Here’s what’s crazy: I love lipstick, but I almost never wear it.
It was the first makeup I ever owned. When I was twelve, my mother took me to the cosmetics counter in a big department store and we spent a delicious half hour choosing my first Clinique lipstick. I wish I could remember the name of that color. Whatever it was, it was creamy and luscious and when I put it on I felt like a glamorous, full-grown woman. I was Audrey Hepburn as Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. It didn’t matter that I was awkward and bonly, with a mouthful of braces, all I needed was eyeliner and a tiara to go with my new lipstick, and I was convinced I could take the world by storm. God knew I needed a little help.
The problem with lipstick was boys. More specifically, kissing.
What guy wants a faceful of that? And it stains! Everyone would know what you’d been doing in private! I worried endlessly about this (having so little of real substance in my life when I was twelve).
In the end, I opted for a two-way approach: Lipstick during the day at school,but in the event of a possible kissing session, I had every flavor of Bonnie Bell lip gloss in my purse or pocket. Yummy, no telltale color. Win.
I still have this problem! I could pore all day over the lipsticks and other marvelous cosmetics in the Sephora, but in the end, I never want to wear them if there’s even a faint chance that I will get to lock lips with my husband.
Can you ever imagine the marvelously memorable and iconic Rocky Horror lips ever kissing someone? No you can’t.
Image by weglet on Flickr
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