By Aleenah Ansari, Contributor 

On most days, you can find me with sans makeup. It’s a product of being low-maintenance and the desire to be seen for my work, not for what I look like. However, there are situations where I’ve felt the need to wear makeup just to be accepted by others. I was quick to put on a full face of makeup when I met my girlfriend’s parents. I’ve struggled with acne my whole life and didn’t want her parents to think that I wasn’t beautiful or worthy enough to date their daughter. Moreover, she had recently come out to her family, so the pressure was on to be seen as worthy of being her first girlfriend.

With each stroke of concealer, lipstick, and eyeshadow, I hoped to look the part of a confident, put-together young woman. I completed the look by painting on a rose-tinted smile and arrived at her family’s front door. Her family joked with me, but I found myself silenced by the fear of being perceived as too much and not enough in tandem: too loud, selfish, or unaware or not intelligent, driven, or kind enough.

I kept checking my reflection in mirrors and windows, hoping that my feigned confidence and beauty were convincing enough. In short, I felt nothing like myself.

My relationship with makeup is deeply rooted in my upbringing. Growing up, I never thought of myself as beautiful. From as early as 8, I remember my classmates ridiculing me for the dark hair on my upper lip and bushy eyebrows. At the same time, my family expected me to be clear-skinned, demure, and radiant, and I didn’t fit the bill when I was au natural. I wouldn’t venture to say that my queer brown body fit their ideals of a pinnacle of beauty: a straight, thin, light-skinned woman who doesn’t talk back the way I do. Using makeup seemed like the only way that I could be loved, valued, and seen by others. 

To make myself more presentable, my mother encouraged me to put on makeup, straighten my hair, and adorn myself with jewelry. I was also expected to pluck my eyebrows and remove any other hair that grew on my face and body.  Her words reflected the beauty ideals put on her — she was expected to fulfill Eurocentric ideas of beauty just to be seen and respected, which meant I had to do the same.

These expectations have weighed on me throughout my adult life. I used other people’s acceptance as my measuring stick, and makeup was something I was expected to master.

I watched hundreds of makeup tutorials by fair-skinned beauty gurus who recommended blush shades that would barely show up on my brown skin, and lipstick shades that would inevitably wash me out. Using a curated set of recommended products, I had my routine down: concealer, setting powder, blush, eyeshadow, mascara, and whatever lip color was considered natural “my lips but better” shade.

photo credit: Aleenah Ansari

I dressed according to notions of what others thought I should be, which was a precarious balancing act. I had to be confident but not overbearing, put-together but not ostentatious, and effortlessly beautiful. I was damned if I did, damned if I didn’t. Showing up to a get-together with no makeup meant that I’d inevitably be asked if I had slept enough or was stressed out from school or work. Wearing a full face of makeup and a beloved bold lip color prompted an eyebrow raise from uncles and side comments about why I’d choose to wear an “unnatural” lip color like plum. And choosing a classic “no makeup makeup” look meant that makeup would become the baseline expectation for entering the room.

Even more, my makeup never protected me when I was catcalled, badgered, and followed down the street in broad daylight. People at the bus stop would ask, “do you have a boyfriend?” before asking for my name. It meant that men in bars and clubs would insist that I dance with them or talk to them — rest assured, I didn’t spend 10 minutes doing a smokey eye for their attention.

I remember one instance when I was walking down the street. For once, I left my backpack at home, and my long black hair was bouncing on my shoulders. I was heading to my first concert of the summer, embodying modesty by being covered from head-to-toe. I smiled, hoping the sun would catch the glitter in the highlighter on my cheeks. In that moment, I felt euphoric; my body, and my beauty, belonged to me alone.

That moment ended quickly. 

One man — excuse me, boy — flagged me down and motioned for me to take off my headphones.

“I like the way you carry yourself,” he teased. I nodded and smiled politely, hoping that this was merely a comment about my radiant presence and nothing more — wishful thinking. He continued to walk alongside me, asking for my ethnicity, phone number, and relationship status in one breath. 

My makeup and modesty didn’t earn his respect, nor should it have invited his attention. Despite my complete disinterest in his overture or commentary, boys like him perceive my physical appearance as something they can consume.

As women of color in tech have reminded me time and time again, if you’re not at the table, you’re on the menu.

photo credit: Liezel Villanueva

How can I reclaim my body and beauty when it feels like it was never mine? 

Answering this question has been a lifelong endeavor, but it’s started with loving myself unconditionally. I’m learning that I need to be kind to myself first, and approach conversations with the belief that I have something important to say. My physical appearance, whatever that looks like, is secondary, and makeup is not the currency I need to exist in this world. I am not a problem, nor will I make a home in other people’s expectations for who and what I should be.

My girlfriend reminds me that makeup is something I need to choose on my own terms. Some days, I'll stick to moisturizer and sunscreen because beauty starts with prioritizing my skin’s health. And yes, everyone should wear sunscreen. I remind myself that it’s OK to put on some statement earrings, ideally from a local female artist, that glint against my bare face. If I want to wear a full face of makeup with my signature glow, I can turn to a full coverage foundation, shimmery cheekbone highlighter, and an eyeshadow color that can be seen from a million miles away.  

photo credit: Aleenah Ansari

Here are some products that make me feel confident in every context: 

• I’ve been wearing sunscreen every day since I was 13, and I hope you do too! Lately, I prefer the Toleriane Double Repair Facial Moisturizer with SPF 30 because it stays matte.
• The Stila Glitter & Glow Liquid Eyeshadow is my de facto signature product. I usually put it all over my eyelid because it makes my eyes stand out in photos and lasts all day, but I’ll also use it as an eyeliner for an everyday eye look. My favorite shade is “Bronzed Bell,” but you can’t go wrong with any of their colors! 
• If I’m wearing makeup, I guarantee that I’m wearing the Becca Highlighter in Champagne Pop on my cheekbones. The soft gold with a peachy-pink pearl makes me feel sunkissed year-round, even if it’s a typical rainy Seattle day.
• I need a low-maintenance lip product that won’t smudge when I’m snacking or don’t have time to touch up my makeup. Huda Beauty’s Liquid Matte Lipstick in Trophy Wife really suits my skin tone and is the best way to add some color to a neutral makeup look. 
• To take off all my makeup at the end of the day, I use the Garnier Fructis’ Micellar Cleansing Water. I love that it’s super affordable and available at most drugstores.

photo credit: Aleenah Ansari

Beauty comes from being confident in my authentic self, not what I put on top of it. I may not always feel perfectly confident and put-together without makeup, but I can still be kind to myself in every form, makeup or not.

On this journey, I’ve found that defining beauty on my own terms is the most radical thing I can do.

 

About — Aleenah Ansari is a journalist at heart who works at the intersection of technology, education, and storytelling. Her identity as a queer, Pakistani woman empowers her to tell stories about communities of color that are committed to lifting as they climb, and she hopes to inspire the next generation of designers, writers, and makers by making them feel represented in the stories she write. Aleenah's work stands on the shoulders of poets of color like Rupi Kaur, bell hooks, and Nayyirah Waheed. They remind her that when someone shares their story, the most powerful thing she can do is listen intentionally and say, “I believe you.” You can find more of her work on her Instagram and website.



Cover photo credit: Aleenah Ansari, @aleenahansari