I let boys do my make-up for a week

Stupidly, I agreed to let my male flatmates do my make-up for one whole week.

Yes, you read that right. No, I’m not insane.

The challenge’s rules include: no touch-ups before I leave the flat, no subtle hints regarding which brush goes with which product, no guidance when they reach for the eye shadow to fill in my lips. Nada.

Instead, I set some ground rules. I laid out the make-up I would let them deface me with on my desk.

I admit that my inner control freak took over a little when I only provided products that would look good together. After all, I didn’t want to be walking into the LCR looking like a smeary Pat Butcher impersonator.

Day One

Day one of the challenge fell on a Tuesday, which as we all know, means a standard trip to the LCR.

I was intrigued to see what my flatmate would do with my look in order to help me pull. After all, who’s better to ask about the opinions of straight men than a straight man?

As a whole, Christian didn’t do too bad a job. However, I was slightly nervous when he held an eye shadow palette in one hand, a concealer stick in the other and gave me a pleading look in search of which one to fill in my eyebrows with.

For me, this look screams elegance. There’s nothing like a trail of lipstick leading precariously towards your chin to say “I’ve already been snogged so you might as well jump on board too”.

Day Two

Before starting, Jake seemed to think that he’d finally found his calling in life. Maybe he’d set up his own make-up academy, or start a range of cosmetics. This was it. This was the big-time.

Despite going through a grand total of six make-up wipes during the whole hour it took him to do my make-up, he still managed to make it look as if I had two black eyes and a busted lip.

All I’d say is don’t give up the degree in a hurry, honey…

Day Three

Day three’s look now goes by the name “bad Egyptian at a school play”.

My housemate Joe, completely stunned by my bag of make-up, thought he’d take the smart-arse route of reading the packaging in order to come to grips with what each thing was.

But his scheming plan ended in even more distress when he turned over my foundation, only to find all the small print in French.

Clown’s cheeks, extreme tide-line, and lip-liner portraying his ever speeding heart-beat, poor Joe was a little out of his depth.

Day Five

Okay. I admit it. I cracked.

While the rest of my flatmates were all curled up in their respective beds on Saturday morning, I had additional lectures to attend so had to do my makeup myself.

It was also our Tab social that night (yet another LCR trip) and I didn’t want to disrespect our group’s street-cred. My eyebrows had no choice but to be on fleek.

Day Six

To punish myself for my dismal attempt the day before, I approached my most infamously unartistic flatmate, my teeth gritted, to ask for his painting skills to be displayed on my face.

This style screams “the morning after the night before”, especially if the night before was actually a two week long bender going from festival to festival on a consistent comedown.

The perfect look for a chilled Sunday morning at the library then…

Day Seven – MY BIRTHDAY

As it was my birthday and in an attempt to create “top banter”, my friend Joe suggested we both got ridiculously drunk before he let himself loose on my face. As if the past six days haven’t proved it’s already hard enough when sober…

As the rum and cokes flowed, Joe got more and more experimental. I feared for my life when every time the mascara wand advanced towards my face, and the fact that we both had extreme giggles for the whole time didn’t exactly promise a neat lash look.

If there was one thing the past week taught me it’s that although guys appreciate a girl making an effort with their appearance, they wouldn’t know the first thing about how to do it themselves.

I think I’ll be scraping clumps of mascara off the backs of my eyeballs for a good while too.