My Lips Are Pursed

I have an addiction.  It’s not serious. It’s lipstick. And, I’m not alone.

I see other addicts like me on YouTube and Instagram. They take pride in their dependency, posting enormous “lipstick collections” with taglines like: “I’m obsessed!”

I, too, am obsessed, but I’m not proud of it.

Last November, Buzz feed listed “23 Things Only Girls Who Are Addicted To Lipstick Know To Be True…” A puff-piece, but for me, it read as one of those lists – “If you-relate-to-at-least-10-items-on-on-this-list-you-have-a-problem.”

I can relate to all 23.

It started when I turned fifty. That’s the year I began the pursuit of “the right color” lipstick.  My standby YSL #10 just wasn’t doing the trick anymore. Despite the hint of pink, something about the pigment on my aging lips, or perhaps it was my half-century-old complexion. Even with lipstick, I began to look all one color – and worse, a desperate older woman trying to rock the nude-lip.

I’m no great beauty trying to hang on to her looks. The Paparazzi don’t follow me, and my job does not depend on my appearance. I’m the girl-next-door, the fresh-faced type that isn’t feeling so fresh anymore. So began my endless pursuit to find the right shade of lipstick. Corals, reds, even plums, but I kept going back to a more natural “nude pink” to give me a lift. The trick is finding just the right shade.

Unfortunately, I am only satisfied with a new nude pink lipstick for a day or two. Maybe, a week at best.

Some people turn to the bottle or pop pills. I, instead, turn to the make-up counter at Bloomingdale’s. The swipe of a new lip color is my fix. If I am having a bad day, something about a bright counter gleaming with a rainbow of pinks in glistening tubes cheers me up. It’s what my mother calls “an uppy.” It gives me a high when I paint my lips a new color, even better when an eager salesperson looks on: “That’s shade’s great on you! Shows off your eyes!”

What’s to hate? Right?

I thank heaven for those prehistoric Mesopotamian women who were the first to discover the charms of lip color. There they were, grinding out precious gems. And, voila - a shimmering dust from their riches to decorate their lips! God love ‘em.

My addiction was creep-mousy, slowly sneaking up on me until I realized I had filled an entire make-up drawer in the bathroom with lipstick – all basically some shade of light pink, and the drawer even getting heavier to roll out from the weight of them.  Dare I count?

“It’s a part of me I’ll never give up,” so says item #23 on the list of things only girls who are addicted to lipstick know for sure.

Not long ago, I found just the right pink. Dior Addict - Kiss Me #389.  

Shaped like a syringe. I thought I was finally satisfied.

Problem is, I’m already over it, finding myself at Bloomingdale’s

yesterday afternoon, in front of a line-up of Bobbie Brown lipsticks.

“May I help you find the right lipstick?” offered the man behind the counter.

I thought back to my bathroom drawer. What am I doing?

“I think I’m ok,” I replied, eyeing the pinks. “Just looking.”

He began explaining the texture types in the different tubes. Little did he know, I’m practically a scholar in all things lipstick. “Now, this one," he said, pointing to one of the lipstick's. "This one would be perfect pink for you."

My sister has teased that I need a sponsor. Who do I call? “Help! I’m buying another frigging pink lipstick!”

Enough.  This is ridiculous. I’m going to stop buying lipstick for three months. I love a challenge, but can I hold back from getting my fix?

Well, I’m going to try, and I’ll let you know on August 25^th where you’ll probably find me at the Bobbie Brown counter trying on that “perfect pink.”

                                                ______________________

Epilogue

After reading my draft, my husband, Hank, had one comment: “You’ll never make it to August 25^th.”