Paying homage to the most iconic moments in beauty and the women who created them

Go, on say it. I know what you’re thinking. The bronzed, sun-gilded all American-girl (her name of course, is Farrah Fawcett) that you see below is not exactly an identical replica to the look in which I’ve attempted on myself this week. In fact, she’s worlds apart. Why? Two things: on closer inspection of just how Farrah managed to achieve her trademark bronzed chestnut skin, I realised quickly that quite a lot of it was actually sun damage. From plain old sunbathing. It was the 70s. Everyone had sun damage. In fact, everything thought basting their face in oil and then directing it at the summer sky for an entire afternoon was fundamentally, scientifically good for them. Forget the new-fangled theories, we now know it’s not. 

Secondly, I am incapable of tanning. I last had a tan (I think it was a tan) in 1997 and I think that must have been something to do with teenage hormones as it’s not happened since. And so, it’s an unavoidable truth that I look ridiculous with one, especially one manufactured by make-up. But still – it’s Farrah. She’s an icon. Her face here is the ultimate embodiment of wholesome, American purity. A visual reminder of a more innocent time on planet earth, hazy days spent outdoors, climbing things. 

Everyone talks about her hair, and that’s good too, but she’s got the sort of face that’s impossible for teenage boys not to fancy. Just the right side of naughty but also innocent and athletic enough for her not to be considered threatening or too wisened. So, rather than attempt a make-up look lifted directly from the sun-worshipping glow of a 70s Farrah, I drew inspiration from her athletic, sporty complexion instead. It’s a complexion that puts forth the idea of softball games, varsity jackets and chasing boys who had great cars. 

Hers is an accidental beauty that is actually pretty torturous for a demonstrably pale girl to achieve. First, I added a subtle sheen to the very tops of my cheeks, just under the eyes to catch the light. Then, I gave myself the gift of cheekbones by way of a cream bronzer daubed in straight Grace Jones lines across the underside of my cheeks. 

Bronzing powder can so easily be mistaken for dirt on my face, so it’s important to get one that mimics the tone of skin, mine leans towards cool, so I used a cool-ish toned bronzer, YSL's Terre Saharienne, £34, which gratefully, didn’t have even a single speck of glitter baked into it. Glitter on the face – not the eyelid, the face - is the make-up equivalent of wearing leg warmers. Completely, unremittingly, wrong. Farrah was youthful, playful, until the very end. But she was far too cool for glitter.