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This morning, I looked closely at my lipstick. Reeeaaally closely. I thought about lipstick as social commentary while my eighth grade darlings slaved away at Math SOLs for THREE HOURS. I only wear lipstick at school, because it's expected of me. I've been told that nice, low-key lipstick is key to a professional appearance. (By busybodies who love me and want me to be well-perceived.) My preference is Blistex, so I compromise by finding lipstick in shades fairly close to my natural lip color, in the berry/rose range. What fascinated me this morning was the nomenclature of lipstick, as it were. Who comes up with this stuff? Five virtually identical colors: Boy Crazy, Vagabond Mauve, Mauve-velous (gack!),Baby Berry, and Mica. Nice pinks: Sealily, Little Pinkie, Rose Suede, Whisper Pink, Venus Pink, and Petal. All very soft and sweet and feminine, except for Mica. Hmmm. No one asked me, or there'd be Ass-whuppin' Rose, PMS Pink, Laundry Day Berry, and Ohmyeffinfeethurt. SOMEONE in the cosmetics industry is waaaay out of touch with reality. I mean, I like a little fantasy as much as the next downtrodden worker bee, but don't insult my intelligence. Puh-leeze. Book to read while the little boogers take endless tests: Lord Foul's Bane by Stephen R. Donaldson. Yes, I'm re-reading the Chronicles of Thomas Covenant; I'm kind of identifying with miserable lepers on endless, doomed quests right about now. Song on the Headbone: Driver 8, REM (Say what, Mike? From their Incoherent Period.) |
 
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Lipstick