Life and Times of a Make-Up Artist

Here goes, my first ever beauty blog.  I feel like a proper “Carrie Bradshaw” sitting typing on my wee red laptop, although I was never particularly adept at English in school so you can guarantee I won’t be writing in “perfect English”.  My mother would quite often ask if, in fact, I learned anything at school.  Looking back, sadly I would have to agree not much.

 
I guess I should get on to talking about make-up since I imagine no one really wants to know my life story, but here are the cliff notes…

By day, I am a freelance makeup artist (now slash secret blogger) and although my ‘other half’ may beg to differ, it is in fact a proper job.  

My story starts at sixteen; I was a restless child and after having enough of the old school routine, I got up and left and enrolled myself in a beauty course, which after one year proved to be too easy for my brilliant academic mind and I applied for a make-up one instead.  I then did two years of gruelling hard work at college to finally graduate as a qualified make-up artist.

Training as a make-up artist does have its downside however.  Never again can I have a conversation without absentmindedly staring at your eyeshadow crease or foundation line or even be able to sit and watch a film without trying to decipher how they did a particular prosthetic or searching needlessly for the ragged edge of an actor’s bald cap.  We will forever be cursed in this never ceasing world of make-up disasters.

Now you may think life as a make-up artist is massively glamorous and exciting but by specialising in the bridal industry, it opens the door to the world of bridezillas, bossy mothers and tipsy bridesmaids.  At the mention of weddings, everyone starts to ooh and ahh and say what a brilliant job I must have.  Though let me tell you, it’s not all attending scenic venues and grand mansions while applying a bit of blush here and there... 

In reality, it’s sheer blood sweat and tears.  Most of the time, I’m just aimlessly driving around for half an hour trying to find a cul de sac that doesn’t even exist on my sat nav, then to finally get there and have to battle through the hordes of angry pet Chihuahuas and slobbering Bloodhounds.

Then you have the wedding day, the most special day of a person’s life and you have a thousand bridesmaids tripping over dresses and high heels fighting their way through the kitchen as you try and work whilst the bride’s mother is having a panic attack over the flowers because she insists it’s not the ones her daughter picked out.  
 
Yes, I am the lassie standing amongst a mid of hairspray, diamantes and floor length gowns in my old faded jeans and t-shirt, while covered in splatters of face powder and eyelash glue. 

But, hey, it’s jolly good fun.
 
So if you can’t tell your eyebrow pencils from your eyeliners, join me on my journey as I jump on the bandwagon of beauty bloggers out there and through the make-up jargon, needless rambling and bad clichés and you may just pick up a few tricks.