Eileen G’Sell is the author of “Lipstick,” an Object Lessons book
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My first cost barely a dollar, mounted on glossy white plastic with a see-through cap. Its dark peak glowered at its pastel kin, who, unlike today, lacked bougier cousins down the Walgreens aisle. It was the mid-90s and I had just started high school. After years of trying (and failing) to be preppily pretty, a wildly different look—and ethos—suddenly reared its Manic-Panicked head: the “alternative” girl whose dissonant makeup, dyed hair, and thrift-store duds were both plainly confrontational and undeniably feminine.
The Wet ‘n’ Wild bullet tube wasn’t actually black on the face, but more a gray-violet that would flatter a Tim Burton heroine. It was castor-oiled wax that flaked off without Chapstick. It left a dark ring around one’s mouth that lingered for hours. It was a little…gross, no small part of its appeal.
Wearing black lipstick—to a party, a punk show, junior prom—signaled to all that, no matter my sheltered upbringing and demure stature, I was delectably jaded beyond my years. Who could have guessed that I was scared of (scarred by??) the cover of Hole’s Ask for It, and assumed The Crow was a movie about an evil bird? Or, a few years later, that I was a virgin who spent weeks grinding for the SAT at the public library? (In retrospect, probably a lot of people.)
Wearing black lipstick suggested I was the triple crown of teenage cool: ironic, irreverent, and indifferent to (certain) conventional beauty standards. By the regressive aughts, I admittedly eschewed my edgy style in favor of a more playfully feminine look. But at the same time, entering academia, conspicuous girliness felt downright…daring by virtue of its rarity. What kind of new buttons would I push going blonde and wearing ruffles? I swapped a raven pout for more acceptable shades–though my Russian Objectivist red probably pushes the line.
But last year, in the middle of winter, something shifted when I looked in the mirror. My face was getting sharper, so why not my smile? At this point in life, I no longer needed to play it safe to keep my job (or my romantic partner).
Italian Renaissance art curator—and black lipstick lover—Hannah Segrave feels similarly about her choice to don a caliginous pout. “A lot of people tell me, I wish I could do this, but I can’t pull it off. But I just decided one day, in my thirties, that I want to be a girl who wears really dark lipstick, and then I just did it.”
My latest shade? “Drama Queen,” an intense tint from The Lip Bar. If not meticulously applied, it makes me look like a messy vampire. But when allowed to set correctly, its darkness jars against my pallid mien. Women over forty are so often exhorted to soften their palette—as if to counterbalance the (tragic!) loss of youth.
Today, wearing black lipstick declares open disdain for such a dictum—exactly what my teenager self would have admired.
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Art by Lara Schaberg
