When I was alone in my room, I exhausted the one black shade of an eyeshadow palette I’d gotten for Christmas I loved the crackling of the powder under the tiny sponge brush, each stroke of the wand against my eyelid felt like a gift, a rebirth. I doted over lipstick ads in NYLON and consumed newly emerging make-up channels on youtube, always zeroing in on the most dramatic portrayals of beauty the most cutting lines, the deepest hues. In middle school, I fell in love with the ritual of make-up. When the time finally came to select my first pair of hoops from a rotating mall kiosk, it felt like a sacrament. These are the veins through which I first understood femininity - endurance, strength, pain. I wished secretly that my ears had been pierced when I was a baby, so I could boast the accomplishment without having to remember the pain. Though she had not yet turned one, her studs seemed to put her years before me. I envied a baby girl at my grandma’s at home daycare who had pierced ears, who thrashed around her crib in sparkling studs. My repeated attempts to jam its metallic painted plastic into my skin left my ears pink and inflamed. In first grade, I made makeshift hoops out of Barbie bracelets - my unpierced earlobe occupying the space between its open clasp. The Autostraddle Encyclopedia of Lesbian CinemaĪs a child, I desperately wanted to wear hoop earrings.LGBTQ Television Guide: What To Watch Now.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |