A couple of months back, I devoted this column to the announcement that ‘selfie’ had been declared word of the year by the vocabulary police in Oxford.
Taking a photograph of one’s own chops (and then usually sharing it with the world via a collection of look-at-me platforms - Faceybook, Twitterville Crocodile-chat etc) had apparently become such an everyday occurrence, that it required marking in some official form. And so it was.
This week, a particular kind of selfie got the term back in the headlines after a campaign to strip women of their daily war paint while raising money for, and awareness of, a horrible disease raised bucketsful of cash.
If you’ve got a Faceybook account, it’s likely that this week you’ve had the pleasure of seeing a procession of your online female friends demonstrating the facial equivalent of an unplugged music set - Mum’s words, not mine.
In order to show their support for those suffering from the nasty illness which meant I never got to meet my Grandy, ladies of all ages have been showing the world what they look like at the point between washing their faces and putting the contents of their make up bags to their intended use.
And what a bunch of fresh-faced lovelies they’ve looked.
I have to say though, that it’s all been a bit confusing for me. I go out into the world each and every day with nothing on my cheeks but the rosebud consistency which came built in... but no-one ever offers to sponsor me.
So, at what point do us girls decide that it’s time for make up to become part of our everyday style routine? Should I expect to wake up one morning, look in the mirror and suddenly decide that whatever nature was kind enough to give me is no longer cutting the mustard?
Of course, as things stand, I can’t imagine that ever being the case (I refer you to my au naturel selfie on the right), but I’ve seen few enough examples of grown up ladies who are happy in their own skin, to be realistic about my future cosmetic needs.
I reckon I’ve got a few years in me yet though, so back to those girls who have dared to bare.
Their collective efforts have raised more than £1m for charities who help people with breast cancer as well as reminding everyone - boys included by the way - to regularly check for lumps, bumps or any other oddities in the area which joins your armpits together. So a big bravo to all involved... and a boo hiss to my Mum who has so far refused to take part.
As well as citing the fact that her freckly mush has not been seen unmasked since her 13th birthday party, she also reckons that such is the tone of her unaided pallor, there is a real possibility that the posting of a bare-faced selfie will result in undue strain on the local ambulance service thanks to concerned friends calling 999.
In her defence, I can confirm that she has donated the requisite £3 three times to make up for her lack of contribution to the #nomakeupselfie trend... and she does look a bit of a fright before the foundation kicks in.
Nevertheless, I am today pledging the contents of my confusingly-christened teddy bear piggy bank to Breast Cancer Care if Mum gets her beyond-the-pale freckles out before Mother’s Day. In addition, if Daddy wants to follow in Uncle Shauna’s high-heeled footsteps (see left) and produce a #makeupselfie for the cause, Big Bro Fred says he’ll throw in the contents of his piggy bank proper as well.
I’ll let you know how they get on next week.