Red Lipstick

by Callie Nadeau

It is common knowledge that the second most powerful article a woman can have on her person is red lipstick. The first is pepper spray. Nothing grabs someone’s attention like a cherry-red lip sat upon a beautiful face. It allows people around you to know that you are a competent and capable woman. A woman who exudes confidence and power. One that stands on her own without fear. It is also, sometimes unfortunately, excellent at grabbing a man’s attention. The first most powerful article a woman carries on her person can be applied when the woman in question finds the man’s attention to be a bit too much. These are the principles my grandmother has made sure to instill in me since I was a child.

“A red lip defines a woman, my dear,” my grandmother says to me as we sit in her kitchen drinking green tea. She’s said this to me many times: when I was young and watched her apply her makeup, when I was a teen and started experimenting with my own makeup, and now, as an adult preparing for my first job interview.

“I’m just a little worried that wearing red lipstick might give a poor first impression,” I tell her. “I don’t want to intimidate the interviewer, after all. Or come across as overbearing.” I explain, taking a bite out of one of my grandmother’s molasses cookies.

I came to have lunch with her today–as we do every Sunday after church–in hopes that she might distract me from the nervousness I’ve been carrying around since finding out about the interview. Of course, the first thing my grandmother asked me about is the outfit I have planned to wear.

“Nonsense! All it will do is make you look stunning. Besides, if the interviewer finds himself intimidated, that’s his own problem. A little intimidation never hurt anyone,” she remarks, a smile dancing upon her lips. I smile back at her and roll my eyes. She’ll never change, I think to myself.

I could likely count the number of times I’ve seen my grandmother without red lipstick; that’s how often she wears it. Apparently, her mother was the same. An inherited habit, I suppose. She’s worn the same lipstick since she was a teen, Revlon’s “Fire & Ice,” a popular shade in the fifties when my grandmother was a child. She always carries it with her, too. Everywhere we go, she always has her little hand-held purse, filled only with money and lipstick. And pepper spray. She’s told me before that at times when she doesn’t have a purse with her, sheslides the lipstick down her bra. How odd, other women must find it, when they see my grandmother in the bathroom, scavenging around between her breasts for a tube of lipstick. Then again, maybe some can relate.

“Sometimes you have to improvise,” she had said to me.

“I value comfort over looks,” I had replied.

“Someday, you may change your mind.”

I pour more tea for myself and sit back in my chair. My grandmother seems to be lost in thought, swirling her tea around with a small spoon. The afternoon sun shines brightly outside, casting rays of light across the room. An open window blows a refreshing breeze along our faces; a butterfly flutters around just beyond the exterior. She stares out at it for some time, a look of content on her face. Eventually, she places her tea down and stands from her chair.

“Follow me, I have something to give you,” she says, walking down the hallway towards her bedroom.

I follow after her hastily and watch as she rummages through her vanity for an object. She lets out a satisfied hum and turns to me.

“I want you to have this,” she smiles at me, handing me a tube of lipstick. I look down at it, my eyes widening.

“Is this-”

“Yes,” she cuts me off, “my mother’s last tube of red lipstick.”

I stare down at the tube of Elizabeth Arden Montezuma Red lipstick, my voice caught in my throat. I’ve heard about this specific lipstick from my mother; my grandmother hardly talks of it. It was a gift from my great-grandmother to my grandmother. The last gift she received from her before she died. It was a lipstick made during the forties for women in the U.S. Army to wear. They used it as a sign of patriotism and defiance of Nazi Germany–apparently, Hitler despised it. It was worn not only as a sign of patriotism, but as a mark of a nurse’s (and any other woman who bore it) confidence despite the tribulations of war. My great-grandmother was a nurse in the war, though she continued wearing it long after she settled down. For her, as a single mother, it became a symbol of empowerment and strength. Values that were extended to my grandmother, and now, to me.

“Are you sure you want to give me this?” I whisper. “I know it means a lot to you, I don’t want to ruin it.”

“Ruin it? My dear, it’s lipstick, all you have to do is wear it.” She laughs, staring down at the object in my hand.

“I can’t bring myself to wear it,” she says to me. “I can’t apply it without thinking of my mother and bursting into tears.”

“Still, this was her gift to you; I can’t take it from you.” I reason, holding the object out to her.

She grabs my outstretched hand and covers it with her own.

“Wear it,” she whispers, “wear it for me because I cannot.”

I gaze into her eyes, so full of hope and love and something else. My chest is tight with emotion, and my heart is racing. I still want to decline, but I know this is something important that my grandmother is trusting me with. Keeping the will of her mother alive through me. So I take the tube of lipstick and shove it into my pocket.

“Alright, if you insist,” I smile at her. A single tear has fallen from her left eye; she wipes it and pulls me into a hug.

“Thank you, my dear. Thank you for doing this for me.”

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Callie Nadeau is a high school senior based in southern Maine who has a deep fondness for writing. In her free time, she can be found volunteering at her local library, crocheting, and helping her mom in the kitchen.