Warpaint

Normally, when I get up in the morning, with a deep contempt for the mere thought of awaking at 5 AM, my morning "beauty" ritual consists of washing my face, taming my coif from "medusa" to "don't give a f-ck" and slap on pants of some variety which (sort of) match with blouse of some variety.  If I can find a pair of argyle trouser socks to garishly pair with pinstripe slacks, then that is pure gravy on my "I lost the will to give a s--t about these things" motif.  As a person, I waiver from bouts of mental androgyny to random outbursts of crying during romantic period pieces.*  As such, I am not always the best versed in the ways of beauty.  I grew up with three brothers, and, I assure you, none gave a s--t about lipstick.


However, the fact of the matter is, as a woman in my thirties desperately seeking a long overdue change of job title and transcendence into a coveted middle-office job, it's sometimes a necessity for me to cover up my natural flaws in order to look professional.  Most days, it's all about my natural face.  And, if I could, I would wear blue jeans to work every day.  After all, my end goal is a quest to an obscure cubicle somewhere where I can build a nest and hiss at passersby.  Yet, when entering the war zone which is the dreaded 2-4 hour long meeting, you cannot enter unarmed.

When I was younger, there was always this sense that women wore makeup simply to look pretty.    And, in truth, in the days when a woman's livelihood was contingent on some male breadwinner to find her "doable", the end goal was to look pretty, because prettiness was considered the only weapon we had at our disposal.

Leap back to the present, I realize that several of my feminist friends, and several of my strongest female friends, are avid aficionados of make up.  Whereas my uncultured ass thinks Revlon is fancy makeup, they are seasoned veterans of the aisles of Sephora and Ulta.  They could contour 40 lbs off of a face and replicate van Gogh's Sunflowers on their pinkie finger using four shades of nail polish.  Having known these women, I had to examine what it is about makeup and fashion that calls to most women--what makes it one of the classic attributes of femininity?

It is not simply "looking pretty."  Our desire to alter our appearances isn't rooted solely in vanity.  If that was the case, we would find one look that is very flattering and simply dress that way for the rest of our lives.  But that's not how it works.  Rather, we crave the ability to exercise control over our physical environment, and our own lives.

As a gender who, in most societies, was given a subservient position, we had to seize control in the small ways we could.  So we decorated our homes, we cultivated gardens with plants for pure aesthetic value, and we painted our faces.  We discovered that through attire and makeup we could step into a new role for the day--manipulate perception of our persona.  A smokey eye and a sleek black dress with pumps exudes an air of sensual power.  Pastels, flowing fabrics, and minimal makeup presents us as innocent, nurturing even.  A woman is given the power to adjust her identity with each aesthetic choice she makes, playing upon common archetypes to evoke a new persona.

It was then I came to see makeup for what it really is, a form of war paint.  It is not a necessity, but it is a signal we wear to others, conveying the persona we want them to encounter that day.  And it is not mere falsehood, for the very nature of humanity is the seasons and the malleability of our moods.  Some days we are the nurturer, others, the destroyer.  Makeup is one of many clues we impart upon the audience of the world to convey which way the tide has turned on a particular day.