red lipstick

i put on red lipstick to feel better.

the therapist i had been seeing from 7th-12th grade realized this even before i did. she pointed out to me that she noticed that a dark maroon hue coated my lips when i was in particularly stressing and difficult moments. ”does it make you feel good about yourself?” she asked me curiously, a playful smile on her face. i remember having to take a moment to think about it, even if she was just trying to uplift me a bit. we were talking about small things that brought me joy and i couldn’t think of anything, so she thought of something for me. i told her that i guess it does, now that i think about it. i remembered how my first instinct waking up that morning on the day of the session was to reach for my wine red l’oreal lipstick—it’s in this shiny gold casing and it smells vaguely like fruity pebbles. i put it on before i even ate my fruity pebbles, and was probably too depressed to brush my teeth that morning (much to my mom’s dismay, which, fair enough). i still have that same lipstick despite how i used to wear it almost every day. it still makes me feel the slightest bit better about myself and the world. it still barely looks touched and still looks so right on my face. i wore it so much to the point where i felt naked without it and feared that everyone would stop and stare at me before they started pointing and laughing or wincing and exclaiming in disgust. i like when a trace of my lips can be seen on mugs at cafés but i don’t like when my natural lip hue becomes slowly visible again. at that point i don’t bother to reapply and i wipe the remains off, trying to avoid eye contact with myself in the mirror if i can help it.

“we’re just about running out of time here,” my therapist smiled, but it always felt like a warning when she uttered these words. a warning to prepare me to go back out into the world with all these thoughts and feelings that can’t be worked through in just an hour each week. i pulled out my now shattered compact mirror and re-applied my lipstick as she confirmed the day and time of our next meeting, occasionally glancing over at her to show i was listening as my lips were occupied at that moment.

but the second i started to wear red lipstick a bit less frequently, i started smiling more. i started liking my smile. i started to smile with teeth and it didn’t feel forced anymore. but when i wasn’t smiling, i looked so sad. at least when i painted my lips, i looked like i was in a deep intellectual thought or daydreaming about something when i didn’t have a grin on my face. but i hate looking in the mirror of my phone screen so much. i hate asking my friends “do i need to reapply?” after i barely take one sip of my hot chocolate. the worst is when i forget it’s there—i absentmindedly touch my lip and see the red on my finger, like blood, and my heart races. not because i think my hand is bloodied and bruised but because i need to fix my lipstick immediately.

but i love how it looks. i love how it makes me feel older and sophisticated, intelligent, mysterious. desirable. but i think i want to be loved more than i want to be desired. i feel the most loved when people compliment my smile and the way my nose crinkles when i laugh really hard. i feel more loved when people compliment the art of how much i care for them rather than the artwork on my face.

still, i’ll never stop loving my lipstick. now i experiment with firetruck red and even cherry red, but i’ll always love my wine red the most. i’m not sure i’ll ever be able to part with it. the lipstick stain on my transparent mint green cup that i can’t wash off no matter how hard i try simply adds to its character. i kiss the pages of the letters of love that i write. i smile at myself when i see my natural lips once again, i can’t help it, even if i already look forward to the next time they are ruby red once again.