Today, apparently, is National No Make-up Day. Not in my house it isn't. Aside from the fact that my colleagues have done nothing to deserve the sight of me without my under-eye concealer, it is a ludicrous concept. You may as well have a National No Shoe-Wearing Day, or a National No Shouting on the Today Programme Day. Inconceivable, not to say inadvisable.

According to the organisers, we need it because we women are too dependent on make-up. Damn right we are - just as we're dependent on breathing. There is absolutely nothing wrong with giving Mother Nature's work a little touch-up now and then.

But no, it's for our own good, see. Time to throw off the mask, to let our skins breathe (not true, by the way: today's modern formulations don't clog up the skin), to be “more courageous in baring all”. Hmm. I've seen where this “baring all” gets us, and it's not pretty. How To Look Good Naked may make great TV, but in truth most people don't (look good naked, that is). There's a reason clothes were invented, and it wasn't just to keep the cold air out. Let's not apply the same misjudgment to our faces.

The British have always had an oddly puritanical attitude to make-up. Many women I know consider it somehow at odds with their feminist principles. Personally, I don't see it that way. Make-up gives me confidence, and confidence is good. Besides, many men claim that they prefer their partners without make-up - so you could argue that the wearing of it actually constitutes a small act of feminist rebellion.

Ultimately, however, it's all about how you wear it. A tacky gash of scarlet and Ashes to Ashes-style blue eyeshadow isn't going to fool anyone. Modern make-up, properly applied, looks neither tarty nor obvious. It's about looking yourself, only slightly less frazzled. And there's nothing wrong with that.

Wearing no make-up for once, HANNAH BETTS fails to get attention

My name is Hannah and I am a cosmetics addict. I have worn make-up every day since I was jailbait young, a not so fresh-faced 11. It started with Lolita lipgloss and continues, at just short of 37, with a routine that encompasses foundation, concealer, powder, eyeshadow, eyeliner, mascara, rouge and lip balm. Women tend to have a thing. Make-up is my thing. I don't do hair, nails, or particularly compelling outfits. However, I do reserve my right to go about with emerald eyelids.

We slap sporters are accused of vanity. Yet surely it is greater vanity to inflict one's unedited features upon the world? It is assumed that we are man-motivated. Yet chaps profess to despise cosmetics and are never happier than when informing me that I look more desirable without them. More- over, many's the time I have been chastised by weekend feminists who believe that I am letting down the sisterhood.

To all dissenting voices, I say: “This isn't about you.” Make-up is my public face and my private pleasure.

My day sans slap has an inauspicious start. The spectacle that confronts me in the mirror at 7am on Monday confirms my impression that not wearing make-up is for those who spend their weekends in the lotus position. I spent the weekend carousing, hitting the sack at 3am in the wake of a teary argument. My skin is greenish chalk, while my eyes have gone beyond the proverbial hole in the snow and are suggestive of domestic violence. And did I mention that I have my period? Cosmetics are the means by which I would wrest back control, only today all control is abandoned. I knock back three Nurofen, apply teabags to my lids, slather on my bodyweight in eye cream, and - that's it - unfinished face finished.

Four hours writing at my desk, and my features are becoming vaguely less Hammer House of Horror, but, still, as I prepare to leave the house, my virginal face propels me into crisis. Everything is thrown out by it: my clothes - too ballsy; my scent - too provocative; the rest of me - too bedraggled without a “done” focus as anchor. I look nondescript, characterless, bland. I am also ghoulish pale, reminiscent of those painful years before I discovered rouge, when schoolboys would follow me about humming The Addams Family theme. A neighbour mouths: “Poor you,” assuming lurgy.

I go for a working lunch at London's hottest venue, the Connaught, with three of the capital's most glamorous and imposing PRs. The consensus is that I look young, but not good young. “Kind of Dickensian, laudanum-addict young,” as Kate puts it. Curiously, the lower half of my hitherto blemish-free face is breaking out in boils. “It's the detox,” notes Paula. “Your skin can't have been exposed to the air for years.”

I sidle off to purchase a new phone. The pubescent who couldn't wait to get his clutches on my contract when I accosted him with full maquillage rebuffs me. But, then, I have the sweaty-palmed demeanour of a shoplifter, skulking about, refusing to meet anyone's gaze.

I pride myself on my ability to flirt with man, woman and child, but, by supper, all charm has escaped me. I fail to secure anyone's attention: the waiter's, fellow diners', even my own. My 25-year-old ally tells me that I look cooler, edgier than usual. A trip to the nightspot Bungalow 8 is aborted after I suffer an attack of the vapours.

Next morning, I have a power breakfast with a prominent editor, restored to my beloved ladyboy mode. I ask my date what she would have thought had I turned up naked faced. “But, why would anyone do that?” she demands. Why, indeed?

I can cheat and get away with it, says make-up novice CAMILLA CAVENDISH

When my commissioning editor asked me to do this piece, I was surprised. “But I do wear make-up,” I protested. “I wear mascara!” She raised one carefully crafted eyebrow. And I realised that my involvement in this project might be her friendly way of telling me that the look I have worn since my teens - a flick of the comb and a 30-second whirl with Lancôme Black/Brown - may no longer be as appealing and carefree as I like to think.

It's partly indolence, not wanting to spend time pondering the cosmetics racks in Boots. It's also that these racks are largely indecipherable to me. I missed out on the stage when other girls were learning about concealer and lip-liner. I was playing the piano seriously when I was 16, and my piano teacher used to brandish her scissors at the slightest hint of a fingernail, so I never made it into the world of nail polish and manicures either. I usually end up rubbing most of it off because it looks so vampish.

I do care how I look. It's just that I have always regarded make-up as cheating, somehow. It is only recently that I have begun to realise that many of the women I have admired as effortless beauties are actually dab hands with the bronzer. My own recent experiments with bronzer came to an end when a male colleague became concerned that I had a rash, because of the line where I had forgotten to blend it in.

So when the lovely Paul from Bobbi Brown rang my doorbell, I was determined to memorise every brushstroke. And boy, were there a lot. There was concealer and corrector and blusher, all in delectable little black pots. It took a long time. But it felt fabulous, being adored and adorned. As Danny positioned the lights and flashed the camera, and Nicky expertly tweaked my hair, I felt like a B-list goddess.

The first person to see me was my husband. He glanced in, laughed, tried to stifle the laugh and went off to an important meeting. The next was my three-year old. “Why have you painted your hair?” he asked, frowning. After several repetitions of this toddler non-sequitur, I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. But of course I couldn't cry. I felt I couldn't even blow my nose, in case I erased my face.

I liked the flushed cheeks and startling blue eyes of the creature in the mirror. But she did look as if she was trying a bit too hard. Everyone said how “natural” I looked. But my cheeks felt as though they were wearing stage make-up. My skin felt tickly.

On the other hand, it was a face that clearly deserved to be dressed up for. I found myself pulling on a much smarter jacket than normal, and some kitten heels that I hardly ever wear. Leaving the house, I braced myself for pitying stares. But apart from a few vaguely appreciative looks from builders, there was no reaction. Entering a smart restaurant in the West End, a waiter rushed to open the door for me. I was lunching with a business contact I see about twice a year. He said: “You look different, somehow. Is it your hair?”

It gradually dawned on me that what I thought of as war-paint was expertly subtle. At Broadcasting House, where I was doing an interview for a programme I am presenting on Radio 4, no one gave me a second glance. Ingrid, my producer, who has known me for two years, didn't bat an eyelid.

Later that day, I gave a talk to some people in the City. One financier came up to me afterwards. “You're a great-looking woman,” he said. “Did you ever think about TV? Your looks won't last for ever, you know. You should get on with it.” So thank you, Paul, for creating the delusion. It still feels like cheating. But if I can cheat and get away with it, why not?

THE MAKE-UP I COULDN'T LIVE WITHOUT

Beverley Knight

I don't wear it every day but I really enjoy putting on make-up. If I could use only one product, it would be mascara. My big eyes love it.

Joan Bakewell

I've been wearing make-up for 50 years now. I'd be bereft without my lipstick. I wear orangey-brown shades as I've got rather sallow skin. Make-up isn't hugely important to me but it's always a surprise how much difference it makes.

Susan Greenfield

I carry blusher - the very pale pink kind - with me wherever I go. It's the quickest thing to change how you look and really lightens my face.

Jane Seymour

No matter what I'm doing, I always wear mascara.

Katherine Whitehorn

Make-up for older women is one thing we have over the men - we don't go bald and we can avoid the awful pallor of age. A decent fake tan two or three times a week can stop you looking like a lump of lard hung up for the birds, and concealers deal with those odd brown bits that turn out not to be exploded coffee grounds after all.

Paula Radcliffe

The one piece of make-up I just can't do without is black Lancôme mascara.

Lady Antonia Fraser

I'm like Marie Antoinette - I wear make-up with great pleasure. I've been wearing my nice pink lipstick since I was 16. Back then it it was something by Rimmel called, I think, Pink Plumb Beautiful. If I'm at home writing I'll put on a little. I look depressing without it.

Sheherazade Goldsmith

I use black eyeliner inside both eyelids. I can't live without Becca Shimmering Skin Perfector in Pearl. It makes my skin glow.

Ann Widdecombe

Goodness me, there's no make-up I simply couldn't live without. When I'm working I wear foundation, lipstick and eye shadow. No mascara. But I couldn't tell you what make or even what colour they are.

One-minute make-up, according to Bobbi Brown

Step one: Apply moisturiser, eye cream and lip balm

Step two: Dip finger in concealer. Dab under eyes, in inner corners and on upper lids.

Step three: Cover any blemishes with Bobbi Brown Foundation Stick (£24)

Step four: Dip finger in cream blush and apply to cheeks and lips

Watch our make-up videos and learn how to apply spring trends and smoky eyes at timesonline.co.uk/beauty