I have a strange relationship with makeup. I rarely leave my house without it. Foundation, shadow, blush, eyeliner and mascara, in every color of the rainbow. I feel a little naked without it, even though every day I tell myself “We’re going light on the makeup today, no more spending 20 minutes in front of the mirror, it’s just silly.” But I still do it, because it’s important. It’s as important to me as a nice outfit and a pair of comfortable shoes.
My feminist friends would say that I don’t need makeup. It’s fake and degrading. It makes women paint themselves up for the sake of pleasing others, or finding a husband, or something equally off-putting. You don’t have to be pretty for anybody, and that’s true, you don’t. But I don’t make myself up for others, I do it for myself. Every day, I put myself together the way I want to be seen. I change my makeup to match my mood, my outfit, my plans for the day. Makeup is just a tool, in a long list of tools at my disposal, that I use to sell myself every day.
This package is put together for a reason. It’s a composite of plot devices, blog posts, carefully chosen outfits. I want to stand out to others. I want to present myself as the best possible me, in order to sell my product. That product is my writing, my imagination. As artists we have to sell ourselves. I don’t have the luxury of a physical, tangible offering to give people. I’m not a singer whose voice you can hear, an artist whose creations you can hold, or an actor whose work you can watch. I’m a writer. I force you to take time out of your day to read what I create, to stop what you’re doing to focus on my words. So if I’m going to convince you that I’m worth your time, I’m going to have to work for it.
Maybe I don’t have to be pretty in order to hawk it, but I want to be pretty for me. I want to look that way I feel every day, whether I’m at work or in a line at the grocery store. I don’t make myself up to make people happy, or to shut them up, or to look the way they want me to look. I am this, this mouth, this mind. This outfit, this makeup, this package is just the polish. It’s the war-paint that I wear to do battle in. I want to look as unique and confident as my work, because that’s how I feel. I can do it without makeup too, but right now, right this minute, I don’t feel like it.
I own my makeup, my wardrobe, my exterior. It doesn’t own me.
