I remember vividly staring at a picture of a girl in a magazine.
As a teenage girl, obsessing over images in a teen magazine is pretty normal behaviour but this particular picture caught my imagination like no other.
It was a close up shot of a girl splashing water on her face, laughing and gazing at the camera as she did so. Her youth and radiance dazzled like the sparkling water captured in the image. I pored over every detail of the picture – her pale white skin, her clear blue eyes, her chestnut hair – but what I liked most about her face was her lips.
Pale pink, glossy, full lips.
I was filled with envy and longing. I wanted lips like hers with the exact shade of glossy pink. It was a Boots advert and I don’t remember what it was advertising (a face wash I guessing) but the desire for pale pink lips embedded itself into my brain like some insidious worm.
I was an insecure Asian girl (and still am) and it didn’t compute back then that pale pink lips were outside of my colour wheel. I identified with white girls just as easily as Asian girls even though my teen mags never seemed to reflect the kind of diversity they had in their readership. Well, maybe, when they hired the models with the short haircuts who were branded ‘tomboys’ for their style to contrast nicely against the whimsical dream-like waifs with long hair and floaty dresses.
Against my ‘olive’ skin, my mouth needed a shot of red to stand out clearly. My brother even advised me that I looked better when I put a bit of lipstick on (my brother knows nothing about make up so for him to notice something like that meant I had to take it seriously). My ‘natural’ make up routine always included a smear of red lipstick anytime I left the house. I remembered a work colleague staring at me during Ramadan when I had dared to go lipstick-free. I dawned on me on how long I had been carrying my insecurities with me.
My mum recently bought me a copy of Elle and I was flicking through the pages, admiring the shoes and overpriced handbags when I came across a free make up sample for Rimmel foundation. I eagerly ripped it open and took out my foundation brush, ready to apply a coat to my face so I could look just like Kate Moss.
Disaster!
The shade of foundation was at least three shades too light. I kept applying it hoping maybe if I spread it across my face, the colour would blend in.
Nope. I looked like an ashy-faced pale clown.
I went to the bathroom to wash it off and stood in front of the mirror to take in the full horror of how awful it looked. I looked terrible but as my initial shock wore off I noticed my features were thrown into contrast against the newly pale skin. My dull brown eyes looked inky black and mysterious. My eyebrows brooded like Heathcliff on the moors. My lips looked… well, they brought no attention to themselves but I remembered my raspberry lip-gloss in my drawer. It struck me that I could apply my lip-gloss, not as a topcoat to my red lipstick, but on its own and my lips would finally look like the glossy pale lips I dreamed of having all those ears ago. I applied it satisfaction and the mirror gave a rewarding reflection of glossy lips with a hint of pink. I rubbed it off and applied my red lipstick. Now, I saw in the mirror what white women must see everyday. Beautiful, bright, full red lips that stood out invitingly against pale skin.
What took me most by surprise was how easily me eyes were adjusting to my new pale skin colour. It was like witnessing some kind of optical illusion, tricking my eyesight into thinking I looked… okay. Was it the foundation warming up to my skin? I could see my familiar rosy cheeks coming through the foundation. The ashiness melting away a little bit from my ghostly pallor.
But… I thought I had settled into liking myself for who I am? I wasn’t filled with self-loathing, wishing for paler skin. I’d grown up. I’d become better than that.
I had to keep tipping my head back to look at my neck to convince myself how truly absurd the colour contrast was. I also examined my hairline where there was a gap of true skin colour peeping through like I was a geisha (they wear the white make up in an exaggerated mask-like way with subtle hints of the natural skin colour beneath).
I want to see if I could darken the colour and make it wearable. I grabbed my powder concealer, which I’d bought a shade too dark, and applied it over the foundation on one side of my face. Slowly, my face warmed up to resemble something that looked like me. One half of my face was white, the other dark.
My eye was drawn to the lighter side. Did that mean the light side of my face of beautiful? Was this conditioning from birth I’ve had to always see light skin tone as beautiful? Have I really not changed since I was a teenager? If so, I found this to be both depressing and alarming. I have no intention to go back to those days of insecurity and self-loathing.
I scrubbed my face and washed my foundation brush with a religious zeal to make sure it was not contaminated by the Rimmel foundation.
The make up sample was thrown in the bin. Its ability to transform my looks was powerful and almost intoxicating. There was a little voice in my head that wanted to keep it and see myself as the grotesquely pale creation I had seen earlier with perfect glossy pink lips but I had to resist (my bin was full of discarded hair from my hairbrush and pistachio shells so frankly I had no choice in the matter).
I was back to looking like me. Flawed, not beautiful, but me. And I was okay with that.
***
If you’re in Birmingham
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