After the birth of our third child, Jessica noticed dark spots appearing on her face, prompting her to start wearing makeup. To my surprise, I found myself arguing against it.
“You don’t need makeup; you’ve always been beautiful without it,” I insisted.
Jessica was in the bathroom applying foundation, while I stood in our bedroom, reflecting on our nine years of marriage. Honestly, her decision to wear makeup was more shocking to me than when I first discovered she didn’t wear any. By then, we had three kids together, lived in three different states, and were both in our early 30s.
The first memory I have of Jessica wearing makeup was on our wedding day. She applied a touch of blush and some eyeliner, but it was minimal—just enough for the photos. I remember thinking she looked stunning, but I didn’t attribute that beauty to the makeup. It was her genuine smile that captivated me; the way her cheeks twisted at the corners and her hair was simply braided.
There was something incredibly comforting about her presence—her laughter and the way she carried herself, filled with warmth and confidence. I appreciated her encouragement, especially when I was a late bloomer in my education. My love for her was rooted in so many factors, yet none of them had anything to do with makeup.
Jessica stepped out of the bathroom, a playful smile on her face, with her hair pulled back and a small mirror in hand. “It’s not about how you see me,” she said. “I know you find me beautiful.” Her expression conveyed a deeper understanding that I hadn’t grasped.
After a moment of silence, she shared, “People can’t see me the way you do. I don’t feel beautiful anymore, and these blemishes make me self-conscious. I just don’t want others to notice them.” We exchanged thoughts for a while, with me affirming her beauty and her expressing how the imperfections affected her self-esteem. She used words like “old” and “ugly,” while I highlighted her lovely smile and wonderful spirit.
“If others can’t see that, it’s their issue,” I argued.
“No, it’s my issue,” she replied, frustration creeping into her tone. Then she made a statement that struck me profoundly: “Your opinion isn’t the only one that matters.” She said it gently, with an understanding of the challenges women face regarding beauty.
After that day, which was two years ago, Jessica began wearing makeup daily. Strangely, it hasn’t changed how I perceive her; her smile still warms my heart, and her personality remains as enchanting as ever. The only shift I noticed was in how she viewed herself.
Reflecting on her words, I eventually realized that she was right; my opinion, though meaningful, wasn’t the only one influencing her self-image. After 11 years of marriage, I came to understand that despite our shared experiences, my perspective isn’t the sole arbiter of her beauty. Admitting this was challenging for me because I often believed my view should reflect how others see her.
I recognize that beauty standards are largely shaped by societal influences—media, advertising, and culture. Yet, I can’t overlook how Jessica seems to carry herself with more confidence when she wears makeup, and it positively impacts her self-image as a mother and wife.
Ultimately, it’s Jessica’s choice whether to wear makeup, and I fully support her decision. One morning, nearly two years after our initial discussion about makeup, I revisited the topic while she prepared in front of the bathroom mirror. I told her that no matter what, she would always be beautiful in my eyes. But more importantly, I want her to feel beautiful herself. “Understanding beauty is complex for me, but if wearing makeup helps you feel that way, then I’m all for it.”
She smiled, leaned in for a kiss, and simply said, “Thank you.”
In summary, this journey has taught me that beauty is subjective and multifaceted. While I may see my wife as beautiful without makeup, her feelings about her appearance matter deeply. Supporting her choices, whether it involves makeup or not, is my priority as her partner.