As an educated and empathetic member of our politically correct society, I'm supposed to think women of all sizes are equally beautiful, women who wear certain items of clothing regardless of their size deserve "you go, girl!" approval and all attempts at au naturel from the neck-up are to be lauded for their refreshing this-is-me realness.
I'm not going near that first one (not today, anyway) and you know well my "earn it first" view on the second, which leaves me to opine on the seemingly ubiquitous-in-DC contagion I like to refer to as the "I think I don't need makeup" face.
Look at Chloë Sevigny above in her fancy green Balenciaga party dress at this year's Costume Institute Gala. Whether you favor or frown upon her frock is immaterial to the argument at hand, what matters is that we all agree this is indeed not a casual event, not a casual style selection and her casual barely-there makeup palette not only looks curiously out of place but in fact distracts from the glamour going on down below.
What a difference some sheer gloss, a thicker coat of mascara, a subtle swipe of under-eye concealer and a touch of peachy cheek stain would've made.
Now let's take a look at the other end of the spectrum.
Though I make a point not to pick on pregnant women, since Christina hasn't officially acknowledged her growing bump, I feel in the clear to use her - here, in all her painted-lady glory - as an example of how too much makeup, especially in a casual tank-top setting, has the same disconcerting, distracting effect as a naked face in tandem with a ball gown.
As much as Chloë and Christina's makeup mismatches bring a frustrated, "Why? Why would you do that?" furrow to my recently threaded brow, what I saw yesterday evening on my way home from work far surpassed either one in the WTF category.
It's a rare occasion when a woman in the NW corridor catches and holds my attention, but last night around 6:15, I found myself going out of my way to remain a few strides behind a beautifully sculpted female, the likes of which I had not seen in-person in many, many months. Tall and athletic with thick, chestnut Pantene-commercial hair, a perfect pop of ass and killer legs, this woman, from behind, was not just head-turning but rather the exact image conjured in my head each time I'm tempted to reach for the Edy's Slow-Churned instead of my running shoes.
Beyond her physique, however, there was even more over which to fawn, namely the just right drape of her light grey heather skirt suit over her hips and shoulders - two geographical locations women in this city hardly ever get right - and her simple, elegant black three-inch round-toed stiletto pumps. Clearly, I thought to myself, this was a woman who takes pride in earning her shape and goes to great pains to wear clothes to flatter the fruits of her WSC labors.
After walking five blocks out of my way and realizing, no thanks to the haunting lyrics and melody of "Wicked Game" that what I was doing might be considered, oh, I don't know, stalking, I decided I would at the next intersection shoot her a quick, I-like-what-you're-sellin' smile, turn left and head home.
But no sooner had Chris Isaak faded into Feist that I reached that next intersection, found myself shoulder-to-shoulder with my girl-crush and immediately felt my heart drop clear to the curb.
It's not that she was a butta face - quite the opposite - but despite her cute nose, sterling eyes and sun-kissed color, this otherwise polished, put-together, professional woman wasn't wearing a single stitch of makeup. And believe me when I say this spare approach was not in her best interest. An oily T-zone, deep, dark circles beneath her eyes, a patch of reddish acne on her chin and and another on her left jawline -- this woman looked like any and all of us do in the morning, but the difference was, she actually stepped out of her home without any attempt to cover up or blend away her very common, very easily minimized skin imperfections.
You'll never hear me chide a woman for the au naturel look on the weekends or after work (or on my friend E, who can truly pull off the just-woke-up look), but Monday through Friday, yeah, I think it's part and parcel of looking professional to even out your skintone and try to look as fresh and presentable as possible. Like I believe an ill-fitting or office-inappropriate ensemble detracts from your delivery in the board room, I also assert that an "I think I don't need makeup" face can be just as egregious - and just as avoidable - an offense.
So just as I advise you to engage in an honest self-evaluation of your body before you slip on that cute halter top ("Do I have the back for this?"), pair of short shorts ("Do I have the legs for this?") or strapless dress ("Do I have the shoulders and rack for this?"), I also encourage you to do the same with the reflection staring back at you in the mirror ("Do I have the kind of skin that doesn't need any help?").
"Think, Johanna, think -- what would Katie do?"
Slipping into vacant-eyed submission...
"What do you mean there was 'life' in my lifeless look? Really? Damn. Okay, onto Plan B."
"Channeling Audrey, channeling Audrey..."
(batting eyelashes)
Spellbound culotte by Elle Macpherson Intimates
Jersey flutter sleeve dress by Betsey Johnson ($185.50 at 
