‘Would going make-up free empower me?’ ponders our columnist Kathy Lette

Think about it, how often do you go out without your ‘face’ on or ‘zhuzhing’ up your hair? Many of my girlfriends have taken anxiety about their looks to extremes, but I’m not one for cosmetic surgery. My mother told me never to pick my nose, especially from a catalogue.

Seriously, the only plastic surgery a woman should experience is cutting up the credit card she was going to use to pay for that painful facelift. Same goes for injectables. Ironically, the very same friends who inject chemicals into their faces also eschew carbs and sugar because their ‘bodies are their temples’.

But who am I to judge? Ageing is to women what kryptonite is to Superman. Show me a woman who is happy with her age and I’ll show you the electroconvulsive therapy scorch marks. Manners maketh the man, but make-up maketh the woman. This mantra is so ingrained in the female psyche that I have not gone out in public without lipstick and eyeliner since hitting my teens. Have you?

When Pamela Anderson appeared with a nude face at the Golden Globes, I recalled her make-up-free appearance at Paris Fashion Week in 2023 – the fashionistas were flabbergasted. How brave, they cried! But surely ‘brave’ is running into a burning building to save an orphan; not forgoing foundation.

Pamela’s bare-faced cheek inspired me. As a feminist, shouldn’t I also embrace this make-up-free approach as totally empowering? After all, looks are a diminishing asset. Surely it’s better to be witty than pretty.

It’s society that needs the makeover, I told my partner as I slipped into a sparkling frock and heels, then headed off to a party, totally minus make-up. Let the world take me as I am!

But the reaction from my friends was not so positive. Was I ill? Had there been a death in the family? One pal didn’t even recognise me. Shocked, I locked myself in the bathroom and took a good, long, objective look at my reflection.

Did I feel a surge of feminist pride? Um, no. I did not. Truth is, I looked so plain, so washed out, so, well, ugly without make-up that I needed to get my mirrors insured. If I’d posted a selfie, Instagram would have crashed. Out shopping, I’d have shortcircuited the surveillance cameras. Any minute now I’d be offered a job sniffing luggage at airports.

The worst thing about ‘appearances’ is that they are deceptive; inside I’m 34-year-old Margot Robbie. Outside, I need all the help I can get! Mother Nature is not that kind to women (think childbirth, mastitis, period cramps, the menopause), so there’s nothing unfeminist about lending her a helping, manicured, hand.

After trowelling on my hostess’ foundation, lashings of eyeliner and lippy, I re-entered the party to a warm welcome. The truth about beauty is that it’s one of the most natural and lovely things – that money can buy.