Anthropologist/writer Antropologė/rašytoja
Anthropologist/writer Antropologė/rašytoja

Solveiga Zibaite

me

An ode to lipstick

The scent of lipstick is the scent of hope. It is a false promise that you can brighten yourself and hide the hopelessness and decay. It makes a small number of people stop in their tracks and contemplate the non-verbal potential of your lips. You wear pink to make the boys wink, don‘t you? He knows I won‘t allow him to kiss me when I‘m wearing lipstick and touch my face when it‘s powdered. Messing up my carefully lined lips would make my mouth appear like an even bigger wound than it is now. When I‘m armed with my lipstick, I am untouchable, my face will not be pressed against the mud at your feet. Can‘t you see I‘m wearing makeup – please don‘t ruin it –do you have any idea how much time it took for me to look this way? Don‘t pluck my eyelashes, don‘t tug on my nose, don‘t leave bite marks on my cheek. Pink to make the boys wink, right? He finds a way to go around the rule of no face touching – clasps his hands around my white and clean neck.

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Published on January 26, 2018