Offering up complex and pretentious pontification would give me a headache right now.
So, I won’t. Instead I shall ponder upon things truly near and dear to my heart like Clay Jones or maybe red lipstick.
Yeah, red lipstick. Not just any old red lipstick. Grandma’s 1940′s dry, cake of fire-engine red lipstick, which much to your mother’s dismay, when applied on Saturday afternoon, would still have your lips stained like a well-to-do French floozy on Sunday Morning… of the following week.
Why can’t they make lipstick like this anymore? Yeah, yeah, I know. Back in the good old days, lipstick contained loads of lead – but still… with all of the advances in the cosmetic industry, you’d think they could figure out a way to duplicate the properties of pouting pin-up paint.
They can install fake boobs, lift fannies, make a mascara so durable you have to dang-near sand-blast the crap off – yet the formula for a long-lasting lipstick eludes them.
You’re frowning right now, aren’t you? You just made a face as if you’ve sucked a rotten lemon? You are repulsed by notion of red lipstick? I understand. My mother feels much the same way and has been distraught over my fondness for floozy lips since I bought my first tube of Coty Come Hither Red in the early 80′s She, like many people, thinks red lips are trashy, a blatant display of sexuality, a beckoning call to naughty boys everywhere, and the official war paint of all French Hookers and cranked-up club girls on West 57th Street.
Seriously, I once heard a lady say to her daughter, “Girls who wear lipstick like that get nowhere in life… except flat of their back.”
Ouch. One can only hope that justice was served when the daughter grew up, developed a fondness for black lipstick – because the color complements her seventeen facial piercings.
Anyway, it was this type of thinking that -after eons of red lips which were a female custom dating as far back as Nefertiti – relegated red to the “not just no but hell no” category in the late 80′s. And there it has remained with the electric blue eyeshadow, metal hair and acid washed jeans while you were all working your way through that awkward pale hippy phase, which consisted of forcibly straightened hair, distressed denim and pale, frosty, glittery, greasy goop… for that understated natural look.
Not I. As I find myself incapable of being straightened or understated, my love of red lipstick remained. In fact, I am a firm believer that owning a red lipstick and a pair of red high-heeled shoes should be a mandatory requirement for womanhood.
For over a decade now, my fashion-conscious friend has been extremely perturbed by my love of Red Lips and subsequent rejection of all things pink. She said red lips are NOT the embodiment of “classic beauty” or glamor. Then, she suggested only my affinity for the paint is nostalgic.
Maybe so.
Red lipstick was a cosmetic staple for the matriarchs of my family – so maybe I connect the color to strength of spirit, backbone and will. Or it could be red lipstick is my cosmetic petroleum-based “Shove Off” statement to the world – one which also serves as an apt warning signal to all who approach. “When mouth is open, proceed with caution. Danger or disaster may lurk ahead. “
On the other hand, my earthy friend, who comprehends the science of colors, numbers, planet placement, chakras and all that other hooey shit, which I claim not to believe but somewhat secretly do, says people who are drawn to red are prone to panic, anxiety and violence.
Nah, I reject the notion that color preference indicates personality. Clearly, I am not anxious or violent – and if you say otherwise, I might kick your ass.
Whatever the reasons – they do not matter now. I won’t need to explain my love of red lips anymore. Haven’t you heard? The color is making a comeback. Yep. It’s official. The Return of the Red has been declared amongst all the Queens of the the fashion world.
You understand why I might feel victorious and vindicated.
You also wouldn’t mind if I pointed out that this is irrefutable proof that Christa DeCicco (of Christabel and the Jons) and myself are uber trendy and way ahead of our time.
I know. Is she not just lovely? Which reminds me there’s this ketchup commercial, wherein a lady sings of tomatoes… and the vocalist sounds very much like Ms. DeCicco, who also sang of tomatoes somewhere.
Oh well, my brain is cutting in and out – so I will skip sharing my immense joy over the invention of Peppermint Bubble Yum. (Seriously… it’s has all of the minty goodness of chewing gum but with advanced bubble blowing capabilities. ) Join me tomorrow or the next day when I wax poetic about Clay.
