I was sifting through a box of letters and knickknacks from high school when I came across a horrifying photograph: a stealth shot of me dancing with some guy in my junior year.
When I finally stopped cringing, I tried to figure out why I was so embarrassed by the picture. Was it because I was suddenly reminded that I was a terrible dancer? (That night was, in fact, the first time I ever attempted to dance with anyone, let along with a cute guy.) Was it because, even though I didn’t really like him, my ego was still a little stung by the fact that the dude in the picture has lost interest after a few weeks? Or was it because the photo was a lasting reminder of what an awkward teenager I was?
No. Not really. I realized that it pained me to look at the picture because I looked terrible in it. I was a pale, pasty, sweaty, 16-year-old mess without a molecule of makeup on. No blush or bronzer, no lipstick or lip gloss, no mascara, no eyeliner, nothing. I may have even spotted a lurking zit on my nose because apparently, concealer hadn’t been invented in 2003, and my brows were like fuzzy caterpillars. Thank God for ridiculous party lighting.
It was a solid reminder of why I now live by my lola’s words of wisdom: “Mag-lipstick ka naman.” It keeps you from looking sickly and colorless.
In all fairness, teenagers nowadays wear more makeup than drag queens, but it was simpler in my time. Hampered by Catholic school’s strict stance on frills, few of us really knew how to wear makeup at that age, and it was trial-and-error for those who attempted. There were no beauty blogs then, no makeup how-to videos on YouTube, no Gossip Girl to raise teenage fashion and beauty standards to impossible heights. We all looked washed out, which was better than the clown-like or overdone alternatives.
Girls who wore makeup back then were kikay or maarte; two things I didn’t want to be. But soon enough (starting with emo eyeliner because I was such a rocker chick) cosmetics slowly started becoming another way for me to express myself. Statement makeup tells people who you are so that you don’t have to. It was so easy for me to switch from one persona to another, to go from situation to situation, just by drawing around my eyes with a Kohl pencil.
I fell in love with the transformative power of makeup. It was like Halloween, but to a lesser degree. I could channel someone else; I could make myself look like someone I wanted to be. For a long, long time, I wore a lot of eyeliner to make myself appear fiercer than I felt. I wasn’t that awkward girl on the dance floor anymore; I was a fabulous force to be reckoned with. That boy was an idiot.
Down the line, it stopped being about other people and it started being about me. It sounds funny to say it, but getting the hang of cosmetics eventually taught me to come to terms with — and fall in love with — my face and all its quirks. (Three years ago, I hated my fat lips, and now, I’m the kind of girl who reserves MAC Venomous Villains lipstick two months in advance. Go figure.) I stopped using makeup to look like somebody else, and started using it to look more like me. I learned to use it to enhance my unique features, to bring out my best self.
There’s nothing wrong with being kikay. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to look pretty, nothing wrong with wanting to look presentable. There’s definitely nothing wrong with wanting to have a little fun, and nothing wrong with wanting to put a bit of color into your life via your face. I don’t wear much makeup, but most of the time, a little bright red lipstick is enough to brighten my day.
If it makes you feel more confident, if it makes you feel more beautiful, if it makes you feel good about being you and helps you love yourself more, then surely, it must be a good thing.
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E-mail me at vivat.regina@yahoo.com. Follow me at vivatregina.tumblr.com.