are-you-ok-you-look-strange (in which the author dares to present her naked face at the office)

I am rocking a wonderful cold/flu/something right now. As a result, I have been blowing my nose frequently. (Frequently enough, actually, to be concerned about the environmental impact of facial tissue as opposed to the antiquated handkerchief.) As a result of the nose-blowing, my nose and surrounding facial area is red, flaky, and otherwise non-conducive to application of makeup. As a result, I am not wearing makeup today.

THE HORROR.

Ahem.

I made it forty-five minutes into my day before a well-intentioned (and rather condescending, but that's another story) gentleman felt the need to comment upon my status.

"Are you OK? You look... [he actually paused, as if searching for an appropriate descriptive word] ...tired."

As you may or may not be aware, "you look tired" is the safest possible version of "you look like hell" that our society has yet developed, even less threatening than "you look sick."

Which I am, which I explained. He answered with something about "smooching" that was supposed to be clever, and wasn't. End story.

In my experience, "you look tired" can mean any number of things, as long as one of those things is related to makeup. "You look tired" might mean that

-my new undereye corrector has a lifespan of thirty minutes and has just died
-I forgot my eyeliner
-I forgot my blush
-I decided to say "fuck it" today and wear no makeup at all

I am willing to bet that if I actually looked tired (if I were falling asleep or yawning) no one would find it necessary to comment upon such. One might as readily say, "you look like you're wearing pants" to someone who was, indeed, wearing pants. It's not news. It's not worth the minuscule expenditure of calories required to manipulate vocal cords and mouth parts.

So, then, what is the purpose of this thinly-veiled "you look like hell?"

To alert me, in case I didn't know, that I am failing to be decorative?

On days when I actually care, it takes up to thirty-five products to get me out of the house. Thirty-five. And as I muse about the glory that is primer (it goes after the AM anti-wrinkle cream and before the foundation), I am also caught by the massive idiocy of the package, the industry, the BFOQ * that, regardless of ability or status or pay grade, women be pretty.

Well, as pretty as thirty-five products can make them. Plus Botox.

And then I get angry, because I remember that although my department, company-wide, is heavily female (104 women to 26 men) seven of the ten highest positions are held by men.

I get angry because, while a man needs nice shoes and a nice suit and a pretty-standard haircut to look professional, he can still get promoted if he's a little overweight or going gray.

I get angry because, given the resources, it's not hard to figure out what that suit-shoes-haircut package looks like. I get angry because there is no safe "professional woman" costume. It's easy to look too sexy, or too utilitarian, or too feminine, or not feminine enough.

I get angry because even though there's no safe answer, I still have to try. And if I don't, it doesn't take long for someone to take me to task for not looking pretty.


* Oh, wait, you mean it's NOT?