A Farewell Letter To My Shattered Naked2 Palette


I remember when I first saw you. I was just finishing up a semester away at school, and my friend had been begging me to go to the mall with her after finals. I had noticed you before, just sitting there in the corner, but there were always other girls surrounding you, touching you, holding you. I would admire you from across the room – so close, yet so far away – before pushing myself to go on about my business. But there was something different about that day. I don’t know what it was exactly, but I finally mustered up the courage to walk over to you. You were cool and edgy and kind of out of my league, but I just had to have you.

So I did it. I finally bought you, and after that, we did everything together. You came with me to work, I wore you during class, and I was late to both on multiple occasions because of you. It’s not like it mattered, though. You were worth it. I made you look good and you made me look good. We had a relationship built on the perfect balance of give and take. You were with me through meeting boys and getting over them. You were with me from the beginning of every late night until its early morning end, when my head was likely either bent over a toilet bowl or some random’s lap. You saw everything I did – the bad and the good – and you stayed with me through it all.

But like all great romances, ours had its ups and its downs. There were several instances when I thought our time together was coming to an end. Remember that time I packed you in my carry-on so you wouldn’t shatter at the hands of some airport baggage attendant who was bound to just haphazardly sling you onto the luggage belt? TSA nearly kept you because, “they thought you were a harmful substance.” In all honesty, they probably just wanted to keep you for themselves. I can’t blame them. Remember when my makeup shelf fell one day while I was at work, and I came home to find you face down in the floor? I thought it was over, and that our time together had come to an end; but miraculously, you had survived. I promised you that I would never hurt you again. I’m so, so sorry.

Sometimes I cheated on you. Sometimes it’s even hard for me to look myself in the eye – especially when I happen to be wearing Tarte or Smashbox that day. I’m not proud of myself for the things that I’ve done, but you remained faithful, and were always there when I needed you.

We went through so much together. Even now, I can’t believe that you’re really gone. I can’t believe that I was there, that I saw it happen. That despite my promises and my love for you, it was ultimately me who shattered you. You didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve any of it. And now you’re gone forever, or until I can justify forking over $54 for eyeshadow again.

Just…thank you. Thank you for always being there when I needed you, for doing your job just so damn well, and for doing more for me than I could have ever done for you. Rest easy up there, Naked2. I hope to see you again one day.

Image via Instagram / Urban Decay Cosmetics

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My state gave you J. Law, Clooney, two-fifths of the Backstreet Boys, and multiple fifths of bourbon. The SEC is better, Beyoncé is my Jesus, and one time I wrote a cover letter using Brian McKnight lyrics. Psuedo-adult by day; PGP, TFM, and TSM contributor by night. Please don't ask me to do math.

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