Ben Machell on the power of makeup for men

Ben Machell is all made up — he wishes
26 October 2017

Some men like to go on about how they don’t like make-up.

I am not one of them. I’ve spent most of my life in close proximity to female beauty products and have, over the years, developed a healthy respect for slap of all shades. At times, curiosity. At times, frankly, a twinge of jealousy.

It’s not that I particularly want to wear mascara or foundation or lip gloss, but I am a sucker for functionality. And the fact is that, pound for pound, I’m not sure man has developed a more efficient innovation than compact, portable cosmetics. I suppose that, on some level, I just feel like I’m missing out. It’s the same feeling I get when I see kids wearing those trainers with hidden wheels: ‘That looks incredibly useful. Shame I’m an adult,’ I think.

I’ve never felt comfortable with the way that make-up is so often used, sneeringly, by male songwriters as a metaphor for shallowness and feminine deceit. If some girl’s mugged you off, I’m pretty sure the fact she was wearing foundation had nothing to do with it. I happen to like perfume. It smells nice. It probably helps that, as a young child, I developed an incredibly high tolerance to it on account of my gran dragging me and my sister round department-store beauty counters, demanding free squirts of everything. If you’ve ever seen one of those TV documentaries following police training with tear gas, temporarily blinded recruits shuffling out of a building with their hands on each other’s shoulders, it was a bit like that. Only in the Leeds branch of Debenhams.

Ben Machell

There is also something mystical about women’s beauty products. This is partly because I’m banned from touching any of my girlfriend’s face creams, etc, which only increases their beguiling quality. Every Christmas, in a solemn, ceremonial act, I would present my mum with her Oil of Ulay (this was before it became ‘Olay’, a name change I found genuinely disappointing) as though it was frankincense or myrrh. My dad? I just lobbed him a chocolate orange. Not quite the same, is it. You can understand how this could have an effect on a young boy. Sometimes, in secret, I would sneak into her room and apply a tiny amount to my skin, just to see what would happen. And invariably, I’d spend the rest of the day feeling pretty good about myself. Confident. Glowing. Honestly, how is that not magic?

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