Fear the Face

I don't usually read interviews with drag queens, but sometimes one is desperate during breakfast and the magazine was lying there: 

Q:There’s something interesting about your drag, which highlights how femininity is very unthreatening up to a certain point, but then it becomes terrifying if there’s too much of it.

A: It’s sort of like when you go to Sephora. When I worked in makeup, I learned that if you were a girl, and you were at work, and you looked great, customers almost expect you to be mean. They’re scared of you. 

I find it funny how people think my fascination with makeup means I'm overtly feminine and girly. I'm not. I spent my youth wishing I had the hand-eye coordination, reflexes, and basic interest in sports to be a tomboy. 

I fought makeup (and Ma's wheedling) until I entered my 20s. It was then I slowly accumulated and gradually slathered on, in gradual layers, what I have previously referred to as "war paint." 

People may mistakenly think that makeup is about ensnaring men. Oh no no. Many men (many many men) found my Face disconcerting. 

Terrifying, even. 

That's the way I like it. Muahahahaha. 

Some mornings I think, "I'm just running out for five minutes, no need to apply any Face." You would not believe how I am disrespected. On the road. While driving.

When I have a bold lip? I'm surrounded by meek cars.

I read an article a few years ago by a bitter woman complaining that once she and her friend entered their 50s, they don't get respect no more. Waiters ignore them (when they are loudly drunk). Oh, the travails of ageism and sexism. 

I asked Ma if she ever felt like that. "Never," she asserted, wielding her eyeshadow brush. She was in her 60s then. 

I like being feared. I don't get any flack on the subway or the city streets. Salespeople are deferential to my "leave me alone" demeanor. Checkout girls don't bruise my fruit. Little children are fascinated, from a devout distance. (I suppose it does help that I pair my goop with the "touch-me-and-you-die" Face.)

Then, if I so choose, I can allow my sunny disposition to shine through my mask, and put the other at ease. I find it's better to start with respect then ease into camaraderie, as opposed to being underestimated then grappling for lost footing. Few people will retroactively respect you. It has to be established from the beginning. 

It all begins with mascara. Two coats, minimum.