Astrology is bullshit, yeah, yeeeah. Astrology is also really fun!

I ’ve always liked astrology. It’s a consequence of being a Scorpio. When you’re a Scorpio, astrology excuses all of your most unsociable behaviors and tells you you’re sexy all the time. Who wouldn’t be on board with that?

But—probably also as a consequence of being a Scorpio—I never paid much attention to any of the other signs in the zodiac, not until this year, anyway. In these times of racist, sexist, classist dystopia, a harmless egalitarian system of personality categorization and prediction based on birth time suddenly became unprecedentedly appealing to me, and so in 2017 I find myself referring to what I would previously have called “September” or “back-to-school time” as “Virgo season.” Since it is currently Their Time, let’s start making faces with the sixth symbol in the zodiac, mutable earth sign Virgo!

VIRGO

I know and love several Virgos, but one stands out as the exemplary Ur Virgo in my mind. This woman knows more about makeup than anyone I have ever encountered, in regard to both application AND the list of multisyllabic chemicals listed in fine print on the back or underside of the label. She reassured me that life was just beginning when I attained my first forehead wrinkle and taught me how to wield the potent de-undeadifying power of blush.

Once I went to help this woman move residences. Her ex, who she too-politely would not simply tell to gtfo, angst-wailed guitar ballads at us the entire time we hauled all her furniture out of the house and into a truck. Afterward, *I* was exhausted from the heavy lifting and heavier emotional racket, but Virgo couldn’t sleep without first cleaning the bathroom of her new apartment. When she woke the next morning, she launched into action, and within the span of two hours managed not only to clean her new place from top to bottom but straight-up turned that joint into a HOME. We sipped canned champagne to celebrate, then we went out and, in spite of her dogged insistence that no one would ever want to be with her again following the split from her ex, she immediately picked up an extremely built dude approximately seven years her junior to keep her occupied for the evening.

Virgo couldn’t sleep without first cleaning the bathroom of her new apartment.

Though she thrives on routine and the circumstances were far from her typical day-to-day, I think of that weekend every time I try to quantify the essence of Virgo. A Virgo in turmoil is just so ludicrously Virgo, and I mean that as the highest compliment.

LIBRA

Here in Tennessee, Libra has the best skies of the year: so blue, with big white puffy clouds and pleasant gusts of wind, so appropriate for a cardinal air sign! Scorpios often snatch a reputation for being “mysterious,” but in my mind Libras have that quality locked. Clear-eyed and equanimous, how the hell are you supposed to tell what they’re thinking? (Unless they tell you, of course, and I have never known a Libra to hesitate to tell you if you ask.) Once a Libra-Scorpio cusp in his sixties told me “your twenties are for figuring out what you don’t want to do, your thirties are for figuring out what you do want to do, you spend your forties doing it, and your fifties enjoying it.” This was exactly the wisdom I needed to hear on the cusp of my 30th birthday, and also just seemed to me very emblematic of a measured Libra attitude toward life. (Don’t worry — I’m still in contact with him so I can find out what to expect from my sixties, seventies, and so on.)

Also, Jean Claude Van Damme is a Libra. I just thought you all would like to know that.

SCORPIO

UGH, Scorpios. What is there to say about Scorpio? Everybody loves us, and everybody also kind of hates us a little bit (except Capricorns, their love for Scorpios is pure). We’re the only fixed water sign in the zodiac, so I think of us as the Ice Sign. We’re also a little reptilian, frankly; we respond positively toward others when they feed us and warm our cold bodies.

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Scorpios secretly believe that they care about what other people think of them…that is, until someone actually does express a negative opinion of a Scorpio and said Scorpio realizes that nothing in the world has ever mattered less. Scorpio has a reputation for holding grudges, but this is only true up to a point — the point when Scorpio forgets about the grudge AND the individual/s against whom the grudge is held and the entire matter simply ceases to exist in the Scorpio’s universe, snuffed out as if whoever inspired the Scorpio’s ire had never been born. Scorpios get Halloween as their holiday, which is proper and correct; Scorpios are unilaterally goth AF regardless of how they present on the surface.

Sagittarius

Sagittarius people are like cartoons — the Road Runner, not poor ol’ Wile. E. You can’t spring a trap on a mutable fire sign; they always land on their feet. I only marry Sagittariuses, who, given their proclivity for adventure and totally indefatigable sense of self, are uniquely equipped to tolerate Scorpio nonsense. Plus, it’s fun to wake up each morning and say things like, “…is that…a didgeridoo?” “Yeah, I got up early and drove across town to wake your brother up with it.”

You can’t spring a trap on a mutable fire sign.

People are always trying to give my husband things: concert tickets, antique furniture, cookies. Once at the grocery store a man yelled “STOP” and sprinted to the checkout to physically grab a package of shop towels out of Justin’s hand before the teller could ring them up. It turned out that the shop-towel-snatcher had an entire box of unopened heavy-duty shop towels sitting in the back of his truck in the parking lot, and he apparently just couldn’t stand to watch a Sagittarius pay for the product when he could give him a whole carton for free instead.

I know another Sagittarius in a relationship with a Scorpio, gender-flipped from my own scenario. Her motto is “more lipstick, less bullshit,” and she has a permanent case of sex-eyes.

CAPRICORN

As Dr. Mindy Lahiri explains so perfectly, a “best friend” isn’t actually a specific person, but a tier of friend. I got an embarrassment of ‘em! That acknowledged, the two individuals with whom I feel most comfortable as my own most essential not-trying-to-entertain-anyone self are both cardinal earth Capricorns. Perhaps not coincidentally, I bonded with both of these women while playing video games together — Caps feel most comfortable when they’ve got a task to do. Both of my Capricorns are mind-blowingly good at any new game they happen to pick up, which follows, I suppose: Capricorns like to do a little leisure work to relax when they’re not working at their paid jobs.

Capricorns are also, unsurprisingly, mind-blowingly good at their professional careers. Capricorns never give themselves enough credit. Both of my Capricorns are also somewhat cheerfully nihilistic — it paradoxically calms their anxiety to assume that the worst is definitely going to happen. So, when we’re all struggling to survive in the coming post-apocalyptic nuclear wasteland, try to make sure you end up in a bunker with a Capricorn.

AQUARIUS

I found myself a little stumped when it came to designing a look to represent Aquarius, as the two Aquariuses I interact with most regularly are a bearded philosopher and an extremely beautiful man who imagines that he is ugly. *I* tried to imagine what I would look like if the spirit of an extremely beautiful but unaware bearded philosopher lived inside of me, and this is what came out.

Aquarians gotta keep their minds busy and colorful to stay warm as a fixed air sign whose birthday falls in late January to mid-February. I feel like I would be much braver about experimenting with psychedelic drugs if I were an Aquarius.

PISCES

Then there’s Pisces, sign of my much-beloved brother’s wife and also Rihanna. Pisces is a mutable water sign, and Pisces morphs into whatever form she needs in order to suit her environment…or maybe it’s just that the environment morphs in order to suit her. Pisces enjoy a long bath. Pisces can all pull off too many accessories at once. Pisces are all good at dancing in high heels. Pisces all look good in purple. Pisces are supposedly bound to their overwhelming emotions, according to astrological texts I have read, but I have never ever known a Pisces to let a pesky little thing like a feeling get in the way of her making money. Pisces are incredibly empathetic, however; I have oft witnessed sis-in-law grow murderously outraged on others’ behalf. Don’t get on the wrong side of a Pisces, just don’t.

Once, via Instagram, I witnessed one of my favorite Pisces arrive at the beach — wearing a tiny swimsuit, obviously — and perform an exuberant death drop into a crashing wave to express his delight at his oceanic surroundings. Y’all, if that ain’t the most Pisces thing I have ever seen in my entire life.

ARIES

My mom is 5’2″, claims to be 5’3″. Once, when she encountered a refrigerator door that was frozen shut, she gave the thing a massive heave and ripped it entirely off its hinges. My mom is an Aries.

My husband’s sister is an Aries. Good luck trying to take a walk with that woman: She travels at hyperspeed and continually makes you crack up with laughter; I can never manage it without ending up embarrassingly out of breath.

Monthly Horoscopes By A Bitter Astrologist

My brother-in-law’s gf is also an Aries, and quiet, which, when I met her, was new in my experience of Aries. Then we were left alone at the table for a moment and she immediately stuck her fingers into the hot wax dripping from a candle flame, a big goofy grin on her face. Aries.

Aries are all total babes. They’re also total bruisers. A cardinal fire sign in a full-on berserker rage is an amazing sight to behold, but stand back.

TAURUS

Taurus is the witchiest of all the signs. Tauruses have SO MUCH HAIR. Tauruses give great unimpressed stare — not the death laser glare of a Scorpio but more of a flat, relentless “….so?” in response to your best attempts to dazzle them. But then, if they choose to let loose with it, Tauruses also have really loud laughs.

Taurus is opposite Scorpio on the zodiac wheel, and maybe that’s why I had the bitterest friend blow-up of my adult life with my best Taurus (over something that wasn’t really her fault, but I’m a Scorpio and I was mad anyway). “I don’t want to lose your friendship,” she said, “is there anything I can do to fix this?” “Yeah,” I said, “just leave me alone until I eventually cool off.” And you guys? That bitch DID!! She didn’t try to talk me out of it, she didn’t offer any unnecessary apologies, she just peaced out and did her Taurusy thing until one day a year later I realized I wasn’t mad at all anymore and in fact really missed my Taurus. And then she didn’t even throw it in my face when I turned back up in her life, she was just like “oh good, you’re here,” and we carried on even tighter than we were before. Fixed earth signs, man. Nothing short of an earthquake could rattle that woman’s composure.

GEMINI

Gemini, on the other hand, have no composure, but that’s what we love about them! If a Gemini feels something, you’ll know it; Gemini are not known for keeping their thoughts to themselves. Gemini is the only sign who can use the word “mercurial” to self-describe without immediately thereafter suffering me laughing them off the face of the planet. Gemini all come across to the layperson as extroverts, but that’s just because they talk all the time whether anyone else is around or not. Every single individual Gemini is the eccentric fairy god-aunt of your dreams.

My mutable air role model is a boss baller who chairs a university department. At home, she has a unicorn-themed guest bedroom and keeps a literal cabinet full of jewelry in her kitchen.

CANCER

Cancer makes me think of two things: glitter and swimming pools. Well, three, perhaps: glitter, swimming pools, and obsession. Most astrologers tend to associate the obsessive Cancer quality with other people, painting Cancers as compulsive romantics, but the Cancer closest to me loves art as if the act of creation is a biological necessity. They just can’t stop making images allllllllllll the time, I mean ALL the time—they are the art-makingest art maker I have ever known. I have seen them cover an entire gallery in tiny dots of paint on each itty-bitty bubble of approximately 1,000 Scantron forms; they found it relaxing.

Ruled by the Moon and the lone cardinal, rather than mutable or fixed, sign of the zodiac water trio, Cancer is the most mermaidy of the signs to me. Hell, now that I think on it, the Little Mermaid herself probably was a Cancer.

LEO

Lastly (lol, like they’re ever lastly in life) we come to Leo. I know precisely one Leo who is as cosmetically extra as Leos are “supposed” to be: fake eyelashes for everyday, bright nose highlight to lead the way. My best Leo once told me she was going to put on makeup, so I settled in for a wait — she returned less than 30 seconds later with perfect eyeliner, no other makeup, ready to walk out the door for pizza in the South wearing an I’M WITH HER shirt. Another Leo in my life doesn’t bother with makeup at all. She just shows up, and you’re damn happy about it. Actually, now that I think about it, the primary physical commonality between all of my bosom Leos (ha!) is that they all have awesome racks.

The main similarity between my Leos (besides great boobs) is that they’re all very *present* wherever they happen to be. They’re supposed to be the center of attention, based on most astrological wisdom, but I notice that the middle of the spotlight is often a pretty blinding place to be, and Leos? They don’t let much slip past them. They take everything either 1,000% seriously or not at all so, and the line between can be awfully fine and even waver back and forth from moment to moment.

Leos all have gorgeous smiles.

Astrology is bullshit, yeah, yeeeah. Astrology is also really fun! As astrology will always tell you: You’re perfect, except when you’re not, and when you’re not that’s all right too. Prepare yourself for bad times and appreciate the good. Date and befriend people you’re compatible with; guard your heart but keep yourself open to connections that might surprise you. Enjoy the fabulousness-conferring effect of this week’s full moon in Pisces, and if you find yourself feeling lonely this weekend? Call a Gemini.

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]]> https://theestablishment.co/sometimes-you-need-to-use-your-voice-sometimes-you-need-to-shut-the-hell-up-bed531fa4c5e/ Sat, 19 Aug 2017 03:36:07 +0000 https://theestablishment.co/?p=3384 Read more]]>

Sometimes You Need To Use Your Voice, Sometimes You Need To Shut The Hell Up

The thing about silence — even when self-imposed — is it can too easily begin to feel too comfortable.

Sometimes you need to use your voice.

“Hey, that joke is racist!”

“Whoa bro, cool it with the misogyny.”

“How ‘bout we take a deep breath and try just *not* being an asshole, ‘kay?”

But other times—occasions when perhaps you don’t really know what you’re talking about, or when you think you know what you’re talking about but someone who really knows what they’re talking about tells you that you’ve misspoken, or maybe if you’re feeling hangry, or you simply become overwhelmed with an urge to offer unasked-for criticism, those kind of times — it’s totally okay to just…shut up. Preferable, even!

That’s what I was thinking last week when I had a dream about a red duct tape mouth, anyway.

So I made the red mouth manifest in waking life! I spent some time thinking about embarrassing things I’ve said upon speaking hastily, thoughtlessly, sometimes over-thoughtfully.

I put on some makeup!

I made myself some glitter tape eyebrows and black duct tape lashes, for flair.

Then I braved the wilds of Walmart to procure some bright red duct tape, and spent some long sticky minutes cutting it into a shape that somewhat resembles that of my mouth.

Ta-da!

Do you know what it feels like to have your mouth taped shut? Minus extra tape pulling at the skin beyond the borders of my lips, the sensation felt…surprisingly normal!

Good, even.

It might have been panic-inducing had I been suffering, say, a sinus infection, but given the not-under-duress circumstances, it felt—almost—distressingly unobtrusive. It didn’t interfere with my breathing. It wasn’t particularly uncomfortable. It was just there, a sliver of tape binding my lips together. It looked uncanny to me, disturbing in its too-close approach to normalcy.

“Wait…what’s up with your mouth?” my husband asked only *after* effusively complimenting the brows and lashes. The taped mouth didn’t immediately attract notice. Hell, it even made me look bizarrely content, in a Stepford Wives-ish sort of way.

That’s the thing about silence, I think: even when self-imposed, even when well-intentioned, it can too easily begin to feel too comfortable. It can look almost normal, even, maybe especially at times when it’s clearly not.

The world isn’t normal anymore. Or, rather, it never was, but having spent much of my life in places that prioritize politeness over discomfort and much of my own mental energy worried over phrasing things correctly and helpfully, the habit of prudent silence is a tough one to break. Odd that a literal taped-shut mouth should look more “natural” than the sight of a woman standing up and screaming—odder still considering the circumstances of the day.

Typically—in regard to a topic in which I feel ill-prepared to speak—I would hesitate to comment. But while I’m no expert on the history of white supremacy, I can’t afford silence.

I can’t afford to hesitate.

WHITE SUPREMACY IS WRONG. And my voice is needed to denounce it unequivocally—alongside yours—out loud with all the volume we can muster.

I don’t know why I dreamed of a taped mouth. I know why I remembered and acted on it: I am totally that person who takes her dreams way too seriously and also thought it could make for a clever little quip on internet etiquette. I didn’t really expect my country to explode into outright hate-based white supremacist violence by the end of the week, which probably goes to show that I haven’t been keeping my ears alert during those times I’ve held my mouth shut. Now it’s clear that I need to keep both wide open.

We have to speak out against the unspeakable before it silences us for good.

The thing about silence—even when self-imposed—is it can too easily begin to feel too comfortable.

It’s easy to keep your mouth shut. Comfortable, even! The scary part comes when it’s time to rip the tape off. It hurts a bit. But once it’s done? You’re able to use your voice freely, and it’s much easier to breathe.

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]]> https://theestablishment.co/beauty-is-a-preposterous-frivolous-amazing-gift-we-give-to-one-another-4a0764a2650a/ Fri, 30 Jun 2017 21:50:25 +0000 https://theestablishment.co/?p=3324 Read more]]>

Beauty Is A Preposterous, Frivolous, Amazing Gift We Give To One Another

The experience of beauty I share with my friends is a bulwark in a world full of bullshit, a bastion against very real everyday horrors.

Already looking but pre-feeling beautiful on my wedding day, when my father decided to snap a photo of me standing beside a garbage can.

Five years ago today, I walked into a crowded room and everyone stared at me. “She looks BEAUTIFUL,” gasped some blessedly effusive person seated to my left.

Now look dudes, I’ve seen my share of rom-coms and I’ve been to a hell of a lot of weddings based on them. I know the narrative in a traditional-ish Man + Woman tale of matrimony is supposed to go…

and then her nerves vanished when she looked deeply into the eyes of her groom, waiting for her at the end of the aisle. She floated on an ebullient cloud of true love to join hands with her new husband, blissfully unaware of the eyes of the onlookers dazzled by her passage . . .

or something like that.

There’s some truth to the cliche, I think: catching and holding my now-husband’s gaze did make me feel a bit steadier, helped me walk through the sensation of leaping, clawing nerves to meet him in the center of that ballroom to take our vows, but still! The voice from the left, that exclamation from a woman who just couldn’t or wouldn’t withhold verbal appreciation of my wedding day aesthetic, swept me into the center of the room with head high as if my heart weren’t pounding out of my chest.

I don’t know which of my friends or family said it, but I love her. I’ll never think of that moment without feeling the sharp, pleasant pang of sincere compliment, and I still believe that her pronouncement *made* me beautiful in that moment. Perhaps I already glowed from the vantage of outward eyes — I better have looked good, given all the time I spent on my makeup that morning — but it was in that instant that I felt it. “Beautiful.” It echoed in my brain, and that warm, lovely feeling stayed with me throughout the night.

After my brother’s recent wedding ceremony, my dad wrote a little Facebook post that made everybody (or at least definitely me) cry. In it, he made a salient point that, being extremely lucky in the lottery of in-laws, I hadn’t much considered: the legal and sentimental bond of matrimony goes far beyond the two people in the dress(es), tux(es)…or whatever the amazingly Offbeat Bride ensemble(s) they choose to wear for their commitment ceremony.

Marrying somebody is marrying his/her/their entire network of love and acquaintanceship. On a familial level, this becomes pretty apparent as a marriage progresses: your spouse’s family can become, quite literally, your family — you gotta coordinate holidays, you gotta take on pain and part in interfamilial conflict, you gotta go to all the parties. You’re one of the crew now, for better or worse, in sickness and in health.

My Hot-Pink-Loving Santa Claus Father Taught Me What Beauty Is

But when it comes to the wedding day itself, your literal and metaphysical family functions more as a (much-beloved) background, a surrounding tableau of smiles and well-wishes that renders individuals near-anonymous en masse. The people who help you battle anxiety and withstand the enormous pressure of that metaphorical multi-person embrace to survive your “special day” and provide a ceremony worthy of memory are a select group of trusted confidantes: your ride-or-dies, your chosen family, your friends. And especially, if you’re a woman (the woman writing this essay, anyhow): your female friends.

I looked beautiful at my wedding five years ago because Jane taught me how to style my hair in finger waves. I looked beautiful at my wedding because, on the morning of, Lauren said “Jenn, get the hell out of the kitchen. Go do your makeup and I’ll wash the dishes.” I looked beautiful because Hannah, bless her most noble of hearts, attended to my excited, nervous mother all day prior to the ceremony, fetching wine as needed and refusing to allow her to call me about anything potentially anxious-making until the vows had safely been said.

I looked beautiful because Beka offered to make the run to pick up the photo collage that was to-be-displayed by the guest book; I looked beautiful because Lindy literally slapped my father-in-law’s fingers when he attempted to snatch a surplus of hand-made favors from the limited amount available.

When it comes to the wedding day itself, your family functions more as a (much-beloved) background, a surrounding tableau of smiles and well-wishes that renders individuals near-anonymous en masse.

I looked beautiful because I’d received bachelorette night hugs from Bethany, Jen, and Lindsey, who’d all traveled from out of town to be there, because I could hear Kaylan’s laugh ringing before I even walked into the ballroom, because Chenoa wore cowboy boots and Jaime accidentally wore a transparent dress to attend my nuptials.

I looked beautiful because I myself, my own super-best friend, spent a lot of time and effort in consultation with all of the above-mentioned women choosing a dress, making my own jewelry to wear for the ceremony, styling my hair, designing and applying my makeup. I looked beautiful because of the effort and influence of a lot of women, and I felt beautiful because of some woman’s exclamation upon observing the fruits of my enterprise. I mean, damn, I know I’ve repeated the word 78 times in this paragraph alone, but it’s just apropos: what a beautiful, beautiful group of women I know. What a beautiful night!

Recently I’ve been thinking about this form of feminine labor, the way my friends and I utilize our bonds of trust to uplift one another during times of celebration or difficulty. It looks a bit different from the models of adult female friendship I observed growing up, but functions so similarly! I have never made a dish to bring to a church potluck or a loved one in bereavement, but I have packed up every mascara I own and sprinted for the faces of friends who are enjoying accomplishment or suffering heartbreak, eager to provide them with the loveliest self-image I can assist in creating. When Hannah married, I spent more time perfecting the makeup of the mother of the groom than decorating my own face (myself, as a sister, being not nearly as important a figure in the resulting photos).

When Lauren, who typically doesn’t wear makeup, was wed last month, I went to painstaking effort to give her the natural-but-OOMPHED aesthetic she envisioned for the day. When Beka received some bad news that rattled her self-esteem, all I could think to do (besides make dumb jokes and help her through a bottle of champagne) was to whip out some shiny shadow and take a photo that, in its gorgeousness, would make plain the absolute ridiculousness of her rejection. Beauty is my gift to them all, a process-based undertaking that serves to offer both me and my friends reassurance and joy.

How To Make Your Face Look Superb For Your Soulmate’s Seoul Wedding

It’s frivolous, I know. Do any of us need to look or feel pretty? We shouldn’t really, I guess. Not like we need to eat. Do any of us need to be married? Discounting depressingly legit reasons like religion-enforced patriarchal tradition and financial dependence, and good ol’ HEY YOU ANCIENT SPINSTER-style societal pressure—of course not!

Nonetheless, I celebrate both on June 30: my marriage, and the experience of beauty I share with my friends. Both are, for me, bulwarks in a world full of bullshit, bastions against very real everyday horrors that would sap my spirit unto death. I need strong bonds with other humans in order to survive, and those I share with my husband and closest women friends sustain me.

“Beauty,” as a process, is not meaningful to me as a dreary prescribed practice of daily maintenance, but functions as more of a spiritual ritual by which I create and reify the relationships that give my life meaning.

Would my wedding day have been as significant if Lauren hadn’t offered to clean my kitchen so I could spend more time on my makeup? Would hers have been as meaningful if she’d been married in her usual bare face, minus my cosmetic wizardry? Well…of course, in the sense that we would both still now be legally bound in commitments to spouses we trust and adore. But would the ceremonies have been *quite* as special, as perfectly personal in lasting memory? I think not.

The last words I heard from another person besides my husband on my wedding night came from the mouth of another friend, a slightly different tone than whoever’d gasped “She looks BEAUTIFUL!” Justin and I had just retreated to our honeymoon suite and slammed the door. We stood leaning against it, grinning stupidly at each other, when we heard the elevator outside DING!, disgorging a load of women who’d closed out the dancing following our wedding.

Do any of us need to be married? Discounting depressingly legit reasons like religion-enforced patriarchal tradition and financial dependence, and good ol’ HEY YOU ANCIENT SPINSTER-style societal pressure — of course not!

“But,” issued an appreciative voice from the elevator, bellowing down the quiet hallway, “did you see Lauren’s boobs?” (Reader, I did. On that particular night and always, they looked excellent.) “Did you SEE THEM?!” My newly minted husband and I both lost it, cackling until we couldn’t breathe, laughing until the clamor of other voices faded into the still of night. I knew again then that I’d made a perfect choice of partner: someone who would never begrudge me the feminine frivolity I cherish in my friendships, someone who delights in myself, my body, my family, my friends, and the absurd ways in which we express our affection for one another.

On June 30 it feels right not only to celebrate my love and ever-increasing appreciation for my partner-in-life, but also the women whose blurted words definitively punctuated our ceremony, the friends who saw us to the point of marriage and beyond. Beauty (and boobs, apparently) have bound us all in a broader web than I was even capable of conceiving when I said “I do” on that swelteringly hot evening in 2012, and five years later? All of those loves shine more brightly than ever. How beautiful is that?!

]]> https://theestablishment.co/how-to-speak-truth-to-power-with-come-hither-hues-of-fuck-you-8292cbb1be9/ Sun, 15 Jan 2017 02:00:48 +0000 https://theestablishment.co/?p=2014 Read more]]> The color, the formulation, the sensory memory of application and wear, the ritual procedure and experience of lipsticks serves both to cement and evoke memory.

The latest how-to from Make Your Face, a makeup tutorial series with a simple mission: makeup by you (me) for your (my) own entertainment, Establishment-style. Now in dazzling video!

Welcome to Make Your Face, a makeup tutorial series with a simple mission: makeup by you (me) for your (my) own entertainment, Establishment-style.

I’m a pretty sunny person. I don’t get mad often. When I was younger I stayed angry all the time, simmering away beneath whatever was happening on my face, and I think I finally just burned most of it off. Thankfully, I just don’t have the energy to feel furious anymore. It’s a nice way to be! But when I do manage to get mad these days, I get MAD. My only anger settings are “no big, it’s totally chill, brah” and CASE OF THE RAAAAGE, and therefore there is no place in my world for the regular ol’ yellow angry face emoji. Nah, I go straight from to .

is apparently officially titled “Pouting Face,” but who the hell are we kidding? That emoji clearly has murder in its heart; fiery burning wrath blazes forth from its brow. The heat of its righteous indignation has altered its color from typical emoji yellow to an infuriated red-orange. That emoji is PISSED OFF. That emoji is about to explode from sheer force of feeling. That emoji doesn’t have any hair, but if it did it would be BIG due to the ENORMOUS VOLUME of its VEXATION.

That’s more like it.

The eyebrows of the rage-face emoji don’t extend beyond the tip of their arches, probably because they were singed off in its initial explosion of ire.

Red-hot rage + yellow emoji skin = orange.

The rage-face emoji appears to sport black eyeliner on its upper waterline:

And brown on the lower lashline:

A bit of brown shadow in the crease of each eyelid helps to simulate the fathomless depths of the rage-face emoji’s angry eyepits. The fire of its passion casts a warm yellow glow beneath each eye socket.

Color!

Suffused with red wrath, the center of the rage-face appears as a sort of UT Vols orange color.

A bright flush of crimson blood is apparent further toward the edges of the face, fading to burnt brown at the outside.

Fingers are really excellent tools for blending.

The rage-face emoji’s eyebrows are dark brown, thick with the weight of displeasure.

And its forehead gleams with a bright sheen of self-righteousness.

Its mouth hangs open in outraged disbelief, revealing a hollow well of darkness deep within the emoji’s core.

This is somewhat difficult to emulate with actual human lips in the way, but shading with black and yellow helps to sell the effect.

Aaaaaand….

WOW, “Pouting Face” is a really unflattering look on me!

I just can’t maintain the mad-ness anymore, looking at that photo. Thanks,  ! I feel better already. 

Welcome to Make Your Face, a makeup tutorial series with a simple mission: makeup by you (me) for your (my) own entertainment, Establishment-style.

My local Michaels Craft Store is remodeling, so a bunch of stuff is on sale. This was 99¢!

The smaller one makes for better Vermeer verisimilitude, but look at the size of that thing! The choice is obvious.

You can purchase an iMagic flash palette on Ebay for, like, $10–15.

Start with the highlights.

Here is a stupid personal aside: my eyebrows are naturally really, really blonde, SO much blonder than the hair on my head. I enjoy my invisibrows when I’ve got my hair bleached and I highly recommend bleaching your eyebrows, actually — it’s awesome! BUT. Since I dyed my hair black, my eyebrows look a MILLION times more plausible if I not only color them in with powder every day but ALSO dye them so the little sprigs of hair don’t look like this weird invisifuzz dusted over some black lines drawn on my forehead.

Since I hit the brow dye I’ve realized that: 1. I like having visible eyebrows to make skeptical expressions with and 2. that it’s tough to cover up glorious raven’s wing brows with makeup! Even in this faded, half-grown out state it’s impossible to make ’em disappear without more work than I really want to do, so. Just make sure to smush a bunch of paint in there.

Girl’s got noticeably bright lower waterlines.

Steps 3–17 are: look at a picture of the painting really closely and try to copy the color placement! (You will fail because you have zero patience and he was Vermeer, but try anyway!)

So Bob Ross right now.

Clean off extra color before blending!

Basically, this:

Corpse with a Pearl Earring? Naw, girl.

Lips!

Blot.

Suddenly remember your neck!

T-shirts make for really excellent turbans.

See?

Too short.

Just right!

Make sure everything’s tucked in properly.

Then apply a white highlight to the lip.

A little red in the center, and. . .

IT’S TIME!

This thing is seriously freakin’ heavy.

But SO worth it!

Welcome to Make Your Face, a makeup tutorial series with a simple mission: makeup by you (me) for your (my) own entertainment, Establishment-style.

Amber did her own Chemtrails face with lipstick this week! I can’t get over the way that star catches the light!

SPEAKING of stars, are you planning to watch the Oscars tomorrow? I have never sat through the Academy Awards before; typically I’m just in it for the fashion coverage on Tom & Lorenzo the next day. This year I’m thinking of tuning in, though, because I really, really want to see what Chris Rock is gonna say about #OscarsSoWhite. Might as well get glammed up to do so!

First, as years of dedicated Lainey Gossip reading have taught me: fake hair. Nobody in Hollywood wears (only) their own hair!

Therefore, I must match my eyebrows to the color of my fake hair, starting with brown liner on the outer arch-to-tip section.

I brushed the liner into a hair-looking texture with a clean mascara wand. (You can swipe ’em from a Sephora try-on display; they’re useful to have around!)

Then dusted medium-dark brown shadow in the middle of my brow with an angled brush, blending into the lined section. You want to use a light hand and build up shadow gradually to get believable-looking brows.

And THEN, the little bit of brow in the center of your face. This part is crucial. You want to use a lighter shade of shadow, apply REALLY lightly, and make sure the edges stay soft rather than sharp. Let a few of your real brow hairs show through to sell the these-are-just-my-real-true-glorious-eyebrows illusion, then seal ’em in place with clear mascara or brow gel.

This seems like a lot of steps just for eyebrows, maybe. Deal with it and curl your lashes. It takes a lot of time to make yourself look like a motherfuckin’ movie star.

It also takes a lot of practice to line the upper inner rims of your eyelids without sending yourself into an uncontrollable blinking spasm, but it can be done! Holding your eyelid open helps.

Primer alllllll over the eyelids + surrounding skin.

Then a shadow only slightly darker than my skin in the crease of the eyelids, blending up toward the brows:

I used a golden-brown color in the creases and corners of my eyelids:

And then added dark brown right in the crease with a tiny brush.

Blended that whole mess together with a fluffy brush. THEN! Metallic copper above the crease:

Glittery shiny metallic brown in the crease:

Blend.

And NOW, now for the moment we’ve all been waiting for: GOLD!

Just go wild with the gold. Put it all over everything.

In fact, add a little more gold in a lighter shade! Pat it on your browbone, put it under your eyes and blend it down over your cheeks.

Take your time with liquid eyeliner. I use my hand to hold my skin steady — don’t stretch it, that’ll leave crinkles in your liner when you let go — and apply in small strokes, blending them together into a line that’s thinner at the inner edge of my eyelid, thicker toward the outside.

A telescoping magnifying mirror is a huge boon when it comes to applying liquid liner. Also, very handy for applying eye makeup at all when you’re not wearing your contacts or glasses!

Gold liner on the bottom lid!

And then, mascara. I used a NARS tube from a sample pack I bought on Black Friday for my top lashes; it goes on with this big spiky roller brush you shove into the base of your lashes and then turn so it combs through the hairs and deposits product.

For my bottom lashes (what, you didn’t think I’d let them go naked, did you?) I used a Gucci mascara with a wand like a little spiked mace, along with a clean mascara brush to tidy up clumpiness.

And then, dear readers, I failed you. I was going to glue in a shit-ton of little individual fake lashes, just like a real celebrity! Unlike a real celebrity, unfortunately, I do not have a pit crew of 17 people at the ready to feed me Valium and champagne while they painstakingly apply my lashes and massage my feet. I lost patience after securing only three lash sprigs and ripped them out to glue on lash strips instead.

I hope you will be able to forgive me.

I put a shiny Benefit bronzer sample all over my cheekbones, as indicated by this very professionally drawn blue line.

Then! Magic. I know you were worried about all that gold smeared underneath my eyes. Looked terrible, right? But! With a thin layer of foundation applied by fingertip over the gold shadow and bronzer, POOF! Perfect, glowy skin!!

I was so enamored with the effect of the bronzer/foundation combo on my cheekbones that I used it on my jawline, too.

I contoured with a light brown shade on my temples, beneath my cheekbones, and under my chin.

Blue-red blush on the cheekbones, orangey-red circles high on the apples of the cheeks:

And then I lined all the way around my lips with a lipliner similar in chroma but slightly more neutral than my natural lip color.

I loaded on some same-color-as-the-liner lipstick, blotted, then used a brush to make the edges extra extra smooth.

Then I added a touch of glimmery gold lipstick to the center of my lips.

Damn girl daaaamn, you look like you wearin’ the Valencia filter IRL!!!

I put on my hair, then pulled it back with pins as would befit a Very Serious Actress who hopes to take home a little naked gold guy at the end of the night. My gown? Naeem Khan, of course, definitely not some cheap scratchy fast-fashion sequined NYE dress I bought at Wet Seal in 2007.

If you stand in bright light and your unsteady selfie hand shakes at just the right frequency to provide a flattering blur, you could almost pass for a real celebrity!

But unlike a real celebrity, you are probably exhausted from your three hours of getting ready. You got the pic! Ditch the ceremony and go wash your face. You’ve earned it.