My 29-year-old daughter, Simone, did something for the first time today: She bought makeup. Fair-complected with blue eyes, she’s a natural beauty who isn’t a fan of hair salons or cosmetic counters. I’ve long thought she should wear at least a little makeup, but Simone never agreed, so I stopped bringing up the subject.
Today, as we were strolling up Madison Avenue, I mentioned that I wanted to buy a lipstick. “Noel thinks I should wear some makeup,” she suddenly reported, but didn’t let on whether she agreed with her long-time boyfriend. I saw my opening when I was looking at lipstick shades at one of Barney’s gazillon cosmetic counters. “Why don’t you let this young man put some makeup on you,” I casually suggested. “If you don’t like it, you’ll take it off.” (Now, that’s a genius thing to say!)
Simone agreed to have Fifo, the charming makeup maven who was helping me, apply lip gloss, eye shadow and liner. She was pleased by the results and bought a pale pinkish shadow, a black pencil liner, a couple of brushes, a pale pink gloss and a package of wipes to remove eye makeup. She wasn’t going near the mascara or blush, she told me. “I’d feel weird.”
A little bit of makeup really does go a long way, I think. Who couldn’t use a bit of color in her life, even my colorful daughter, Mone.