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.
Not just any old red lipstick. Grandma’s 1940’s dry 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 sand-blast the crap off – yet the formula for a long-lasting lipstick eludes them.
Some of you are 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 red 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 and beckoning call to naughty boys everywhere, and the official war paint of all French Hookers and cranked-up club girls.
Seriously, I once heard a lady say, “Hmph, girls who wear lipstick like that are bound to get nowhere in life… except flat of their back.” 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.
It was this type of thinking that -after eons of red lips being customary & dating as far back as Nefertiti – relegated red to the “not just no but hell no you’re not leaving the house in that” category along with hooker boots, fishnets, and crop tops. There it has remained with the electric blue eyeshadow, big hair and acid washed jeans while you were all working your way through that awkward grunge/hippy/minimalist “look at me, I’m so rebellious, I don’t even wash my hair” phase, which consisted of forcibly straightened hair, distressed denim and glittery, greasy lip goop made out of…. I dunno macadamia nuts.
Nope I. As I find myself incapable of being straightened or understated, my love of red lipstick has always remained. I wore it with the flannel shirts, the baha hoodies and didn’t give a damn what anyone thought. If anything, red lipstick served as my cosmetic warning signal to all who approach. “When mouth is open, proceed with caution. Danger or disaster may lurk ahead. ”
Finally, however, FINALLY, red lips are making a comeback. I will no longer have to justify my preference. Explain my fondness for “floozyism.” I only need to sit and feel victorious and vindicated that I was on the bandwagon before you. I also may point 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?
And now I will spare you the long tale of how and why I love Peppermint Bubble Yum. (Seriously… it’s has all of the minty goodness of chewing gum but with advanced bubble blowing capabilities. ) But join me tomorrow or the next day when I wax poetic about Clay.