I’d gone mad or this woman had. More likely her, since I regularly check my sanity levels thank you very much. I held up the swatch to my face and waited for her to make the connection. She just stared on, eagerly offering up the bottle.

“Uhh, it’s too light…” I offered helpfully. She shook her head. I saw I was going to have to work a little harder.

“I’m beige, and this is fair. It’s too fair,” I said, hoping to see the slightest sign of understanding. And then she did. Shaking her head, she reached into the cabinet and pulled out another shade. This one was a slightly less fair, but equally wrong, shade of porcelain. I gave up.

I tinkered with some bottles before I stumbled onto the shade I’d wanted: Golden Beige. This I held up to her and asked her to pack it. She looked severely disappointed and a little bit appalled.

“Lekin, this will make you look daaark!” She whispered the last word as if it was an oath and she was an 8 year old child. I was bemused. And then I saw her properly, and understood. Her face stood out in stark contrast to her neck and hands. The skin she was attempting to hide was a smooth shade of hazelnut; her face though, was eggshell white. For some reason, this smart woman had felt the need to change her skin color, even if it was temporary and even if it made her look absolutely ridiculous.

But okay, I wasn’t there to change the world. I got my cursedly dark foundation and walked out. It was sort of like stepping out into a different reality: everywhere I looked, faces mismatched necks mismatched hands and feet. Women all around me were striving to look as fair, as white as possible, not caring that they looked like idiots.

I understand that we went through some painful colonization but surely, it’s time to put the past where it belongs. I’d rather be comfortable in my own skin than try to look like something I’m not: a confoundedly white-faced alien.

Stop whitening, start accepting.