Lipstick has always freaked me out. Up until this last week, I’ve always considered it one of those mysterious beauty rituals that works for every other woman besides myself.
I think it all goes back to the first time I tried lipstick, when I was 16. I read in one of the many teen magazines flooding my bedroom that plum lipstick was “in” for fall and that it was universally flattering. So what did I do? I went forth and picked out the cheapest purple lipstick I could find and slathered it all over my face (well, my lips).
Then, when my first boyfriend asked me with a strange look on his teenage face, “What is that you’re wearing? It’s all over your teeth,” I knew it was time to quit lipstick forever. Or so I thought.
Over the years, I tried a few meager attempts, but I always got the same reaction: “You look weird” and “There’s red stuff on your teeth.”
After all this mortification (is that even a word?), you would think that I would just give it up for good. Not me. I’m a glutton for punishment, as the saying goes. So when I was reading all these adorable style blogs and seeing how adorable everyone looked in their bold lip colors, what do I go out and do? I go forth and pick out the (cheaper) lipstick and slather it all over. (Side note: yes, I realize that I’m probably too easily swayed by what I read. Go easy on me).
So what do you think?
(I would like to take this moment to recognize the fact that I was cooking in heels and a skirt with my red lipstick just like a fashionable 50s housewife-wannabe. That’s all).
