My Real Thoughts While Getting Ready In The Morning

My morning routine is not short. I always get strange looks when I tell people that if I have somewhere to be before noon, I always wake up at least three hours before I need to leave. This tick of mine was especially annoying when I was leaving for classes at 7:30 to make it to my 8AM classes on time. Do I use every single second of my three hours wisely? No, which is precisely why I need three hours because I spend a majority of it procrastinating the actual process of getting ready for wherever I have to be going.


After I finally get myself out of bed (which can take anywhere between ten to thirty minutes depending on the amount of of lazy I'm feeling), the first thing that must be done is taming my eyebrows. I tend to pluck the stray hairs daily, but since I'm also super Italian, I also get to do the honor of plucking those lovely little chin hairs that like to pop up out of the blue and ruin my morning by adding an extra step to my morning routine. There's already like, one thousand of them. This extra step just makes me angry that I'm Italian without reaping the benefits of olive skin and the taste buds of someone who actually likes the taste of cheese and sauce. Typically, I'm just cursing my genetics during this step.

There are some days where I think "Screw the patriarchy! Who am I plucking these hairs for!" and then a few minutes later I continue because I remember that they get itchy sometimes and that I think they're annoying and if I want them gone, then I should probably just remove them myself. Then I think that I should just get laser hair removal and end it once and for all, but then that takes time and I've heard the lasers are painful so perhaps plucking them daily won't be so bad after all.

After I finally tame the pesky hairs that lurk on my face, it's time to wash my face. Generally, I'm thinking "HOW DO I STILL HAVE ACNE SEVEN YEARS LATER, HAVEN'T I PAID MY DUES?!" And then I proceed to dive into my skincare routine, grumbling through washing my face, using a toner and moisturizing the heck out of my occasionally dry skin. Sometimes I wonder when I'll finally be free of the grasps of adolescence and acne because I'm a twenty-one year old fauxdult and I deserve to have clear skin and not waste half of my income on foundation and concealers because I have to use six million pounds on my faec to cover up those red spots.

Once I leave the bathroom and get back to my room and sit down, I realize that I haven't dampened my Real Techniques beauty sponge and I swear at myself and grab it before marching back into the bathroom just to dampen the darn thing. Sometimes I consider using it dry and then I remember how horrible of an idea that is and continue on with my morning, drying off all of the excess water from the sponge.

Once I start my foundation, the first step in my makeup routine, it's all over. There is no controlling the stream of consciousness that happens during my makeup routine. Sometimes, if I'm watching beauty videos, I wonder what it would be like to be a Youtuber. I think, "Hey, I can do this!" and then I promptly mess up something simple on my face and decide that perhaps it's not the career path for me. Sometimes I think about Harry Styles and what our wedding would be like and if we would have one wedding in the United States and another in England just to ensure that everyone that we would want to attend could attend. And also, hello, two wedding dresses? I'm totally in. Then I divulge into fantasies about me living in New York in an apartment that's still tiny, but hey, at least it has a washer and dryer and a doorman. Like sure, the radiator shakes and there are people screaming on the street in the middle of the night, but like, washer and dryer. Then I get sad that such a small thing is my New York fantasy and before I know it my makeup is on.

By this time, I normally have two choices: hair in a bun or styling my hair. I normally glance down at the clock and realize that I've somehow only managed to give myself enough time to finish my blog post for the day and eat breakfast so I decide that maybe it's not so bad to not brush my hair and wear it up in a bun for the sixtieth day in a row to work. Nobody knows what my hair actually looks like. People ask if I've dyed it or cut it on a bi-weekly basis, whenever I'm brave (read: not incredibly lazy) and wear it down. I tell them that it looks different on various days, but in truth, it's probably because they're so used to seeing me with my dirty hair tied back into a bun. No shame.

Then I spend my last ten minutes before I have to leave rushing around my room, trying to find an outfit while also putting my contacts in without ruining my eyeliner. I always curl my eyelashes wrong and mess up my eyeliner and have to fix that and then I get mascara all over my foundation that I spent six million years perfecting and end up leaving five minutes late. I accept that I have to sprint to my car every morning to make it to work on time. It happens.

What are your mornings like when you have to get out of the house?