All it took was makeup...
For aboot 8 months now, I've been playing in makeup. Yes, my tomboyish, awkward, blind as a bat ass has become a practitioner of the makeups.
Why?
Always have loved makeup. I just let my low self esteem and frustration convince me that was yet another of my "Bitch, you can't.." list entries..after doing a second 5k but just before sewing.
"It isn't for me" was what I told myself for years. I broke bad every blue moon, but it wasn't until my 30th birthday party that I saw the truth.
Truth be told, it CAN be for you simply because you want it.
Okay, I bet you're wondering "heffa, you damn near 36 now. What the hell happened in that gap?"
Glad you asked.
I forgot.
But what matters NOW is that I'm not ascared. Stay with me, now.
Thing is, it took makeup for me to finally get through my thick gauge skull that in order for this makeup to look beautiful on me, my black ass just might have to be beautiful.
I know good and hell well I don't need it. However, every single part of my process allows me a moment to reflect on what it is that I have.
Sometimes, I just stare in the mirror, completely in awe at how long I hid myself. It's like the Tam in my head finally sees the truth. Each selfie is another entry into my archive, documenting my evolution.
Months ago, my pics were mostly from the neck up. Only from a limited choice of carefully selected angles. A couple years ago, you may get a couple shots out of hundreds taken at an event. I blamed my weight for years, even holding on to it as I dropped over 100 pounds.
Tam, you running out of excuses. What's the next one? You look too much like your daddy?
I regret to inform thee, you still look like Anthony Edward.
Last summer, I took my first few pics in eyeliner during my 35th birthday weekend in Nashvegas.
I didn't even die once.
Mah fact, it was a welcome change to see me a bit more glam than my normal Functional Cat Raggedy.
Then it snowballed from there. I began to look forward to my practice pics. Even my errors were funny. Especially that glitter debacle when my ass looked like I got whooped with a whole unicorn.
Then it hit me...I was still alive. I was over here serving looks with full Gizmo Realness!
Biiiiiiiiiiiish yes!
After all these years of selling myself shawter than a Family Dollar cash register, I finally felt confident.
The gag is..foke think makeup is a sign of low self esteem. But for me, it's an accessory. It varies based on my mood and ensemble. I don't wear it to BE anyone. I wear it because I can.
I can say that it made me appreciate every nuance of who I am and how I look.
I know, I know. It shouldn't have taken two Rubbermaid containers of makeup to make me feel good about myself. I concur, mane.
My therapist encouraged me to get back to focusing on myself. Take care of Tam in between working and caring for everyone else. So I resurrected my journal, my good reading materials, and through those measures, I realized that I need to invest in Tam as much as I do everyone else.
When I put on them good ol' brows and transform, it's as personal as I can get. I'm looking at myself and falling more in love with who I am.
It's about time.
I'm fine as frog hair.
Why?
Always have loved makeup. I just let my low self esteem and frustration convince me that was yet another of my "Bitch, you can't.." list entries..after doing a second 5k but just before sewing.
"It isn't for me" was what I told myself for years. I broke bad every blue moon, but it wasn't until my 30th birthday party that I saw the truth.
Truth be told, it CAN be for you simply because you want it.
Okay, I bet you're wondering "heffa, you damn near 36 now. What the hell happened in that gap?"
Glad you asked.
I forgot.
But what matters NOW is that I'm not ascared. Stay with me, now.
Thing is, it took makeup for me to finally get through my thick gauge skull that in order for this makeup to look beautiful on me, my black ass just might have to be beautiful.
I know good and hell well I don't need it. However, every single part of my process allows me a moment to reflect on what it is that I have.
Sometimes, I just stare in the mirror, completely in awe at how long I hid myself. It's like the Tam in my head finally sees the truth. Each selfie is another entry into my archive, documenting my evolution.
Months ago, my pics were mostly from the neck up. Only from a limited choice of carefully selected angles. A couple years ago, you may get a couple shots out of hundreds taken at an event. I blamed my weight for years, even holding on to it as I dropped over 100 pounds.
Tam, you running out of excuses. What's the next one? You look too much like your daddy?
I regret to inform thee, you still look like Anthony Edward.
I didn't even die once.
Mah fact, it was a welcome change to see me a bit more glam than my normal Functional Cat Raggedy.
Then it snowballed from there. I began to look forward to my practice pics. Even my errors were funny. Especially that glitter debacle when my ass looked like I got whooped with a whole unicorn.
Then it hit me...I was still alive. I was over here serving looks with full Gizmo Realness!
Biiiiiiiiiiiish yes!
The gag is..foke think makeup is a sign of low self esteem. But for me, it's an accessory. It varies based on my mood and ensemble. I don't wear it to BE anyone. I wear it because I can.
I can say that it made me appreciate every nuance of who I am and how I look.
My therapist encouraged me to get back to focusing on myself. Take care of Tam in between working and caring for everyone else. So I resurrected my journal, my good reading materials, and through those measures, I realized that I need to invest in Tam as much as I do everyone else.
When I put on them good ol' brows and transform, it's as personal as I can get. I'm looking at myself and falling more in love with who I am.
It's about time.
I'm fine as frog hair.
Next up...photoshoots and hopefully some saptapper putting me in a magazine or something.
Like...a mainstream one.
Not Hustler.
I'm good on that.
-Tam
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