Glitter: A femininity gate way drug

It wasn’t until recently that I realized the greatness that is glitter. In my years, I noted glitter as a nuisance. A material made solely to annoy me, and wedge its way onto every surface imaginable. When handed a birthday card laden with glitter, my skin would crawl. Christmas decorations covered in glitter caused me brief fits of rage. Once glitter enters your life in one way, shape, or form – you don’t get rid of it.  It is with you forever.

Days, weeks, months will go by and you will still find a little speck of light mocking you. The birthday card placed on the kitchen table will forever be immortalized due to the remaining particles left behind. It’s the note on a bathroom stall saying “Jessica was here.” In this case, glitter was here, and there is nothing you can do to get rid of it.

As you can imagine, putting glitter anywhere near my face was a fate worse than death.  I couldn’t even fathom what the texture would be like.  Nor could I comprehend the pains I would have to take to remove it.

I need matte everything.

Matte foundation, matte eye shadow and matte lipstick. Highlighter? No way! A blush with a sheen? Get out of here with that! Any employee at Sephora is completely justified if they ever called me insane the moment I left the store based on my in store glitter retorts.

Truthfully, glitter was only acceptable if you were a young girl in a dance competition. Mandatory only to set yourself apart from the sea of dancers all dressed alike. It was not something to apply because you enjoyed it. Shudder at the thought.

But one day, my theory changed.

A little less than a year ago, I took a new position and found myself in cubicle life. Monotony in its purest form. I would walk the hallway, look at my reflection in one of the office windows and think “My god, this is dull work.  I am dull. Everything is dull!”

That day, I marched myself into Sephora and picked up every glittery, shimmery, obnoxious article of makeup I could get my hands on. My basket was filled to the brim with highlighters, shimmer bricks, glitter eyeliner, and the most obnoxious lip colors I could find.

When home, I lovingly placed my new purchases on my vanity. I couldn’t help but think that I’ve either lost my mind, or I have found myself embarking on a new chapter of my essence.

Yes, my essence.  This is about to get deep.

It took some time to realize, but glitter had represented femininity to me. Femininity is something I never mastered, and denounced in a way. It is not unlike me to tell friends and family that I harbor more testosterone than I do estrogen. I do not wear skirts. I do not wear dresses. The few occasions where I do have to wear them, I feel incredibly self-conscious. My confidence shines when I’m wearing a bad ass pair of pants, a blouse and a blazer. To quote my sister, I’ve been dressing like Hugh Grant for as long as she can remember.

Allowing glitter into my vanity, was a means of opening a door to my femininity.

Am I wearing skirts and dresses because of it?  Not yet.  A feeling so deep doesn’t change overnight. I am, however, standing a little taller. A little more poised, and a little more polished. Still a little crass in conversation, but now with a thin layer of class. Never did I expect that a cheek highlighter would have such an effect on me.

Such a simple change of heart has improved my quality of life, and confidence. The love for matte products stemmed on the fact that I wanted to blend in, and go about my business. God forbid I bring attention to my adult acne, the crook in my nose, and my tea stained teeth.  Sure, I still have all of those things, but now they are illuminated and I don’t care. I have deemed this one of the best feelings ever.

All thanks to glitter, a femininity gateway drug.

Until next time,

– Jessica


2 thoughts on “Glitter: A femininity gate way drug

  1. Audra May says:

    As we say in Sephora-land: glitter is the beautiful herpes of the cosmetics world. Once you have it, you’ll never be rid of it. I choose to embrace my glerpes.


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