Christopher Hopkins - Staging Your Comeback: A Complete Beauty Revival for Women Over 45

I Was raised by a glamorous mother. Each morning Id watch intently as she created her look. It was methodical, artistic, and ceremonial. Not a day went by without this ritual, and not a day went by when she wasnt stunning.

As she leaned over the vanity in our 1960s suburban home, the process began with the opening of a small glass bottle. Contained inside was a flesh-colored fluid, which she meticulously applied with her fingers over her entire face.

Each morning Id watch intently as she created her cook.

Its very important to blend it into the hairline, shed say.

Next came pressed powder: Coty Airspun. It had a distinct smell that whispered Mother, and she applied it vigorously, sealing her entire face. With her eyes shut she was featureless, like a Styrofoam wig stand. Then, out of a little floral makeup bag that rattled and clicked with possibility came her trademark: Maybelline black eyeliner. With a deft hand she surrounded the entire eye like Catwoman complete with wings.

See how this lifts the eye?

Her brows were created, then her eyelids were contoured with artfully placed colorsometimes green, sometimes brown.

I have wide-set eyes, and this helps draw them in.

As each tool was pulled from the magic bag, nothing held my interest like the eye cage. With skill and precision, she pinched and pointed her lashes upward, against their will, with a contraption that opened her eyes. Mascara was applied, brows were penciled, and blush was dusted. When it came to her lips, however, her tone grew serious.

I have an ugly mouth. You dont want to draw attention to an ugly mouth.

Finally, from the enchanted bag of hope, a tube was drawn that contained a frosted coral cream. With a twist the cream was exposed and skillfully applied, reshaping her lips. Blot. Powder. Reapply.

I knew the makeup ceremony had concluded when I saw a single-toilet paper square stained like a tiny watercolor painting, with perfectly shaped lip printsthe same prints that for many years would seal the note next to two Xs and two Os in my school lunch box.

Once a week, right after the makeup ceremony, I would watch with amazement the mane event. After unrolling her long coffee-brown hair from green and blue brush rollers, she would vigorously brush it into a black waterfall of waves. Although I thought it was beautiful like that, she wanted it in place and done for the week.

Once its done I dont want to mess with it.

To ensure this, she would then mercilessly tease it (I like metal combs, they work best), creating an explosion of frizz like a troll doll on steroids. This massive expanse of fibers was then shellacked with Aqua Net and coaxed with a boar bristle brush into a large ball that was bound into a ponytail at her nape. The tail was again teased, then sculpted into a second ball, which was brushed upward and attached to the first with hairpins. At last the completed architectural masterpiece was irrevocably sealed with a final coating of hair spray and securely smoothed with her hands. After applying perfume, powder, nail polish, and earrings, she was then ready to clean the house, rake the yard, do the laundry, and go to work.