Why I Stopped Wearing Makeup and Started Keeping a Portrait in My Attic that Ages as I Sin

There was a time in my life when I wouldn’t even go to the grocery store without foundation and mascara. I got so used to wearing makeup that I felt naked without it, but then one day I looked in the mirror after washing my face and I realized: I’m so young and beautiful! if I can just keep it that way, I’ll never have to worry about my appearance again. That’s when I stopped wearing makeup and started keeping a portrait in my attic that mysteriously ages the more I commit sins.


I used to wake up an extra half hour early in the morning to do my makeup, but now the only extra step in my routine is making sure I locked the door to the attic where I keep that full-body portrait my friend painted of me that, in at first subtle but now glaringly disturbing ways, has aged and rotted in a secret reflection of my decaying soul. And with all that extra time I’m making healthier breakfasts than ever!


It makes me sad to think back and realize I used to only feel good about myself when I covered up my natural face. These days the only face I’m interested in covering up is the painted one whose gruesome grey skin tears and sags with each hedonistic pleasure I thoughtlessly partake in.


I threw a sheet over that bad boy because I was like, okay, I don’t need to look at this, and also it’s probably fine, right? There’s paint that glows in the dark, so maybe there’s also paint that over time turns to a visual representation of vile wickedness and disregard for human life? I would ask the artist but I ki— I mean, no one’s heard from him for a while. I think he maybe went to grad school or is traveling or something. Anyway, my skin has been flawless ever since so I’m like makeup who?!



An important lesson in all of this is that I don’t need makeup to feel beautiful anymore. Now my beauty is validated by literally everyone around me while I grow increasingly paranoid at the thought of them discovering the hideous truth I fear the portrait betrays. Like, maybe it’s nothing, but also it seems weird that I would have not aged for 20 years while spending most of that time partying really hard. You know what, I think I should probably destroy it. I’m sure that won’t have any negative consequences.


So take a page out of my book and ditch the powder and primping for a darkly magical painting that may or may not be your undoing. Or just get a moisturizer with SPF!