I haven't worn make-up since my wedding, and my husband loves me
The words of Leandra Medine—“I haven’t worn make-up since my wedding, and my husband loves me a lot.”—resound with a purity that cuts through the vanities of the world. In them lies a truth both gentle and profound: that love, when true, does not require adornment. The wedding, often the day of greatest embellishment, becomes here the last occasion for such decoration, for beyond it stretches a love unbound by appearances, a devotion rooted not in paint or powder but in the soul itself.
The absence of make-up is not merely a matter of cosmetics, but a rejection of illusion. It is the courage to present the self as it is, unmasked, unvarnished, and real. To be so received and still deeply cherished is to know the rarest kind of acceptance. Medine’s words remind us that beauty, when it is demanded, is fleeting; but when it is seen in truth, it becomes eternal.
History offers us the tale of Antony and Cleopatra, where the Egyptian queen was famed for her adornments, her perfumes, her dazzling displays of artifice. Yet it was not these alone that bound Antony to her, but the force of her spirit, her wit, her presence. If artifice can charm, it is the unadorned self that truly endures. Thus, Medine’s freedom from make-up is not a loss of beauty but a deeper triumph of authenticity.
Her mention that “my husband loves me a lot” is no idle phrase. It proclaims that true affection is not diminished by the lack of adornment—it grows stronger. In a world where many fear to be seen plainly, here is proof that love thrives in honesty. For what greater joy can there be than to be known fully and loved still?
Therefore, O listener, learn this wisdom: let not your worth be tied to powders, silks, or fleeting ornaments. The wedding day may demand them as symbols of festivity, but beyond that day, what sustains a union is not the face painted for the world, but the heart bared for the beloved. In love that does not require disguise, one finds the highest form of freedom, and the truest form of beauty.
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