"The best thing my mum ever did was not wear makeup."

I touched my first tube of lipstick on the day of my year 12 formal. It was handed to me by a friend who demonstrated its application with large swishing motions.

“You’re going to look great,” she said.

I ran the stick over my lips with the finesse of a texta-wielding toddler. I looked into the mirror and expected a doll to stare back. Instead, I saw a girl with lips like popped blisters.

I kissed tissues for the next twenty minutes.

There are a few ways our parents help us that we only later realise. Makeup was never mentioned or seen in our house. The only product that touched my face was a generous smooshing of sunblock.

The absence of powders, primers and even paw-paw meant I grew up believing women "looked nice" because, well, they were women.

Mum never wore it, dad never gifted it and I just assumed that pimples were impossible to hide so why bother trying. This carefree model taught me there was nothing unusual about a bare face - rather, it was anything else that was out of the ordinary.

I'm not trying to say makeup is some evil form of parenting but simply explain how its absence affected my perception of beauty.

Is choosing not to wear makeup now making a louder statement than when you do? Post continues after audio.

I always saw products as a form of disguise - a costume for the face. When I began using mascara in my late teens, it was with the same ceremonious application you'd save for painting the facial stripes of your Halloween tiger.

I missed the boat of stealing mum's "good stuff" for that important date.

I missed the boat of shoving eyeliner pencils into your pocket and leaving the chemist like a suspicious crab.

I missed the boat of smearing foundation from your forehead to your jaw-line.

I'm still lagging and I couldn't be more thankful.