Please Don't Ask Me to Wear Lipstick Again

I have never been a fan of lipstick.

I might be the only one letting out a secret sigh of relief that when I am out and about, I have my face mask on tight. I am happily wearing a face mask to protect myself and others. But who knew that a simple piece of cloth would be the one thing to free me from my complicated relationship with makeup? I no longer must pretend to like lipstick. 

Growing up, my mother never wore makeup. Her beauty regimen consisted of a tub of Ponds cream sitting on her dresser. Next to a bottle of Estée Lauder Pleasures perfume, her jewelry box, and a handful of scrunchies and black hair ties. My mother never wore eyeshadow, mascara, and blush; she didn’t own any brushes, or a makeup kit. She had amazing skin, never suffered from a pimple, and never had to wax anything off her face ever... It would seem that I had inherited all of my father’s genes.

On occasion, when we headed out to temple for a holiday, or to the local Chinese restaurant to celebrate Mother’s Day or Father’s Day, she would pull out that single lipstick from a drawer, dab some lipstick on my lips and then hers, and then spray, spray, spray, enveloping both of us in a small Pleasures tornado which would follow us into the car as we drove away.

That was the extent of my relationship with lipstick. She would pop out of the drawer a few times a year when my mother invited her to join us. Generally, an hour after being on my lips, most of the red color would end up on an egg roll instead. 

Almost two decades later, I inevitably would end up hopping from one cosmetics counter to another with girlfriends on a summer Friday being coerced into buying three shades of lipstick I would never wear. I would walk out with the MAC Ruby Woo Red that the beauty consultant convinced me would look amazing on my skin tone...and the Estée Lauder Tumultuous Pink which would be great for a daytime look...and a Charlotte Tilbury Birkin Brown, which would be a fantastic pairing with a “bold eye.” (One time I recall having to look up what a bold eye actually meant on Youtube.)

Later, the red would end up buried in a winter coat pocket. The pink in a clutch bag I only took out with me for work events. And the brown, well buried deep in a canvas bag floating around with lollipops, granola bars, fruit snacks, and other lifesaving snacks to prevent kid meltdowns.

I also tried to make a concerted effort to invite the cousins of the lipstick into my life. Lip liners instead of the lipstick, which made my lips chalky and dry. Lip glosses that would always somehow manage to ooze all over my bag. Tinted lip balms where the tint never showed up on my dark brown lips. So I always felt safer with the less popular, less beloved, and less flashy cousin: my reliable Chapstick. (Well almost reliable; until it rolled under the couch and disappeared into darkness.)

My relationship with makeup had always felt forced. It was like that friend I was friends with because everyone else was friends with her. Just give her one more chance, my friends would plead. She’s such a great person once you get to know her. Even though she and I had nothing to talk about. The only thing we had in common was our other friends.

And I always got this strange sense that makeup, well, she never liked me much anyway. I can’t blame her; I never took the time to nurture our relationship. I never had good brushes; I never blended well; I never owned an eyelash curler. On the occasion I would wear makeup, I would wake up the next morning to my pillowcase smeared with a rainbow mix of blush, mascara, and eyeshadow. 

When I started my career in corporate America, I felt the need to fit in, accommodate, and be what I thought others wanted me to be. This meant cramming my feet into 3-inch heels. This meant cutting off my long braid which was well past my hips. This meant forcing myself to try, just try, make an effort to wear some, a little bit, of lipstick. 

Before a work presentation, I would think, “Maybe this lipstick could be my secret weapon and help build my confidence?” I would rummage into the depths of my Nine West bag, finding that one lipstick I hadn’t lost, brushing off the lint, and twisting off the cap. It was always sort of melted, and yet it still worked. 

And before a work presentation, I could always count on one of my work wife-partners-girlfriends to quickly grab me before I got up to present and whisper quickly what I thought would have been sage advice on how leadership might react to my recommendation:

“You have lipstick on your teeth,” they would whisper, frantically making the “you have lipstick on your teeth” universal gesture.

I suppose putting on lipstick is an art form I never mastered—like riding a bike, making the perfect hard-boiled egg, or learning how to sew on a button. No amount of pouting, rubbing my lips, tissues, Q-tips, lip brushes, or other tips could help. No one could teach me how to properly put on and keep on lipstick. I was (and am) unteachable.

In my wedding photos, I can still see that smudge of red lipstick in the corner against my sparkling white teeth. In a recent headshot photo from earlier this year; all I can see are my lips stained like I was drinking Tropical Punch Kool-Aid. In my son’s birthday party photos, I spot the nude lip gloss that seems to have rolled off my lip to make its way down my chin.

I did envy the woman who would so effortlessly twist off the lipstick cap on that Manhattan sidewalk, quickly swiping her lips with some fantastic bold color, and then dropping the lipstick back in her oversized bag like it was nothing. Then she would click-clack off in towering heels to her next destination. Now, the envy has simply melted away in the waning summer heat.  I am relieved to be hiding my cracked, dry lips slathered with Chapstick under my face mask. The face mask will save and revolutionize our lives. This simple piece of cloth will also revolutionize my beauty routine.

Face masks might have killed off the Lipstick Index—unless clear masks take off.  So maybe we go with the mascara index? Doesn’t quite have the same ring. That might mean I now need to invest in an eyelash curler...and just when I properly learned to apply blush as an adult, there won’t be a blush index anytime soon.

Earrings? Eyeshadow? Hairbands, hair clips, and other hair accessories index? A hat? Sunglasses? What won’t a face mask cover that could be as essential as lipstick?

I propose the nail polish index. I know my mother would approve. Even to this day, she always has her toenails painted. Because in our house, well, we may have left the house with bare lips but we never left the house with bare toes.