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A surge in makeup for him, leading men lining their brows and America’s gradual acceptance of metrosexuality led to this article Tuesday wondering, are you ready for men wielding a compact instead of the remote? As I read, I thought of my boyfriend coming home giddy after finding his perfect fall shade of lip liner. I thought of him curling his hair and powdering his nose.
Then, I thought of the power I possess over him by just putting on a little eyeliner and how that would deplete exponentially when he realizes I’m actually terrible at it. I started worrying that I would have open the dusty bag filled with sticky tubes I have been stockpiling since sixth grade in case the antidote to nuclear holocaust really turns out to be glittery lip gloss.
It is true that I notice things about my boyfriend’s appearance and offer my generous criticism but I’ve never expected him to correct them. A small patch showing on the side of his head or the red cheeks after a night of drinking. I don’t want these things to go away, though I understand that, “oh baby, look your hair isn’t growing in right here,” would make any man put on mascara, bronzer, maybe even high heels. If he is vulnerable to appraisal, he should have access to the same weapons of camoflage that I do, right?
No. Because as much as I want a man with thick wavy hair that he can pass on to our kids, I dont want to tell those kids we are late for school because daddy is has to finish putting his face on.
I lived in Tokyo about 7 years ago where men were already wearing makeup and looking better in headbands than I ever will. And it wasn’t sexy. It wasn’t like living in the world of beautiful people you have only glimpsed on Melrose Place. It was wierd, it was awkward. What do you say when you come across some guy fixing his foundation? Do you laugh at him, or do you worry that you don’t know how to put foundation on and he knows it.
When it comes down to it, this is an issue with no wiggle room. It starts with some gel and where does it end? In your closet, or in your underwear drawer or somewhere else you don’t want to deal with.
We need it. It is one of the weapons women have developed again the inherent sexism of aging. If the day comes when ladies can be forty, overweight, balding with a penchant for Fritos and are still deemed eligible by a large swath of the population, then I will gladly hand over my compact.
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