I don't remember ever learning how to put on makeup. I have one memory of playing dress up with my teenage girlfriends. We got decked out in wacky 80's glam rock outfits, hair sprayed our dos into mohawks, and dolled up our faces with a box of cheap Wet 'N Wild lipstick and eye shadow. Then we did a [sexy] photo shoot by the spiral staircase in the hallway outside my bedroom. It was ridiculous. Other than that, I have no makeup memories from my childhood.
I went to an earthy, liberal arts college in Portland during the grudge years, so I had absolutely no run-ins with makeup in the 90's. I don't think I even owned anything other than a tube of Cover Girl mascara in those days.
By the 2000's, I'd finally shaved my legs, cut and died by hair, used sculpting mousse for the first time, and discovered sex with boys from bars. Oh, and I started wearing makeup. It was only a little - accents mostly. A little eye liner. A little mascara. Maybe if I was feeling really flirty I'd use some blush and sparkle my chest with glitter. But I definitely never used foundation and wore lipstick only on very, very special occasions (like Halloween).
These days, I think of my glasses as my makeup. They have a little sparkle and they accentuate my eyes. That's what makeup is supposed to do, right? Possibly, but glasses, mascara, and eye shadow only deal with the upper half of my face. The lower half, the part that does all the talking and makes those cute smiles, is just left hanging out there, neglected. I hadn't really taken that in all the way until a month or so ago when I got a little perspective from my two year old niece.
She was rummaging through my purse one Saturday afternoon and found an old MAC lipstick buried at the bottom. It was a luxury I'd splurged on almost four years prior, for my sister's wedding. I couldn't remember the last time I'd actually worn it.
"Wat dis?" She grinned at me with excitement about the treasure.
"Oh, that's lipstick" I smiled back.
"Wat for? Wat dis?" Her anticipation was palpable.
"Oooh kay. It's lipstick. Here, see." I pulled the top off and twisted up the deep maroon stick of color.
"AH!" She squealed with delight.
"See. You put it on your lips, like this." I pursed my pale, chapped lips and glided on the pigment.
"Me too. Me too." She grabbed for the stick and awkwardly jammed the color into her chin, moving it across her teeth, through the snot on her upper lip, and up to her nose.
"Oh, wait. Hold on." I grabbed a tissue. "Let me help."
I wiped down the mess she'd made with her still-developing hand eye coordination, and reapplied the lipstick closer to her actual lips, thinking to myself, This is going in the trash. I don't need that snot anywhere near my mouth. I pulled out my pocket mirror and showed her the fine artistry.
"Listik!" She pointed to my lips and beamed with delight.
The following week, I went to the MAC counter at Nordstrom to replace my fancy lipstick. I've been wearing it ever since, beaming on the inside. Maybe that's why I've been noticed...
