Nothing gives you pause for reflection quite like a birthday, does it? Today it’s mine and as I inspected soft etchings around my eyes in the mirror this morning I noted that, annoyingly, I’ve still not outgrown spots. And I revisited the milestones of my life as a beauty nut.
At five I’m bargaining to brave the dreaded immunisation needle with minimal wriggling only in return for a Strawberry Shortcake lip balm. At seven, struck by creative impulse, I’m lopping Barbie’s flaxen locks with pinking shears in my ‘salon’ beneath the dining table. By eight, a lifelong passion is ignited by the elaborate crystal perfume atomisers on my glamorous grandmother’s wondrous dresser.
Then I’m a teenager. Cringe…
If I only knew then what I know now…
Dear teenage Tracey,
I know you already know all there is to know about everything else ever, but let’s talk concealer. Please. Yep, it’s indispensable when pesky spots pop up before your 15th birthday party, but it’s a photos-will-haunt-you-forever disaster as full-face coverage. No matter what Suze says.
And, I plead with you, don’t pilfer one of Dad’s razors and a bar of Sunlight to Bic your 13-year-old legs in secret. You are so going to skin your shins red, bumpy and raw and have to swelter in tights at the Blue Light Disco. Ask Mum for her technique, okay?
Also ignore any advice that a lemon juice soak and sun sizzle is the best way to go blonde. You’ll be devastated by the stringy frizz for weeks – and spend the rest of year 11 growing the patches out.
Take you bestie’s advice on other hair colours instead; she’s an expert in training. But under no circumstance let her maiden waxing attempt be on your brows. Trust me, you’ll still be growing that one out in your 20s.
Finally, said 20s aren’t ancient. Not even the late ones. So don’t freak out about the building blaze of candles on your birthday cake. Well-earned laughter lines look softer by candlelight anyhow.
Remember less is more