Marian V. Liautaud writes in an article titled "The Skin I'm In”:

One morning as I got ready for work, my husband watched me put on blush and eyeliner. I always get nervous when he hovers like this. Dan's a purist; he thinks I'm prettier without make-up. Later that night, he asked me why I wear it.

"I like wearing make-up because I feel more finished—more put together—when I have on blush and mascara," I explained.

"What do you think would happen if you didn't look put together?" he probed.

"People at work might view me as unprofessional."

Still not satisfied, he asked, "What do you think would happen if they viewed you as unprofessional? Do you think you could lose your job?"

"No, probably not lose my job, but I might miss out on opportunities because I'd go unnoticed."

"Oh, so make-up helps you get noticed."

"I don't wear make-up to get noticed," I rebutted a little more defensively than I'd intended. "It helps me look better, and when I feel like I look the best I can, I have more confidence, which in turn leads to more opportunities." I was getting tired of his questions—and uncomfortable. Still, he persisted.

"Oh, so making yourself look different from what you are gives you confidence." As Dan tried to understand the psychology behind wearing make-up, his questions became needles that poked holes through my logic. Exasperated, I ended our conversation by saying, "I'm annoyed by your questions, but they're making me realize that I don't have this issue sorted out in my mind. I'm going to take our conversation to heart and try to figure this out."

The next day I embarked on a 30-day experiment. Without telling a soul, I committed to wearing no make-up to see what kind of reaction I'd receive from the people in my life. I was sure coworkers would look at me and either judge my unfinished appearance with disapproval—maybe even disgust—or they'd ask me if I was feeling sick.

The first week was the hardest. I avoided making eye contact with people. Every time I saw myself in a mirror, I instinctively reacted with disgust. "You're ugly," I said disgustedly to myself on more than one occasion. I felt so unattractive.

To make up for my insecurity, I decided to go on the offensive. I started to concentrate on smiling as much as I could and initiating conversations with people so I could learn more about them as a way of taking the focus off of me. I desperately wanted to get comfortable in my own skin. But how could I when I felt so ugly?

Somewhere during week two, I began to realize that how I look has nothing to do with me. I had nothing to say in the matter. At conception, God knit me together, weaving the DNA from my mom and dad into a little girl with brown hair and blue eyes. My chin comes from my grandma, unchiseled and prone to doubling, and my nose might be a bit too big for my face. At what point had I started to judge these facts as good or bad? Who convinced me that my looks make me less than enough? And why had I allowed this faulty thinking to continue for most of my life?

At that moment, I decided to stop judging my looks as good or bad and instead begin to accept myself as I am. I'd view my physical appearance neutrally and without judgment. Beauty would become a moot point for me because it had been determined by God. He didn't request my input on how to design me, so I needed to trust that what I look like is as it should be. There's nothing to improve upon. However I look, it is enough.

After my 30-day boycott on make-up, I began sharing my experience with a few close friends. The thought of leaving off lipstick had never occurred to them. Every one of them said they wear make-up because it's fun, it makes them feel feminine, and they feel prettier with make-up than without. I understand all these responses fully and agree wholeheartedly. At the same time, I've experienced such freedom in not wearing make-up, mainly because I feel released from the struggle to be pretty.