The Transformation through make up and beauty products

For the last few days I have lost my identity to a fringe. I decided to have a fringe cut in my hair on Saturday and after been puffed, blowdried and had 3 different colours put in my hair I left the hairdresser looking completely unlike myself when I arrived. Since Saturday I have walked past mirrors or windows and caught a glimpse of myself - unrecognisable to myself and others- and jumped wondering who the person I see is.... almost as though someone is right beside me and I haven't noticed... someone has taken my shadow. It also reminds me of that programme Quantum Leap where the main character is always going through time and landing in someone elses body... the down side of this was he never knew what he looked like until he looked in the mirror and spent the rest of the episode dressed in woman's clothes normally with his hairy legs. Now on Wednesday I am slowly getting used to my new hair do and it is a "do"... not quite a "bonce" but certainly a "do". As I bump into people I haven't seen for over a week they say "Ah you've had your hair done! looks nice" and now I'm coming across as though I'm bored of the compliments or that I just know I look good as I wave my hand and say "thanks". The problem is I'm not too sure about it as I've lost my identity. I am for the next week or so a "do" or a "fringe" until my face grows into my hair!

It's funny but for a time when my mum used to go and have her hair done each week I used to say that she had gone for a barnet bashing because most weeks she would not have her hair cut and would just have it washed and blow dried. I found this hilarious as it seemed like for 2 days a week before she washed it she had big hair. Most of the time she walked out of a hair dresser with hair that was twice as big as it was before she went in. However one time I went to have my hair cut and I came out looking like I had styled myself as a librarian. As I looked in my reflection the hairdresser stared in horror at what she'd done but then smiled calmly and told me it was lovely as it was a cleopatra hair cut. The problem is for at least the last 100 years as far as I'm aware Cleopatra has not been a style icon! That particular hair do not only took the longest time ever to grow out but made me refuse to go to the hairdresser again for at least a year after.

As there were 3 women in my house growing up it was commonplace for bad hair cuts to take over our lives at some point. My poor sister had a perm one time which she tried to wash out as soon as she got home as the tight curls made her look like a poodle. It was also not uncommon for either me or my sister to rush out the bathroom crying and hysterical after we had left our hair dye on for too long and it had either gone white or ginger. In a bid to rid myself of this problem area in my life I decided to have a short hair cut from the ages of 14 to 18. This was my rebellious stage. As I prided myself on not caring that my hair was short and I was not like all the other girls at school I was horrified at different stages when someone would ask my mum whilst I sat next to her what her son's name was. She would say this is my daughter Clare... she just wears her hair short. I would be deeply wounded but the reality was I did look like a boy but I didn't run crying out of the bathroom or hair dresser anymore!

It wasn't only hair that has been a problem to us! We have battled weight, bad dresses and dodgy fake tans. We have done it all! One time after putting some fake tan on my face I then developed a migraine. I have these headaches since I was little and the only thing that will solve him even at this age is to have someone stroke my head as I lie in darkness with a cold wet flannel on my face. I should make it very clear I have an allergy to flannels. I never use them and I never have them in my bathroom. The remind me of hankerchiefs which I also find completely disgusting. It seems wrong to blow your nose on a bit of material and to put it up your sleeve or in your pocket. In fact even as I write I am gagging slightly. Flannels have the same effect. They smell damp and of old soap. They can get crusty when the dry and when I am at my mum's having a bath and her flannel slips from the hook above the bath and into the water I cringe! So there I was having just applied the fake tan and with a migraine so I laid down on my bed and put the flannel over my head. I fell asleep and woke in the morning. As I looked in the mirror while I got ready for work I saw on my face were streaks of fake tan. Not just faint ones but orange streaks all over my face like a mask. I immediately tried to scrub it off. Now for those of you that have ever used fake tan you will know this is completely impossible and so as I scrubbed my face just got red underneath the orange streaks. I read the back of the fake tan and apparently you should not wet your skin after putting it on for at least 12 hours. I of course had not only slept with a damp flannel on my face but also had woken up twice in the night to re wet it! As I arrived at work with my orange and red face which I tried to cover up with thick foundation I realised that no one said a word.

You see the thing is when someone has done something really stupid like this to themselves normally people won't mention it. They wouldn't dare. The shock for them is enough and they realise that it is likely it could happen to them at some point. When my dad first went grey he used to dye his hair jet black. One day before he went to an important dinner with my mum he decided to quickly dye his hair before he went. As he confidently put the dye on without reading the instructions he let the dye drip down on to his forehead in numerous large drips. For some reason it didn't occur to him that this would stain and so when he had completed the dye job we all went into the bathroom and watched my mother trying to remove the drip stains which even went down his nose with a brillo pad. Realising it would not come off but unable to delay the dinner my father and mother attended with dad in all his glory. Apparently everyone politely ignored the dark black drip stains on his ultra white skin. Dad did what any confident person would do and instead of feeling uncomfortable he made himself the life and soul of the dinner. He did not shy away from talking or try to cover up the stains - no he was the centre of attention as usual and chatted away reminding everyone how great he is - stains or no stains!

When my sister got married my mum and I decided we would get our make up done professionally. When we arrived the youngest woman in the salon did my mum's make up and the oldest woman did mine! This meant that when my mum turned to me with bright pink lipstick on asking me if it looked alright I responded that she looked like a clown and the colour was changed. I however was covered in peach and blue colours. As the woman remarked on "my broken capillaries" I wanted to slap her. But it wasn't until she moved me over to stand by the window as she pointed out in a disgusted voice that i was "so pale". She spent the next 20 minutes rubbing blusher onto my cheeks from a make brush in long sweeping upward motion. As she repeated this time and time again and my face started to burn I was starting to get that feeling of immense torture that you can only get from repetitive motion on your skin. My grandmother used to stroke my arm as a child with her slightly sharp nails. This was enjoyable for a few minutes but after 30 minutes I would be close to tears as I tried to politely pull away as my skin crawled with irritation. As I left that beauty salon after payin £40 I grabbed a tissue from the reception desk and said to my mum through gritted teeth " get me home so that I can get this stuff off my face". By the time I was in the taxi with my face sore from all the blusher I was already wiping the caked make up off my face so that I could redo as soon as I got home.

All the people I know have had these experiences... or if not they are better at hiding them. I do think that these are the things that seem so important at the time but that you look back on and laugh. From the breaking of the heel on your shoe (happened more than once to me!) to the rip in your trousers that you don't realise for a number of hours and that no one tells you about to the dodgy hair cuts and dye jobs. In a quest to look better sometimes exactly the opposite will happen but it is only temporary and you will always go back to looking slightly crap like you did before.