Why I’m Wearing Lipstick Every Day

“I’m looking for a matte red… not too deep but not too bright, something that’ll complement my skin color, but still pop against it,” I tell the saleswoman in the MAC store. It’s mid-April and I’m here with my friend on our weekly retail therapy session. The woman was slender—making her fake breasts appear that much odder—and presumably beautiful under all that makeup.

“Why do you want to get red lipstick?” my friend whispers to me as the saleswoman looks through the array of colors on the table in front of her.

“Because I want to look different. For Europe,” I say. I've traveled before, but this trip already felt much more different, and I needed a physical way to distinguish that. I'm relying much more on myself this time, and as much as I want to believe I'm an adult and can do everything for myself, a part of me knows I'm only 19.

I'm only 19. 

I turn my attention back to the woman when she holds out a tube. 

“How about this one?” she says, handing me Russian Red. I put it on, making a face of dissatisfaction.

“Something a little less blue…” I say, staring into my magnified lips in a nearby mirror.

“They’re all red, Grishma…” my friend says, refusing to acknowledge the subtle tone differences in the wide array of red lipsticks. “You look like a clown.”

“Like I want to take fashion advice from someone who dresses like that…” I tease, and he huffs and walks over to the blush aisle.

“This one?” the saleswoman says, handing me Scarlet Rose.

“Mm… this one’s a bit more intense than I’d like… I want to look sufficiently different to feel new… but not so different that I’m not recognizable.”

“Then just don’t get red lipstick! Your lips look fine the way they are!” my friend chimes in, still looking at the blush collection. He turns around and mouths “clown”.

I turn my attention back to the saleswoman, and apply the new tube she handed me. “Oh, I love this one! I’ll take it!”

I glance at the name—M.A.C. Red. The original. I pay for the lipstick and toss it into my purse.

“I was hoping for one with a cool name…” I say, walking out with my friend.

“Clown.” And a short pause later, he continues, “let’s go to Hollister.”