Phoebe Baker Hyde is the author of “The Beauty Experiment” (Lifelong Books), which chronicles the 13 months she spent without makeup, grooming or new clothes.
I pictured myself sexy at my husband’s office party in my far-too-expensive crimson dress, red lips and high-heeled shoes.
But the photographs told another story.
I was not sexy, but shaggy. Not red hot, but hangdog. My outfit was ill-fitting and too loud in a sea of corporate black. My jewelry, makeup and shoes all fought for attention. I myself was lost.
I was not the woman or role model I wanted to be. I was at war with myself and the world around me.
NY Post: Tamara Beckwith
LESS IS MORPH: After 13 months of drastic cutbacks in her style routine, Phoebe Baker Hyde has an increased love of self — and a new book, “The Beauty Experiment.”
So in February 2007, I embarked on an experiment. I swore off Beauty and all her trappings: makeup, new clothes, salon haircuts, jewelry, the works. And I did this for the next 13 months of my life.
The stirrings of change began in 2006 when I had my first child. To hide the pounds, I wore a spandex corset for five hours a day. To fight the exhausted-mom look, I bought thicker foundation and wore brighter lipstick.
2005 when my husband, John, an accountant, was transferred from San Francisco to Hong Kong. The next year, I had my first child.
I found myself in a foreign land — where everyone dressed up even to go to the supermarket — with a new child and baby weight that refused to budge.
But I still hated what I saw in the mirror.
After the red-dress fiasco, I decided to purge myself of the powders, blushes, lipsticks, nail polishes, and even the scales and vanity mirrors that had become so central to my life.
My supportive husband, John, helped me put together a concrete plan. I could use sunscreen and moisturizer, as well as shampoo, a comb and a dab of hair gel. But I would throw out my razors and let my hair grow in all places except my face and lower legs. (My husband wasn’t so thrilled about this at first.)
I would only wear clothes I already owned. No more shopping. I could wear my wedding band and a watch, but the 38 pairs of earrings had to go back in the jewelry box.
The hardest part was saying goodbye to my long, strawberry-blond hair — my favorite feature. A barber, the same my husband frequented, chopped off 14 inches and cut it into a simple, men’s haircut.
“It’s not that bad,” John said when he saw me.
Not exactly a glowing review.
I focused on my dark roots, big nose and weak chin. Without my hair, I felt plain — not ugly, per se, but unbeautiful, unremarkable, uninteresting.
For the first month, I carried around this sense of Plain Jane-ness. I avoided meet-ups, especially in places where I was expected to dress up. My eyes were lost without eyeliner and my lips were wan and thin without lipstick.
Most of my friends were supportive. But some women took my new look as an affront. One well-coiffed ex-pat mother snubbed me. My lack of mascara seemed to her an act of defiance. Part of me felt a little superior, refusing to play the beauty game.
But one day, a few months in, I cracked.
After my one bathing suit nearly disintegrated, I bought — gasp! — a $70 replacement. Strangely, I no longer focused on how bad my body looked; in fact, I kind of liked what I saw in the mirror.
I returned to my experiment with renewed purpose. I honed my beauty regime: shower, comb hair, apply deodorant, slather SPF 30 moisturizer on my body, dress, done. Now it took me 16 minutes to get ready (almost as fast as my husband).
Something had switched inside of me.
I noticed a change in my inner voice. She had become softer and less judgmental, of me and the women around me. Bad-hair days meant nothing to me. My face without makeup said “face,” not hideous problem.
I kept track of the incredible amount of hours I had saved by not obsessing over my appearance. This was more time that I could spend on being a better mother, and a better partner. I realized I was no longer the princess, no longer the bride, and no longer the beauty the whole world wanted — and I was not filled with rage over this.
I ended my experiment 13 months in, but the discoveries have stayed with me.
I use makeup sparingly. I keep my hair short and shop out of purpose and need.
My beauty routine rounds out to about 10 minutes, quicker even than during the height of my experiment. All of this has given me a buoyant undercurrent of calm and well-being that can’t be faked with concealer.
Now when I look in the mirror, I don’t see wrinkles, anxiety, zits or exhaustion.
Instead, I see a face, a person, a personality, a life.
