By Kathryn Kline | May 4, 2021
When I was 14, I’d spend two hours getting ready each morning before high school
– most of that time spent meticulously applying layers of drugstore makeup onto my olive-tone skin.
We had to be in homeroom by 8:15 a.m., so that meant I would typically wake up around 5:30 a.m., sometimes six. This gave me
enough time to prepare myself, my mind as well as my face and my body, to be presented to the public – my high school peers.
Sitting with my legs bent underneath me, since I didn’t have a real vanity at the time, the skin on my knees would get creased and wrinkled from the rough carpeted floor below, as I peered into my tiny round mirror, which was stacked upon books so that it was at the correct height for me. This was how I got ready every morning – sitting on an uncomfortable, stained carpet.
My routine, in terms of the order of products, went something like this: concealer, foundation, concealer again, bronzer, blush, powder, more bronzer, eyebrows, eyeshadow, eyeliner, lipstick, and the main event: mascara.
Just one application of each product was never enough, so I reapplied heavily and without care. I found myself so unskilled in the realm of makeup early on that it literally took me hours to get anything right – even applying the simplest eyeliner could take upwards of thirty minutes to perfect.
As for mascara, I’d used the darkest black shade that I could find at the store – waterproof, of course, in case of tears, or sweating it off in gym class. In order to apply it, I’d move my eyes in a blinking motion to make sure the black gunk coated each and every individual lash. At the time, I thought it accentuated my otherwise boring, dark brown eyes, but looking back, my lashes probably just looked thick and clumpy, like spider legs. And no matter if I got waterproof mascara, or the “extreme hold” version, it seemed I always ended up with black flakes and smudges underneath my eyes at the end of the day. To me, that was a slip-up. A moment I needed to fix, wipe away, or cover with concealer, to adjust my ‘mask.’
Between my objectively poor makeup skills and my normal textured teenage skin that was dotted with acne and other blemishes, I wasn’t really hiding any imperfections. But back then, it felt like I was at least drawing attention away from those insecurities – and that’s what mattered.
Like many women, for as long as I can remember, I’ve been ever preoccupied with ‘masking’, consistently tweaking myself and my looks, in order to fit in and be seen as normal as possible.
Margaret Atwood put it aptly, in her 1993 novel ‘The Robber Bride’, writing, “You are a woman with a man inside watching a woman. You are your own voyeur.”
It used to scare me that I spent so much of my time thinking about how I looked – like there was something wrong with me. Now, based on extensive reflection, encouraged by some years of therapy, I see this as part of the larger issue of social conditioning that women often face at the hands of a patriarchal society.
In a society that emphasizes external beauty, it’s funny how vanity is considered a mortal sin.
The media tells women, “Look beautiful, but make sure you always look natural.” Or the familiar adage that the best makeup look is one that looks so natural that, “no one will even be able to tell that you’re wearing it.” And if a woman recognizes her own beauty, she is often labelled as conceited or “stuck-up”.
Today, the most popular YouTube makeup tutorials are videos entitled something along the lines of, “No-Makeup Makeup Look”, in which dozens of expensive beauty and skincare products are used to achieve a natural look that is intended, again, to look like one is barely wearing any makeup at all.
And that’s not to say that wearing makeup or wanting to achieve a “natural” makeup look is wrong. That’s the opposite of the point here. The option to wear makeup is inherently feminist, but it’s the fact that women shouldn’t feel like they have to wear makeup, or fit an impossible idealized beauty standard, just because that is what has been forced upon them throughout their whole lives.
In fact, according to student journalist Grace Gyolai, who argues in her article that the makeup industry must change its advertising techniques, women who wear lots of makeup are perceived as “less moral” while women who wear a “professional” amount of makeup are often seen as “capable and reliable.”
“This double standard means choosing to wear a full face of makeup or none at all. However, both are empowering choices that challenge many traditional standards of femininity. The point is autonomy of the choices women make, not what others think they should do,” Gyolai writes.
And there’s a deeper problem, which must be mentioned in any conversation on the matter – the way in which those who aren't considered conventionally attractive, i.e., those who don’t fit an extremely non-inclusive, idealized, white-washed, Facetuned (definition: verb form of the noun ‘Facetune’) standard of beauty, often go unrecognized and are featured less often in the mainstream media, the modeling industry, and other venues relating to beauty and makeup.
In the social media world, everyone is encouraged to edit or filter their pictures, even those with surgically-perfected bodies, like the Kardashian-Jenners, in order to fit some ridiculous Western beauty standard.
This is relevant for all women, but particularly women of
color, “plus size” individuals, and folks that identify outside the gender binary – who are often left out of the picture, literally.
My own journey hasn’t been easy when it comes to accepting my own appearance, and makeup has been a central part of those struggles, though I must recognize the inherent benefits I have gained simply from fitting a white beauty standard. As such, I can only speak to the specific struggles I’ve faced as a young white woman.
Unique to each and every individual, a makeup bag is a curated collection of objects that is reflective of one’s self in a way – what one has been through, what their insecurities may be, and what one hopes to present themselves as to others.
The contents of mine have certainly changed many times over the years, as has the makeup bag itself, reflecting certain changes in self-confidence that I’ve gone through in life as I’ve grown and become more conscious of my ‘masking’ tendencies.
Makeup can be an artistic, even therapeutic, outlet for highlighting beauty and creativity, but it can also feel like the worst, most shameful of masks, depending on one’s mindset and position in life at a given time.
By sharing my experiences living through both of those realities, I hope to clarify just a few of the many ways in which makeup can be both healing, and harming, especially for young women.
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When it comes to my earliest memories regarding makeup, I was never the type of kid that tried to play in my mom’s eyeshadows or with her lipsticks growing up.
It wasn’t until seventh grade – after transferring to public school from a private Catholic school – that I really became aware of other women wearing makeup and the fact that, perhaps, I needed to be wearing it, too.
So, I did what any kid does at age 12. I went digging in my sister’s makeup bag and found a tube labelled “eyeliner” with a brown lid indicating its chestnut shade. I went to the bathroom, locked the door and tried to apply it, thinking, ‘How hard could this be?’
Immediately, I found out that applying makeup was a lot harder than it looks, a cliché that proves true when it comes to all the painting, contouring, and shading that is required in an average makeup routine.
The eyeliner, which I assumed would be a solid pencil like I’d seen at the store or on commercials, was liquid eyeliner, with a brush-like tip that the product literally dripped off of.
Picture a 12-year-old with a shaky hand trying to apply oozy brown paint along their upper lash line and you can imagine something along the lines of how terrible it turned out on the first try, and many tries thereafter.
I immediately felt shame – for how I looked, for not knowing how to use this product, for not knowing how to be like other women. It was the first time I’d really experienced this feeling, which would end up being a consistent feeling throughout most of my teenage years.
I didn’t even want to come out of the bathroom wearing the eyeliner, so I took it off with a makeup-remover wipe before showing my face in front of my family. That night, I begged my mom to let me start wearing makeup to school. It took several weeks, but she eventually said I could, and I started slowly experimenting.
So naturally, one day a couple months later, before going to a family picnic, I decided I wanted to put on a little makeup. Now, as most people know, eyebrows are a delicate area of the face, since they frame the rest of your features. Heavily filled-in eyebrows can quickly become overpowering, and I learned this lesson the hard way that day.
Using a brow powder that was multiple shades too dark for me, I overlined and overfilled my brows in such an unflattering way that has luckily never been repeated since.
Of course, when I came out of the bathroom after doing my makeup, I had no idea how uneven and strange they looked at the time. Not until my sister took one look at me, and then my mom. Their eyes met and they shared a look, but they didn’t say a word, because my cousins were in the room and they probably didn’t want to completely embarrass me.
My sister just silently shepherded me into the bathroom and said, “Your eyebrows are way too dark, but I’ll help you fix them,” in the way that only a big sister can.
So, from then on, I went to my sister, Lissa, for any and all makeup advice, since she was three years older, and wiser.
She was quite experienced in this realm, at least compared to anyone I knew, and she was known in our school for being something of a makeup guru, which she also faced flack for – sometimes being called “cake face” (an insult implying that one’s makeup is “caked” on their face heavily) or other names critiquing her passion for makeup.
At one point, I was so dedicated to getting it right that I had my sister write out all the steps for applying eyeshadow and send it to me so that I could put it
into my Notes App on my iPhone for quick reference. I wanted to know the exact areas of my eyelid to place each type of eyeshadow – the highlight, or lightest color, on the brow bone, and the darkest shade in the crease.
I wrote down what brushes to use for each product, and the way in which to use each brush, whether to apply in a side- to-side, windshield wiper motion, or perhaps in a precise, stippling motion.
I thought if I knew the exact steps and techniques, then I would surely be able to do makeup well, which isn’t really how it works.
I was still applying dark eye makeup that was entirely too overpowering for my deep-set eyes and generally had a long way to go in finding the products that accentuated my features. It served as a mask, though, the dark eyeshadow and mascara – my amateur attempts at making myself what I considered to be “prettier” for the world, at least at the time.
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By age 13, I was wearing some sort of makeup every day – not always heavy and dark, but it was consistently there, and I was aware of that.
I was aware that I was someone who had to wear makeup, or so I thought, compared to other girls that could get by based on their natural beauty alone.
I definitely had more acne compared to my friends at the time, so that was naturally part of the issue, too – wanting to cover up the blemishes and fit in.
By early high school, makeup was on my face for the majority of the day, which, in reality, probably only made my acne worse. The only time my face was bare is if I was sleeping, and, sometimes, not even then – if I was staying over at a friend’s house and didn’t want to go through the hassle and insecurities of removing all my makeup.
I literally wore makeup at all events in life – even if I was planning on going to the beach to swim or had soccer practice later that day. In the early days, I ended up sweating or washing it off more times than I can count. Eventually, I found the perfect waterproof and “stay-proof” products to ensure that I could wear makeup all day without my ‘mask’ wilting and wasting away by lunchtime.
I’m not sure what the point really was, because no matter what makeup I wore or how I tried to cover up, people could see my face and my features in plain sight. But, the winged eyeliner, which eventually became my signature look, made me feel different – more confident, more beautiful. That’s the main reason why I wore it.
In high school, I was known as the friend who always had her makeup bag in her backpack. Yes, in addition to my gym bag, heavy textbooks, and other school materials, I also carried around a decently sized makeup bag filled with products every single day.
There were many times that a friend would forget it was picture day and needed makeup, or they were crying over a breakup at lunchtime, so they would text me and ask to borrow my makeup bag in between classes, because they knew I always carried it with me.
It’s sort of sad now to think of how much time I spent adjusting and tweaking my appearance in the mirror between classes when I could have been talking and laughing with my friends or studying for a test the next period.
I felt shame even then, as I would wait for the breaks between classes just to go into the bathroom and quickly set my backpack on the sink, pull out my makeup bag, and touch up my concealer or powder.
Upon looking in the mirror, if my face looked blotchy or greasy, or if there was a mascara smudge under my eyes, it felt like an embarrassment – like my mask had slipped and that anyone who looked at me would never take me seriously. I’m sure the change in my appearance was minimal after each touch-up, but to me, it felt like a world’s difference.
On the worst days, it felt like my capacity to do well in life, both personally and academically, depended on the way I looked. And somedays it still feels like that, though I’ve worked hard to get to a place where I can simply acknowledge these thoughts and let them move through my brain, knowing the sentiment is false – planted in my mind by the patriarchy, fed by years of insecurity, and fueled by toxic social media influencer culture.
The idea has been cemented in my head since I was young, all these moments where I was reminded of how important my face looked to other people, like the time in dance class when a girl a year older than me came an inch away from my face to tell me that my concealer wasn’t blended enough on a spot where I had tried to cover up a pimple on my forehead.
“I can see your concealer,” she said loudly, in front of the class.
That comment haunts me. Now, I can laugh about it, thankfully because my makeup skills have improved since then. But still, the fundamental misconception remains - that if someone can see your makeup, it somehow makes you unattractive. Makeup is an object that sits on top of the skin, so, by definition, makeup is going to be seen – on top of whatever texture or imperfections each of us have on our skin naturally. And that’s not something the beauty industry has often been open or realistic about, with its extreme photoshopping standards that have created an unrealistic beauty standard for women of all ages and sizes across the world.
It’s unrealistic simply because it’s a beauty standard that normal people can’t possibly be expected to achieve – even with the utmost editing and the best makeup products available to them.
That’s because most of the influencers and celebrities that have been popularized in mainstream culture today have had their bodies enhanced and modified in some way or another through plastic surgery procedures.
With top models like Bella Hadid breaking onto the scene after she allegedly changed her face significantly through plastic surgery, it’s not hard to see why girls today think they need a smaller nose, a sharp jawline, foxlike eyebrows, and bigger eyes to be considered attractive.
These modifications are just some of the specific goals that people have in mind when going into plastic surgery – and it’s based on an idealized and whitewashed standard of beauty. We live in a culture where many women are going to plastic surgeons and saying, “Make me look like Kim Kardashian,” or “make me look like” insert any other celebrity/influencer name here… And that is a direct result of toxic beauty standards at their worst.
The New Yorker referred to this phenomenon as ‘Instagram face’, and others have coined similar terms, like ‘celeb face’, that refer to the homogenized beauty standard that many influencers are pressured to conform to through plastic surgery, Facetuning (editing), extreme dieting and an endless list of other means.
It’s not that plastic surgery is wrong, in fact, I openly admit that I might one day want to get preventative Botox for my wrinkles or a little tweak when I’m older. What’s wrong with that? I
believe any human should be able to express themselves in a way that makes them happy, as long as it’s not causing harm to others – that’s a right we all have, especially in regard to our own bodies.
It’s more so the toxic business built behind encouraging unrealistic beauty standards to impressionable young women in order to make money and sell products (like makeup and surgeries) that is the issue. It all comes back to capitalism, once again.
My main grievance with mainstream influencer/Instagram culture can be best summed up in a case example of Khloe Kardashian – socialite, media personality, clothing designer, and third- born sister in the ultra-famous Kardashian clan.
Recently, Kardashian had a photo of her leaked that she did not approve of. Funny enough, her grandmother is the one that “leaked” the picture by posting it on her Instagram without approval– it was a photo of Khloe by the pool, unposed and looking casual, in a swimsuit.
The photo itself received little attention at first, just a few Tweets circulating about it on the web. A day or two later, news came out that Kardashian’s lawyers were attempting to scrub (remove) the photo completely from the Internet. Naturally, given all the extra attention, the photo went viral.
There was nothing explicitly wrong with the photo that stood out as a reason why Kardashian didn’t like the picture, which is what had a lot of users on social media confused. The main comment was that she looked much different in this unposed photo than in her posed (and edited) social media posts.
My first reaction to the situation, from an ethical standpoint, is that no one deserves to have a photo posted of them that they don’t like without their permission, for whatever reason – especially a private photo of them in a bathing suit when they were just relaxing with family. For that reason, I don’t blame Khloe for being upset.
If my opinion matters, Khloe seems to be a strong woman who has worked hard to get where she is, with a highly successful clothing brand (‘Good American’) and multiple other impressive business ventures.
Furthermore, I cannot begin to imagine the amount of hate and criticism that Khloe has received, even compared to her sisters, as she’s always been called the “fat sister”, or illegitimate, with gossip columns accusing her of being O.J. Simpson’s daughter, not actually Robert Kardashian’s daughter. Those types of accusations are unfair, unsubstantiated, and just plain hurtful. And at the end of the day, she’s a normal human being with feelings, albeit one belonging to a prominent and privileged family worth billions of dollars.
Many of the comments regarding the “leaked” photo were that Kardashian looked much different in that photo than she does in her other Instagram posts, alleging that she relies on a mixture of heavy editing, surgery, and good angles to look the way she does on social media compared to in
real life. Look, she’s beautiful no matter what. This isn’t meant to be a subjective argument about this woman’s beauty.
Here’s the problem – none of the Kardashians have ever been even slightly honest about the surgeries they have most likely had done, or the editing and airbrushing they do to their pictures, even though it’s obvious at times. There are even accounts on Instagram dedicated to exposing the Kardashians’ photo editing errors.
Again, I’m not making a moral argument about whether editing and tweaking through surgery is wrong (I don’t think it is), but to lie or deceive the public about it while profiting from their support does seem a bit unjust. No one owes the public their honesty, but when girls are starving themselves trying to look like an influencer who doesn’t actually look like the pictures she posts on Instagram in real life, then it’s easy to see how this situation becomes dangerous quickly.
Among many other sponsored posts, the Kardashians have made money on Instagram from selling “Skinny Tea” that dubiously claims to help you lose weight, and waist-trainers (think: corset that you wear all day to make your waist smaller. Again, dubious in its actual results).
No one is blind to the fact that influencers and models make money off the way they look. Much of the Kardashian brand has been built around the way they look. No wonder they want to look good, it’s part of their job description – and there’s no shame
in that.
However, ethically, I think that influencers, like the Kardashians, should be more open about the lengths they go to modify their looks for business and making money, like acknowledging when a photo of theirs is edited, and perhaps then we could begin to break the rigid beauty standards they helped create, but this is unlikely to happen anytime soon.
When girls start to look up to a beauty standard that doesn’t exist, we end up with a generation of girls with severe body- image issues. Many millennials and members of Gen Z are finding comfort in TikTok communities that discuss such issues, like body dysmorphia, eating disorders, and the pressures of the media, in a candid manner.
Having grown up in a culture that didn’t necessarily take these issues seriously, finding an Internet community of people that are voicing how you’ve felt for so long is quite cathartic – and I’ve experienced that feeling of resonance
firsthand, seeing TikToks analyzing the role that early 2000s media played in shaping Gen Z’s collective body image issues, which I’ll delve into more in the next section.
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When I first ponder the idea of what media shaped me, both positively and negatively, in terms of my self-image and makeup use, I immediately think of early 2000s pop culture.
Some columnists have remarked that the aughts were the peak of pop culture. If we were judging by social media activity alone, then all signs point to yes. Today, there are thousands of Instagram accounts dedicated to reminiscing on celebrity culture during those years. One of the most popular 2000s-dedicated Instagram accounts is aptly named “Pop Culture Died in 2009”.
I have a love-hate relationship with the tabloid-style, paparazzi pop culture of the 2000s. It’s fun to reminisce now over the nostalgia of the glitzy fashion and style at the time, but I must also recognize the negative impacts of celebrity culture.
The 2000s were a time when stick-thin celebrities, socialites, actors and models like Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan were at the forefront of the media. I don’t fault them for feeling like they had to stay thin to be popular, as this was literally encouraged and praised by the media and the public.
Still, referring to the Khloe Kardashian case example, it becomes an issue when we consider the young girls, like me, who grew up with those celebrities and their stick-thin bodies as the main example of womanhood in the mainstream media.
Other celebrities that I looked up to were Disney stars, like actresses Demi Lovato and Selena
Gomez, who also faced extreme criticism from the public when it came to their looks and their bodies no matter what they did or how thin they were.
Lovato specifically has spoken out about how damaging the media culture was to her self-image, and it was a huge part of what led her to quit her hit Disney show ‘Sonny with a Chance’ to seek rehab for an eating disorder when she was just a teenager.
Gomez faced similar critiques regarding her weight, as noted by one TikTok user who recalled an occurrence in 2015 where Selena Gomez was severely body-shamed by the media for wearing a swimsuit to the beach that was slightly too small for her (pictured at left).
In the TikTok, which features an older clip, Gomez can be seen talking to talk-show host Ellen DeGeneres not only about how this was the first time the media called her fat, but about how the media took it to the extreme – calling her “a mess” and that she’s “gone off the deep-end.” A media environment where a woman is criticized for her weight and repeatedly told that she’s lesser than because of
how she looks is clearly not an environment that is going to be very positive or encouraging for young women.
However, Gomez’s willingness to speak out in defense of herself and her body, rather than trying to scrub the picture from the Internet like Khloe Kardashian, is something that should serve as a lesson in honesty and humility for famous people. If these influencers and celebrities care about their fans as much as they claim to, they at least owe them the dignity to admit their flaws and acknowledge when a picture is edited or manipulated in some way. Being in the public eye doesn’t require one to act ethically, and at the end of the day, it’s up to these women to share whatever they feel comfortable sharing about their bodies, but I know a lot of young, impressionable women that would be better off for it.
We can also look at the prominence of the Victoria’s Secret model in the early 2000s as a perfect example of the unachievable standards set for women by corporations and mass media. Growing up, my friends and I would sometimes watch the VS fashion show (VSFS) that were aired on TV, featuring all their impossibly beautiful, skinny, and tall models.
The whole time we were watching, my friends would make little comments that they wished they looked like these women, or that, somehow, if they just stopped eating carbs, they could look like a VS model. I would see the same type of damaging rhetoric surrounding the VSFS on social media as I got older and created a Twitter account.
Though representation has improved somewhat in years since, the early 2000s media that shaped me featured very few female figures that weren’t at least thin, and those who could appear in films or model were labelled as “plus-size” or critiqued as “over-weight.”
Still, today, the use of the word “plus-size” has been hotly debated, as many critics point out that the models featured as plus-size look to be of an average size, considering that the average size of an U.S. women is between size 16 and 18, according to a study published in the International Journal of Fashion Design, Technology, and Education. Of course, no one’s complaining about more diverse representation of women in media and the modeling industry, but the labelling of average-sized women as “plus-sized” isn’t exactly as positive or inclusive as some seem to think.
According to the same study, most women’s clothing lines only sell up to a size 12, meaning that the average U.S. woman can’t find her own size at most mainstream fashion stores. This is severely damaging to the self-esteem of many women, and it could be fixed if brands chose to cater to all individuals, not just those individuals that fit conventional beauty standards.
By looking at some recent marketing campaigns from the beauty and makeup industry, it is clear to see that this industry thrives off making women feel lesser in some way. It’s all about what we’re lacking – that’s how the industry tries to appeal to women – whether we lack full lips, long hair, flushed cheeks, or whatever it may be.
One example is the use of the word “real” in fashion and beauty marketing campaigns. Dove has utilized the slogan “real beauty” as a basis of their global marketing strategy and brand identity since 2004, according to the Independent. Similarly, the young women’s clothing brand Aerie (a subset of the popular store seen in malls across America: American Eagle), has utilized a marketing campaign called “Aerie Real” for the last couple years.
The use of the word “real” is apparently meant to refer to the companies’ emphasis on featuring realistic women’s bodies, and perhaps those campaigns are a step in the right direction, but when they are only featuring women that are around size 12 and under, even if they are considered plus-size, that is not a fully feminist or inclusive statement. The term “real” is “intrinsically troublesome,” the Independent notes, “given its inherent implication that a woman can either be fake or real, depending on which beauty brand she uses,” and use of such terms in beauty campaigns show that we still have a long way to go before responsible advertising is considered the norm in the industry.
More than that, using case examples from the marketing of beauty products, we can see how there is a clear lack of diversity and representation of POC in the industry.
In January 2018, Estee Lauder released a new line of foundation called the “Double Wear Nude Water Fresh Makeup SPF25,” composed of 30 total shades. Of those shades, there were maybe eight shades that could be used by people of color. Despite backlash, the line was not pulled, and an apology was never issued by Estee Lauder.
There are many similar instances like this that have happened in recent years, such as with the prestige brand Tarte who, in 2018, released only 3 shades that were usable by POC in their 15-
product concealer line. It’s confusing how mainstream brands still haven’t gotten the hint that they should be designing and releasing makeup and beauty products for all people, not just those with lighter skin tones.
Tarte, however, did offer an apology for their mistake, noting that it “may be too little too late,” but that this was not intended to be “malicious.” Later in the statement, the company deflects their mistake by stating that they “made the decision to move forward before all the shades were ready to go.”
Even though the brand promised to consumers that they “can and will do better,” it’s unclear whether these type of multi-billion-dollar brands have fully learned their lesson and will change their actions in the future, and the whole situation has encouraged many individuals to opt for the use of makeup brands that are culturally aware. Going into the future, corporations are going to have to reckon with the ethics of their marketing tactics and overall practices or else they will face decrease in support from a public who increasingly is concerned about ethical business practices.
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As for the more positive media influences that helped contribute to my feminist awakening, I look to a variety of books, movies, and TV shows as being the most fundamental.
The movies I see as most impactful on my femininity and expression of self are as follows: Clueless (1995), Legally Blonde (2001), Matilda (1996), 10 Things I Hate About You (1999), and Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1961), for a variety of reasons.
Clueless, which is loosely based on the Jane Austen novel Emma, follows the imaginary life of an extravagantly dressed, outspoken teenager coming of age in California in the 90s. The character of Cher taught me that it’s okay to dress up and look good, even if others don’t agree with your sense of style, and that it doesn’t make you any less respectable to want to wear cute clothes. Cher is critiqued by others in the movie as being an airhead, or ‘clueless’, because she cares so much about fashion and beauty, but this was far from the case.
In the movie, Cher is seen dedicating herself and her time to others, such as with her two teachers who she tries to play matchmaker for by giving them wardrobe makeovers, as well as her friend, Tai, who is a new student at the school that she takes under her wing.
As for Breakfast at Tiffany’s, this movie is iconic for a plethora of reasons, but the moment that sticks out to me most is the line where Audrey Hepburn’s character states, “People don’t belong to people,” in response to the lead male protagonist confessing his love for her.
The reason why this line resonated so
much with me is because it taught me that a woman only belongs to herself, not to a man, not to the media, society or anyone else. Therefore, no woman should be bound to the standards set by others, such as the toxic beauty expectations encouraged by the beauty industry. Breakfast at Tiffany allowed me to realize that I’m not just a product of capitalism and consumerism – I’m my own individual, and I get to decide how I want to look.
Legally Blonde is such an impactful movie because of the way Reese Witherspoon’s girly, fashionable character breaks the norm of what a traditional lawyer, or law student, looks like. In the movie, Witherspoon’s character, Elle, decides to make it her life mission to get into Harvard Law School after she is dumped by her law school boyfriend who alleges that Elle doesn’t take life seriously enough.
After tons of hard work, Elle is accepted into Harvard, leading to one of the most iconic feminist moments in film where she runs into her ex-boyfriend in the halls, who is completely flabbergasted she got accepted and asks her “You got into Harvard?”. Elle confidently states in response, “What? Like it’s hard?”
This movie, like the others I’ve mentioned, taught me that a woman can be whatever she wants. Women can be intelligent and hard-working, while also wearing makeup and cute clothes – those ideas aren’t mutually exclusive. More than that, Legally Blonde is so iconic because it encourages girls to seek out successful careers that are traditionally dominated by men, which is not a common narrative that the mainstream media was pushing in the early 2000s.
In addition to movies, feminist books and writings have been equally important in my journey of self-discovery.
As mentioned, Margaret Atwood and her iconic books are a huge inspiration for much of my feminist thinking, including titles like The Handmaid’s Tale, The Robber Bride, and more.
Another feminist thinker that has been super impactful for me is Laura Mulvey, the creator of the ‘male gaze’ theory, which has been fundamental in my understanding of the dangerous way in which mainstream media often only depicts women through a male’s voyeuristic point of view.
Finally, one of my biggest sources of inspiration has been my therapist, Karin, who is a highly- educated feminist with extensive knowledge of the way the human psyche reacts to societal pressures like beauty standards. She has been a part of my journey since my freshman year of college, and it has been so useful to have someone to bounce my ideas off of when I’m feeling
esepcially sad or down about myself or the state of affairs in our beauty industry and society as a whole. Finding a therapist that one trusts and can open up to is hard to come by, but the benefits and opportunities for self-discovery once you make that type of connection are truly endless, which is why therapy is such an important tool in reclaiming femininity and dismantling toxic beauty standards for many women.
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Throughout all of high school and some of college, my signature look, as I mentioned, was my winged eyeliner. I eventually became quite good at it. (I mean, I would hope so for how often I was applying it – sometimes, multiple times a day).
I remember a time during sophomore year of college when a friend of mine said to me, after knowing me for an entire year, “You know, I’ve never seen you without eyeliner.”
That moment felt a little shameful, perhaps because it felt like she was recognizing or pointing out my mask – the thick eyeliner that just gave me a little more confidence, made me feel a little more put together.
Another time, when I went to a weekend-long concert with a guy friend at the University of Virginia, I snuck to the communal dorm bathroom early in the morning to re-apply my makeup before he woke up. I didn’t even have romantic feelings for the guy, but still felt so pressured to look a certain way. I ended up dropping my pressed powder onto the tiled bathroom floor where it immediately smashed into pieces before I could even use it – an ironic foreshadowing of my exhaustive efforts at ‘masking’ that would be soon shattered.
However, in going-out culture during college, I found a world where heavy makeup was accepted and encouraged, not shamed. My roommates and I shared a loved for makeup, and we treated our “getting ready” time each weekend as sacred – creating specific playlists for the hours-long process of getting ready to go out to a club or frat party.
In college, I also discovered a world of high-end makeup through my peers at school, opening up a whole new avenue for jealousy and comparison. I began taking regular shopping trips to Georgetown solely to go to Sephora (a store that did not exist in my small, rural hometown).
My GW friends in general always seem to be ahead on the trends, knowing which brands were the best, and having the money to dole out on expensive products – and it was no different when it came to makeup.
There was Laura Mercier, Pat McGrath, Bobbi Brown, and a million other name brands in makeup royalty that I’d come to learn in no time, but never really have the money to splurge on, besides a few samples or travel sizes here and there – even today.
When I started college is when I also began experiencing severe social anxiety, fueled by the natural stress caused by moving to the city for the first time ever, and it didn’t help that the city was Washington, D.C., or more specifically, that the area was Foggy Bottom, one of the city’s most affluent, competitive neighborhoods.
I would have full-blown panic attacks in class from a variety of stimuli – sometimes just from having to answer a question. I mean, the threshold was truly low.
One class I had, a seminar during my first semester of freshman year, was all girls. And naturally, due to my social anxiety, they all seemed smarter, cooler and prettier than me. In that class, we had to do numerous presentations over the semester – genuinely more than I’ve had in any class since. And during every single presentation, I had a panic attack. I got through it, and got a decent grade in the class, but I had a panic attack every single time. And we’re talking full- body, adrenaline coursing through my veins, extreme dizziness, feeling nauseous, the whole nine yards, type of panic attacks.
Of course, not all my anxiety was socially-based, but a lot of it came from constantly comparing myself to my peers – glancing at myself in any reflective surface in order to adjust my ‘mask.’ I was so preoccupied with how others saw me, and that was reflected in the way I tried so hard to perfect my clothes and makeup to match those
around me.
And it wasn’t until I began to feel that anxiety manifest itself physically, through panic attacks, that I decided to seek help from a therapist in DC and began to actually confront the social anxieties that were plaguing me by talking through my issues and addressing my past traumas.
Just a few months into therapy, during the spring semester of freshman year, I stopped wearing winged eyeliner and most makeup entirely. It honestly began when I was feeling quite anxious and depressed and found myself losing motivation to apply makeup. That summer, though, when the anxiety began to lessen and I started to feel better mentally, I realized I didn’t need it – for
good. I felt better without it. I could rub my eyes when I was tired, and it wouldn’t smudge my makeup.
It was life changing. I was no longer Kat Kline with the signature winged eyeliner that never left my eyes. It felt freeing.
Today, I still find joy in applying heavier makeup, even winged eyeliner sometimes, but this happens only on occasion every few months, especially since the advent of the pandemic.
Instead, I mainly stick to a few core products that I know work for me and my skin-type.
I don’t wear eyeliner at all anymore, and rarely wear mascara. For me, the essentials include a good skincare routine, sunscreen, moisturizer, concealer, and blush.
When I was younger, I wanted my makeup to “cover-up” my insecurities, no pun intended. Today, it’s not that those insecurities (the bump in my nose, my smile lines) have gone away, it’s that they have so much less power over me, because I don’t want to cover them up any more.
I’ve learned to accept them more, and in turn, I’ve been able to stop thinking about my appearance so much, though those tendencies still flare up on occasion.
Now, if I use it at all, I use makeup to accentuate the features of my face that are there naturally. I use makeup to brighten up my face, which is why I love blush and highlighter, which add color, joy and vitality to my skin. Lately, in the midst of the mess that is school and life, my routine has consisted simply of washing my face with a gentle cleanser and following with moisturizer.
For once in my life, I actually feel comfortable having a bare face – and even going all day with no makeup on. Whereas I would have never stepped foot outside my house without eyeliner and powder on my face in previous years, I feel freed by the short amount of time it now takes me to get ready on an everyday basis.
My best friend growing up would often complain about how long it took me to get ready when we were younger, and I would feel embarrassed knowing I didn’t feel comfortable going outside with my bare skin showing to the world like she did. Even though I rarely wear makeup nowadays, I still don’t subscribe to the mindset that a woman should be shamed for wearing makeup for any reason.
I find comfort and freedom in knowing that I have both options – to wear makeup, or not to – and both are equally authentic expressions of myself, as long as I’m the one getting to decide. And for the first time in years, I am.
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Wearing makeup in the year 2021 comes with even more anxiety-provoking complications than ever, summed up in one word: Zoom.
Now that most of our human interactions occur via video chat software on our computers, due to the COVID-19 pandemic, mainstream society has responded accordingly in terms of beauty
standards, though it’s unclear if these relaxed trends will last as we progress back into the demands of post-pandemic life.
I’ll be the first one to say I’ve fallen for all the quarantine trends aimed at consumer dollars, especially those that emphasize comfort and relaxation, like matching sweatpants sets and furry slippers. Anything that will make me more comfortable seems like a desirable clothing option at this point, as I’m operating my life from the comfort of my home and have no one to impress.
Since fashion standards have become so lax, one would think the same attitudes would apply to makeup standards.
At least in my experience, that has not been the case – wearing makeup and dealing with issues of self-image in general hasn’t become any less complicated over the course of the pandemic.
As I’m currently finishing my last semester of undergrad, “going to class” nowadays means simply logging onto Blackboard or Zoom and joining a video call.
Sure, no one in the class can technically see you up close and personal, and, granted, most people’s video quality isn’t that great, since most of us are using our built-in webcams. Still, there’s a strange, uncomfortable pressure that comes along with constantly seeing your face on camera, even if it is just a small box
in the corner of your computer screen.
When it comes to my own beauty routine in the Zoom University era, it really depends on what type of day you catch me on. If I’m feeling extra insecure, or perhaps I have a presentation that day, then I’ll put on a tiny bit of makeup to brighten my face up, but nothing major.
Honestly, on the average day, I don’t wake up with enough time to actually do my makeup before class
in the morning. Opposed to just last year when I would have to wake up an hour or so before class to get ready and walk there, now I simply have to wake up, turn on my bedside light, and open my laptop. It’s a strange world we live in.
Regardless of whether I’m wearing makeup or not, I tend to feel anxious when I have my camera on in class, at least to some degree.
It’s the ability to see myself constantly – every little movement and facial expression – that paralyzes me into fear sometimes. It takes a couple minutes (or longer) each time I join a Zoom
call to relax my brain and body and try to forget the fact that my camera is on, my face is being recorded, and that other people can see me.
And then, of course, when I have to speak, answer a question, or present in class, I’m even more hyperaware of what I look like on camera. And if a professor is especially demanding about students constantly having their cameras on, this can be even more anxiety-provoking, which is a common complaint I’ve heard from other college students my age as well.
The reality is that sometimes I’m able to work better and more efficiently when I can’t see myself being recorded on screen. As long I’m staying focused and have my camera on most of the time, I think professors should be accepting that sometimes having the camera on isn’t the best option for a student’s mental health or self-image on certain days. Luckily, most of my professors have been accommodating, but I know that hasn’t been the case for some students.
The only solution that sometimes helps is minimizing the self-view so that I can’t see my face, but even then, the green light is always on. I know I’m being recorded and perceived, and that’s often enough to be uncomfortable.
At this point, however, it’s the reality of the world that we all are living in. Out of necessity, I’ve slowly become more comfortable appearing and speaking on Zoom over time. Among all the things to be doing in life during a pandemic, it is clearly not the ideal situation to be getting a college education in.
Luckily, I’m graduating this semester, and luckily for everyone else who isn’t, things will be hopefully be more normal in the coming fall semester, as more of the population gets vaccinated and we get closer to herd immunity. Despite it all, it’s truly impressive the way in which college students and professors alike have adapted over the last year and a half, and I think, unfortunately, that strength hasn’t been adequately acknowledged or celebrated.
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Proposing a timeless solution for the modern beauty industry
One of the most prominent feminist public figures of the 20th century, American journalist Cokie Roberts, often remarked that women needed to embrace the continuity and community they have always shared. When Roberts said this, part of that continuity she was referring to is the historical traditions that women have always held steadfast.
“She pointed out that the earliest excavations of human settlement always turn up the same implements used by women: cooking utensils, make-up kits and jewelry,” according to her husband, beloved GW professor Steven Roberts.
In her view, which I share, adornment is an essential part of being a woman, and the idea of being a feminist is not mutually exclusive with the practice of adorning oneself.
Part of being a woman is this historic desire to enhance ourselves in some way, to add minerals, metals, and other items to our bodies to make us stand out and to help us enjoy our own bodies.
It’s comforting knowing that I share this desire for adornment with endless women throughout history. Though their tools may have been more rudimentary, I admire the fact that when I’m painting my face, I have an inherent commonality with my ancestors.
Makeup is not exclusive to females, or any gender for that matter, but it’s undeniable that women have long been at the forefront of innovation, creativity, and passion for makeup, and that must be recognized.
Ultimately, there is a huge lesson to be learned from Roberts’ philosophy – that women have much more in common with each other than they have differences. And if we can begin to celebrate and emphasize those commonalities that unite us, it’s likely that we can reach a more healing and healthy societal view on body image in the coming years.
It’s interesting how this proposed solution for the beauty industry is rooted in history, as solutions for human struggles often are, given the way history repeats itself. Makeup is one of the essential objects that have always defined women – their glories and struggles – throughout history. If women can learn to embrace that shared origin story and shared passion for adornment, despite any perceived differences, then we will have a society of women that are more supportive of each other.
Furthermore, it’s a lesson that the mainstream makeup industry and influencer culture needs to learn. While our differences are what makes us unique and beautiful, and should be highlighted, not hidden, by makeup, we have more similarities deep down than most women realize upon first glance.
And part of that lesson is recognizing is that adornment and feminism can, and should, go hand- in-hand. Makeup has existed since the early days of human life for a reason, and we all deserve to feel beautiful and adorned by it. But that doesn’t have to come along with the dangerous beauty standards and poor body image representation that are standard in the industry today.
It’s possible for the beauty industry, including makeup brands as well as celebrities and influencers, to change their marketing tactics, photo editing standards, and other toxic practices, and I believe that women across the world deserve a change like this in order to hold the industry accountable once and for all.
The only way to make something like this happen, though, is to speak up and to fight back, as I’ve attempted here in this essay, which will hopefully happen more often as women, and our culture, start to embrace more feminist ideals, including an emphasis on our inherent and historical similarities in womanhood when it comes to beauty, our bodies, and self-adornment.