There is a particular kind of beauty advice that has always annoyed me. It usually arrives disguised as a compliment.
“You are so lucky.”
Lucky to have good hair.
Lucky to have good skin.
Lucky to have nice features.
Lucky to know how to do makeup.
Lucky to look put together.
The problem is that luck makes for a terrible teacher. Luck cannot explain why one woman slowly grows into herself while another spends years feeling disconnected from her own reflection. Luck cannot explain why confidence appears after practice, because confidence is not usually inherited: It is learned.
Mine certainly was. I was not the little girl everyone expected to become beautiful. I was a tomboy. Awkward. More interested in being comfortable than being stylish. The kind of child nobody points to as evidence of future glamour.
The glow-up, as my family jokingly calls it now, did not happen overnight. It happened through experimentation. It happened through:
– fashion choices from Zellers (shoutouts to Champion),
– cheap drugstore BB creams (my current favorite is this one by Garnier)
– and DIY bangs with the kitchen scissors (why does the bad hair dresser ghost always possess you at like 3.A.M???)
Through learning what colours brought life back into my face. Through figuring out that I prefer smudged eyeliner to perfect eyeliner. That I would rather have comfortable makeup than flawless makeup. That beauty should survive a grocery store trip. That confidence looks better than contour.
Over time I realized something surprising. The products mattered far less than the ritual.
1. Wash the face.
2. Moisturize.
3. Bring back a little colour.
4. Define the eyes.
5. Curl the lashes.
6. Add a touch of red.
Not because the world demands it, or that women owe beauty to anyone. Because there is something powerful about preparing yourself for the day ahead.
The ancient stories tell us that Cleopatra was famous for her beauty. What interests me more is that she was also known for her intellect. A woman experimenting with oils, pigments, ingredients, presentation, language, and perception. She was less beauty queen, and more a beauty researcher. That version of Cleopatra feels familiar.
She understood that beauty is something a person can study, learn, and practice. That is what Cleopatra’s Vanity is about. This room was never about becoming perfect. Neither is it about reviewing products. And it’s definitely not about becoming someone else.
It is about authorship.
About learning how to stand fully in your own reflection. Because beauty was never only about appearance. It was always about participation. And confidence was never genetic luck. It was learned.