A commitment to IMperfection…

Being a beauty editor, my job pretty much relies on perfection – my ability to deconstruct a flawless face, maintain an immaculate manicure and cinch an impeccable do. It helps then, that I’m a perfectionist. So much so, that I’ve been known to re-do the same hairstyle a dozen times, usually at the expense of arriving late for appointments.

But striving for perfection can be an exhausting battle, particularly on your nearest and dearest, who are regularly unwilling victims of your impossible standards.

My dedication to maintaining a perfectly organized house and keeping my hair, heels and makeup perfectly intact after a grueling day at work to greet my husband is a quest fraught with difficulty. Fighting off my every urge to fling my heels in the air and unleash my inner slob is a constant battle – one which results in great stress and nonsensical unprovoked outbursts like: “How DARE you leave a shirt turned the wrong way out inside the dirty clothes basket!!” and “Who do you think you ARE leaving crumbs on my glistening benchtop?!!!?”

Recently, my husband went away on a camping trip (most likely to salvage his remaining sanity) and I was left alone in the house for the weekend – no one home to check in on my perfection. And so I let it hang out. Oh boy did I let it all hang out. I emancipated my inner slob and she was a beautiful mess. Being couch-ridden in my own filth should have stirred great anxiety in me, but instead it was quite the opposite – it was a catharsis. I didn’t care if I was imperfect because there was no one there to see it and the opportunity to relax and embrace my own flaws felt incredible.

When I recounted this experience to my husband some days later in a decidedly more perfected state, he proposed me a challenge: that I allow myself to be completely imperfect for an entire week. Racoon eyes, birds-nest hair, food-stained tracky-dacks and a kitchen filled with precariously stacked piles of dirty plates. I would not be allowed to fix my hair or makeup to go to the shop, nor would I be able to clean and polish the house to its usual gleam. If someone were to spring a visit on me, I would have to accept the state of the house – and myself. Could I do it for seven days in full public view?

Read on next week to find out…