On Cosmetics . . .

I can see a storm coming. The hour is on its way when World War III will begin. I will have on my wedding dress, my hair will be done, the shoes will be on, and someone, whether it's my mother, well, or what's more likely, my sister, or, what's even more likely, some random aunt (either of the adopted or inherited variety. . . very seriously suspecting an attack from the adopted one), will emerge with some paint and try to apply it to my face.

. . . and all heck will break loose . . .

Let's make sure we get one thing straight from the outset; I have not, in my time here at college, formed some wild, prudish, universal condemnation of cosmetics. I don't think such a condemnation would be reasonable in any way whatsoever. Even St. Thomas himself (please note the conspicious omission of St. Augustine . . . he and I have a more dubious relationship on moral matters), however it may be the case that he was writing for a different age with different customs (reading this article, Summa Theologiae, Secunda Secundae, Q 169, does make me think he would be hard pressed to approve of my blue jeans . . . ), argues that scripture condemned as sinful not all adornments but only those which were barbarically ostentatious and unbecoming to human dignity. Moreover, St. Thomas states very clearly that painting of the face, as a particular variety of adornment, may be done by a woman if her end is the pleasure of her husband, or if her way of life is such that it is fittingly directed towards that end in some way (say, if she is using cosmetics for the pleasure of some future husband). He also distinquishes frivolous use from using paint to cover blemishes or hide the effects of illness, which is more akin to covering what ought to be hidden. In short, there are legitimate uses for cosmetics according to St. Thomas, as long as it is always done with moderation, and if it is directed to it's proper end - that is, the pleasure of one's husband.

Now, it hardly seems justifiable for me to wear cosmetics on my wedding day if my betrothed has clearly stated a dislike for such things, as his pleasure would be the only end acceptable for the use of such means. That is enough of an argument for me right there. However, to give him a fair account, he thinks it disgraceful that he or anyone else should require me to in any way alter my features, which he deems beautiful of themselves. He claims that it only hides their elegance to touch them with foreign materials, and that it is me he likes to see. I have come to understand that this inclination of his is not from a prudish condemnation either, but from a deep sensitivity to my soul as the form of my body; he thinks of my beauty as an aspect of of my being, from the inside out. This preference of his, as it is so pure of intention and so very indicative of a rightly-ordered pleasure in my person as it naturally is, makes me extremely anxious to honor his preference.

The arguments which are presented against this are normally something along the line of etiquette - the demands of social custom regarding proper attire on special occasions which require certain practices for the sake of formality blah blah blah . . .

What I want to know is if any of these social demands - these perfunctory rules of 20th/21st century etiquette - should ever be more important to me than the known preferences of my future husband - for whom, on my wedding day, of all days, I ought to please with my appearance? If his preferences required me to wear an African head dress, I might be able to see some reason to at least debate the issue with him, as an African head dress seems . . . unbecoming to my little white dignity, if you will . . . Nevertheless, quite to the contrary, his preferences are aimed at nothing ostentatious, but they're more inclined towards natural beauty - he thinks cosmetic adornments unnecessary and even unsuitable to my face. Why would I place modern social dictum above his (very reasonable) tastes? Hmmmm?

So, ladies, bring on the compacts, and see if you can get them near me . . . I dare you - you just go ahead and try.