My favorite nephew is going to grow up to be a ladies' man.
At the age of 3, he has mastered the art of compliments and charm. He bats his long lashes, looks up at me and with a big smile, will tell me exactly how pretty I am (the "pretty" factor usually depends on how many treats I've let him have), how much I make him laugh and how delicious that recipe for cake cones on Pinterest was that I tried to master (but botched miserably).
But, as is typical with kids, he has a way of really pointing out the truth. And my nephew sure handed me my dose of reality:
Him: "Tia Audrey" ("Tia" is Spanish for Auntie)," I love you. And I... um... I love your hair -- it's so pretty and long."
Me: "Thank you sweetie, but please don't pull it, it's fake. It's called extensions and if you pull them, they will get loose."
He made a perplexed face.
Him: "Well... your eyelashes are pretty too! They are long and you can make ojitos with them just like me!" ("Ojitos" is Spanish for when you bat your eye lashes.)
Me: "Thanks sweetie, but don't touch them -- they are fake, glued on, and you might take off my real lashes with them if you pull."
Him: "Well... I really like your nails Tia. They are so long though! Can I cut them? When my nails get long, my daddy cuts them for me and maybe he can cut yours too?"
Me: "Well sweetie, these aren't my nails. They are fake and they are glued on with a special glue."
He sat back on the couch and looked at me for a moment with crossed arms.
Him: Well Tia, you've got a LOTTA fake!"
Me: "Shit."
Him: "You're not supposed to say that word!"
[In my head: Double shit]
So that was my dose my reality. My (at the time) 3-year-old nephew called me fake.
He was right.
Everything from my hair extensions, eyelash extensions, colored-in eyebrows and acrylic nails were all fake. I'm just one of those girls. I don't leave the house without "my face" on. I believe in being both well-manicured and wel- groomed at all times. In fact, I have early memories of begging my mom to buy me press-on nails just so I could get ready for my tea parties.
And while I thoroughly enjoy the ritual of getting ready every day, it has become much more of a chore. My hours have been longer lately, my daily obligations have extended to almost double, and I'm at a point where I'd sacrifice an hour of "getting ready" just to get the extra hour of sleep.
This has not gone unnoticed.
"Are you OK?" People ask me.
"Have you been ill, you look so pale?" They say.
"I've never seen you without heels, much less without makeup," they comment.
"Um... this is just my face." I respond.
Apparently, my daily network has forgotten what I look like under the "lotta fake," as my nephew would say.
I've stopped caring. This is my face, take it or leave it. This is what I look like when I when I wake up in the morning. Freckled. Uneven pigmentation. No pretense. No shame.
This is what I look like (on the left) without all the effort (on the right).
What does your natural face look like? Share your photos shedding your layer of "fake" and tweet them with the hashtag #fakeshedding