I went to the MAC counter last weekend ... it's probably the first time in about 5 years. For some reason I felt like looking at the latest in peachy/brown lip gloss - still my favorite. I remember when MAC first came on the scene. I used to think I was a person who knew about cool things before other people did ... thought I had the inside track on the BEST lipsticks ever made ... back when naming shades like Uzi and Boy Toy was cutting edge.
As it skyrocketed into popularity, the MAC counter became the red light district of every mall across America. Macy's windows became the peep hole to the hottest, sluttiest looking women this side of Hot Dog on a Stick. Take one part haute couture runway waif, feed her an In N Out Burger - animal style, give her Penthouse implants, screw her a few times sideways, and put her in music video attire - and THAT was a MAC girl. Fuck, I wanted to be one! Those poor lab coat Clinique bitches! While they were talking about how to minimize pores, the MAC girls were turning sorority sisters into drag queens.
And the BEST part was the queens. I lived on the West Coast, so usually, at least one makeup artist was male ... but had just as much makeup on as the chicks. I just remember wanting one of these guys to do my eyebrows and tell me how fabulous I was. Of course, that's when I was in my 30's when I "knew" I was as hot as them.
Last weekend was different. I gave the artists a glance. Not much has changed (although, living in a red state produces less makeup males; so, sadly: no dudes). The women are less flashy, but can still work a makeup brush. The look to me now is more little-girl-putting-on-too-much-of-mommy's-makeup and less whore/rock star. But of course, that's because I'm more forty-something-stopped-working-out-but-kept-eating-can't-bring-myself-to-put-makeup-on than skinny thirty-something-stoked-because-I-shopped-in-the-junior's-department.
Last weekend's lip gloss purchase experience felt ... conflicted. I looked at those girls, my head voice saying: "I'm one of you!" ... but I'm not. I'm not them, but I'm not the next me. I'm a fucking Britney Spears lyric plus 20 years: "I'm not a girl, not yet a woman". I'm not the them, but I don't have a me, yet.
I stood there bra-less, and paid for my 2 lip glosses (which cost about the price of one good bra!) ...riveted. I'm not the career seeker, not the looks-seeker, not the baby maker.
I'm not a whore, not yet a mother ....
