Ever wondered which were the best and worst times in history to be a makeup lover? You're about to find out...
Celebrity makeup artist and YouTube vlogger Lisa Eldridge, who has worked with the likes of Cara Delevingne and Kate Winslet, has taken her viewers on a historical beauty journey.
Her new video, titled 'Best And Worst Moments In Makeup History' spans thousands of years worth of makeup - from monobrows in ancient Greece, 1930s silent movie star vamps and modern day selfie-ready pouts.
Eldridge created the film to celebrate the launch of her new book FacePaint: The Story Of Makeup, which is well worth a read for those interested in the history behind makeup as we know it.
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(01 of07)
Leave the house without perfect brows? That's where O's beauty director Valerie Monroe draws the line.
At a book party recently, I discovered that I had become one of those Women Who Never Leave the House Without.... Until that moment, I hadn't understood people who said, "I never leave the house without mascara [or lip gloss or blush]." For me, makeup was optional, totally for fun. But that night I was introduced to a studiously casual and unmade-up young woman who was clearly confident about her style and flawless 20-something-year-old skin. And I realized that I don't go out—not even for a walk alone—without penciling in my eyebrows. Sometimes I go out without a bra—but not without eyebrows. I race my bike in 90-degree heat—but not without eyebrows.
I first penciled in my brows five years ago when they started thinning (a result of age and overzealous plucking as a teen). I was delighted to see that a brow pencil did a fine job of restoring them. Soon I noticed I was getting compliments about them. (Which struck me as odd—as if they were attracting too much attention, and why? Was that feather in my cap too dark? Overstyled?)
But more important, after I got used to made-up eyebrows, I began to feel naked without them. I've always liked my "I woke up like this" face, but now I wish the brows I draw on were the brows that greeted me in the morning. They're still optional, I suppose, but they function in some way like a zip code: Even without any other makeup, they make me feel complete enough to address the world.
At a book party recently, I discovered that I had become one of those Women Who Never Leave the House Without.... Until that moment, I hadn't understood people who said, "I never leave the house without mascara [or lip gloss or blush]." For me, makeup was optional, totally for fun. But that night I was introduced to a studiously casual and unmade-up young woman who was clearly confident about her style and flawless 20-something-year-old skin. And I realized that I don't go out—not even for a walk alone—without penciling in my eyebrows. Sometimes I go out without a bra—but not without eyebrows. I race my bike in 90-degree heat—but not without eyebrows.
I first penciled in my brows five years ago when they started thinning (a result of age and overzealous plucking as a teen). I was delighted to see that a brow pencil did a fine job of restoring them. Soon I noticed I was getting compliments about them. (Which struck me as odd—as if they were attracting too much attention, and why? Was that feather in my cap too dark? Overstyled?)
But more important, after I got used to made-up eyebrows, I began to feel naked without them. I've always liked my "I woke up like this" face, but now I wish the brows I draw on were the brows that greeted me in the morning. They're still optional, I suppose, but they function in some way like a zip code: Even without any other makeup, they make me feel complete enough to address the world.
Southern Comfort(02 of07)
When Tennessee native Amy Maclin moved to New York City, she discovered that "serious" women don't wear lip gloss. But frankly, she didn't give a damn.
Read the full story: What Every Southern Woman Knows About the Power of Makeup (credit:Cate Parr)
Read the full story: What Every Southern Woman Knows About the Power of Makeup (credit:Cate Parr)
(03 of07)
Makeup obsession runs in her family, writes Amy Fine Collins -- but it skips a generation.
My grandmother's vanity table was an altar to beauty. I worshiped, as a child, the swansdown powder puffs, gold-cased eyeshadow pans, and crystal perfume vials. The sweet, waxy aroma of her red lipsticks intoxicated me as much as her eau de toilette. Grandma's instruments of femininity were all the more wondrous because my mother had none. An artist, she believed in a more bohemian, minimal elegance. Instead of a laden vanity, she had a cabinet drawer, where she stashed exactly one cinnamon-toned lipstick, a solitary eyeliner wand and a single, essentially untouched compact.
I did not yield fully to the temptation of makeup until the seventh grade, when I was compelled to acquire a Maybelline Blooming Colors eyeshadow palette. I furtively made the purchase and tinted my lids a tender pastel green in the school bathroom. When I came home, my mother pronounced my new look "trashy" and ordered me to return my cherished Blooming Colors. I was humiliated not only by the insult to my adolescent appearance, but also by the act of asking for my money back.
So I am today, like my grandmother, a makeup maximalist. I don't trowel on an inordinate quantity; but I am profligate with my purchases. As I paint my face, I see my grandmother's reflection within my own. I wear the same French perfume, a bottle of which sits on my dressing table. Through discipline, trial, and considerable error, I have learned, like Grandma, to achieve exactly the look I desire. (credit:OWN Digital)
My grandmother's vanity table was an altar to beauty. I worshiped, as a child, the swansdown powder puffs, gold-cased eyeshadow pans, and crystal perfume vials. The sweet, waxy aroma of her red lipsticks intoxicated me as much as her eau de toilette. Grandma's instruments of femininity were all the more wondrous because my mother had none. An artist, she believed in a more bohemian, minimal elegance. Instead of a laden vanity, she had a cabinet drawer, where she stashed exactly one cinnamon-toned lipstick, a solitary eyeliner wand and a single, essentially untouched compact.
I did not yield fully to the temptation of makeup until the seventh grade, when I was compelled to acquire a Maybelline Blooming Colors eyeshadow palette. I furtively made the purchase and tinted my lids a tender pastel green in the school bathroom. When I came home, my mother pronounced my new look "trashy" and ordered me to return my cherished Blooming Colors. I was humiliated not only by the insult to my adolescent appearance, but also by the act of asking for my money back.
So I am today, like my grandmother, a makeup maximalist. I don't trowel on an inordinate quantity; but I am profligate with my purchases. As I paint my face, I see my grandmother's reflection within my own. I wear the same French perfume, a bottle of which sits on my dressing table. Through discipline, trial, and considerable error, I have learned, like Grandma, to achieve exactly the look I desire. (credit:OWN Digital)
Crossing the Line(04 of07)
A retro eye doesn't make Katie Arnold-Ratliff a bad feminist. It makes her more herself.
Read the full story: Does Wearing Makeup Make You a Bad Feminist? (credit:Cate Parr)
Read the full story: Does Wearing Makeup Make You a Bad Feminist? (credit:Cate Parr)
(05 of07)
The women in her family can keep their bold red lips. Veronica Chambers makes her mark in pale pink.
"There's no reason not to be clean. A bar of soap costs 50 cents," my grandmother used to say. My Miami cousins would add, "And no reason you can't look good, too, when a lipstick costs a dollar."
But they weren't talking about just any lipstick -- it had to be red, a matador red. It was the weapon of choice for the beauty icons of my mother's and grandmother's generations: Rita Moreno, Chita Rivera, Celia Cruz. Today when I see Zoe Saldana or Eva Longoria rock a fantastic red lip, a part of me says, Así lo hace! That's how you do it!
But red is not for me. Thanks to my favorite aunt, Diana, who has always deeply understood me, I prefer a nude, glossy mouth.
When I was 14, my mother remarried, and we moved cross-country. It was a tough transition, and Aunt Diana knew it. I was awkward and had no idea how to apply makeup. As I was leaving for the airport, my aunt gave me an all-in-one palette of makeup from a fancy department store. I was astonished that she thought I deserved something so luxurious. "It's got everything you need," she said. And it did: a little mascara, two subtle eyeshadows, a rosy pink blush, and a ballet pink lip gloss. It wasn't until then that I realized that not every swipe of lipstick had to be a vivid paint job. I didn't know that makeup could whisper as arrestingly as it could shout. And the whisper -- just right for me.
That little makeup kit became my beauty story: understated, not va-va-voom. My cousins still wish I wore un poquito más color. But I know I don't need the flag of red lipstick to celebrate my femininity or my Latinidad. Wearing my subtle, ballet pink lips, I'm as womanly and sexy as I want to be. (credit:OWN Digital)
"There's no reason not to be clean. A bar of soap costs 50 cents," my grandmother used to say. My Miami cousins would add, "And no reason you can't look good, too, when a lipstick costs a dollar."
But they weren't talking about just any lipstick -- it had to be red, a matador red. It was the weapon of choice for the beauty icons of my mother's and grandmother's generations: Rita Moreno, Chita Rivera, Celia Cruz. Today when I see Zoe Saldana or Eva Longoria rock a fantastic red lip, a part of me says, Así lo hace! That's how you do it!
But red is not for me. Thanks to my favorite aunt, Diana, who has always deeply understood me, I prefer a nude, glossy mouth.
When I was 14, my mother remarried, and we moved cross-country. It was a tough transition, and Aunt Diana knew it. I was awkward and had no idea how to apply makeup. As I was leaving for the airport, my aunt gave me an all-in-one palette of makeup from a fancy department store. I was astonished that she thought I deserved something so luxurious. "It's got everything you need," she said. And it did: a little mascara, two subtle eyeshadows, a rosy pink blush, and a ballet pink lip gloss. It wasn't until then that I realized that not every swipe of lipstick had to be a vivid paint job. I didn't know that makeup could whisper as arrestingly as it could shout. And the whisper -- just right for me.
That little makeup kit became my beauty story: understated, not va-va-voom. My cousins still wish I wore un poquito más color. But I know I don't need the flag of red lipstick to celebrate my femininity or my Latinidad. Wearing my subtle, ballet pink lips, I'm as womanly and sexy as I want to be. (credit:OWN Digital)
(06 of07)
After she bought foundation to "correct" her skin tone, Maya Rupert saw herself in a gorgeous new light.
Read the full story: What Foundation Taught Me About True Beauty (credit:Cate Parr)
Read the full story: What Foundation Taught Me About True Beauty (credit:Cate Parr)
The Perfect Cover-Up(07 of07)
Meredith Bryan's ode to concealer.
Concealer, concealer, I love you, I think! You hide my dark circles when I've had a drink, Or two...or four (it's so hard to recall). And you might even hydrate. (I can have it all!) I'm so lucky you're tucked in my makeup bag there. You make me feel dewy, and bright-eyed, and fair. You do what you say; our transaction's so simple! You banish raccoon eyes and maybe a pimple. You don't pledge to erase every trace of my years. Like those newfangled serums that cash in on fears. You just cover my tracks when I've stayed out too late... Or failed to work out, or planned a hot date. You get that I can't just drink green juice all day. In a world full of tacos and chocolate soufflé, You forgive all my lapses; you say, "Just have fun!" For there's much to enjoy! All is not said and done! And youth is a trick of the mind, not the skin. Concealer, you tell me to take it all in! You're there in the morning; you make it okay. You camouflage all when I go greet the day. You do me more good (and cost less) than a shrink. Concealer, concealer, I love you, I think! (credit:Cate Parr)
Concealer, concealer, I love you, I think! You hide my dark circles when I've had a drink, Or two...or four (it's so hard to recall). And you might even hydrate. (I can have it all!) I'm so lucky you're tucked in my makeup bag there. You make me feel dewy, and bright-eyed, and fair. You do what you say; our transaction's so simple! You banish raccoon eyes and maybe a pimple. You don't pledge to erase every trace of my years. Like those newfangled serums that cash in on fears. You just cover my tracks when I've stayed out too late... Or failed to work out, or planned a hot date. You get that I can't just drink green juice all day. In a world full of tacos and chocolate soufflé, You forgive all my lapses; you say, "Just have fun!" For there's much to enjoy! All is not said and done! And youth is a trick of the mind, not the skin. Concealer, you tell me to take it all in! You're there in the morning; you make it okay. You camouflage all when I go greet the day. You do me more good (and cost less) than a shrink. Concealer, concealer, I love you, I think! (credit:Cate Parr)