My biggest summer beauty tip is simple: stay naked for as long as possible. I’m not making any sort of metaphor for vulnerability or overexposure; I mean shirt off, ass out. (You can throw underwear on, as a treat.) I say this as a person who has decades of naked summer experience. When I was 22 I moved to DC for my first full-time job… and have you ever sat on a hot school bus seat? Where in a matter of seconds a constellation of sweat beads takes root on your thighs, and the pleather seat clings like static as you shift your weight? Sticky, wet, unpleasant: that’s what a DC summer feels like. My third-floor apartment was outfitted with two window air conditioner units that sputtered out just enough of a breeze to make the immediate surrounding area moderately tolerable. But there wasn’t any room for an air conditioner in the bathroom, and no matter how short a shower or quick a face wash, I always left for work sticky with sweat.
So I just stopped wearing clothes until the last possible moment before heading out. Getting ready in the buff enacted a kind of snowball effect that could dramatically improve my day. I was less inclined to speed-walk the 15 minutes from my apartment to the metro station, and it was easier to keep my hair and makeup the way I wanted, which meant no more fussing in the bathroom right after I walked through the office door.
I made modifications as needed. If I was in the mood for the specific torture of a blowout, then I’d place a little fan in the bathroom to make it easier. When my family came to visit (which was often), I’d get dressed in a robe. It’s the same thing I’ve been doing these days: here I am, not going anywhere, typing in this light-as-air variation (my exact robe is sold out, but it’s from this brand and I highly recommend waiting for a sale like I did). I wake up, wash my face, brush my teeth in the buff, and then toss on said robe. When I take a shower midday, I remain in my towel until Zoom, my new overlord, beckons me to another meeting. And even then I’ll just wear a shirt over my robe for only as long as the meeting lasts. Because naked bathroom season is upon us and it’s already painfully hot. And I am certain to sweat. And the best recourse is to wear the absolute bare minimum, or better yet: just bare.
Photo via ITG