DAY 2 : time to test this stuff out in public. I stow a tin of Jane Iredale’s HE (everything is manlier with a slash through it) bronzer ($45) in my bag and head to the gym. The folks behind HE also gave me a facial brush (another $34) that looks like the ones you use to put on fancy shaving cream. After working out (GRRR SO MUCH HARD WORK FOR A MAN GRRR), I go to the locker room and, making sure other people can see me, take out the bronzer in front of a nearby mirror. I powder my face. The brush is delightfully soft, like a tiny puppy is doing somersaults on my cheeks. An old dude walks behind me toward the shower and doesn’t flinch. Did he not notice? Or did he notice but actively tried to look like he wasn’t noticing?

I get in the car to pick up my son from nursery school, and the smell hits me. One of the other reasons I’ve never considered makeup an appealing option is because makeup, in general, smells terrible. If you’ve ever had the misfortune of opening a woman’s makeup bag, you know that it smells like a dead actor. These companies will make a mint the day they find a way to slap odorless on the label. Here in the car, I can smell the powder on my face. I can feel bits of makeup dust wafting up through my nose, like someone clapped a pair of chalkboard erasers in front of me. I feel like I’m gonna gag, so I open the windows.

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DAY 3 : I’ve been using this makeup for a few days, and already I have a much greater appreciation for what women do every day just to make themselves look "presentable." Look at any stars without makeup spread in Us Weekly and you’ll find that we are a culture that demands women put on their best face at all times and that they should be ridiculed for daring to step outside looking like themselves. Men, by contrast, can be filthy and get away with it. At least we used to be able to. I don’t know if I want the same hang-ups that we’ve already foisted upon all those poor women. It’s one of the perks of manhood: You get to be a disgusting pig.

I put on some Evolution Man bronzing moisturizer ($34), which I end up liking a lot, but then I stupidly wipe my hands on a nearby towel. I did not know that makeup can stain, and stain deeply. The towel now looks like an avant-garde fecal-art installation. But my face looks all right! I come downstairs and again offer myself to my wife for appraisal. After minutes of staring, I get the final judgment.

"You look good! You can’t tell!" Then she becomes concerned. "Maybe you used too light a hand."

I need to put on more? Let’s not go nuts. We have only so many towels.

"I think you like it!" she says.

What? Me? Never.

Of course I like it. That’s the problem. The fear of liking makeup is probably what keeps many men from ever trying it. Makeup conglomerates are doing everything they can to get men past the stupidly inevitable gay panic associated with using these products. You can practically hear them screaming, "Don’t be afraid! It’s not gay!" But even in 2014, this is an uphill battle, which is why companies promise that you will look "healthier" or add a "bit of color" but never outright say you will look prettier, because many men still silently associate prettiness with weakness. (Probst even goes so far as to call her products "urban camouflage.") And men pride themselves on not being fussy. I wish I could tell you I am more enlightened than that, but I have yet to purge the caveman from my soul entirely. Maybe more bronzer will do the trick.