the divine sofia loren
I must confess I have a new addiction, in the form of red lipstick. It only came about recently, after spontaneously deciding to wear it to a friend’s birthday, as an accessory to my outfit. Before you know it, ta-da!!! M.A.C’s Ruby Woo is my new best friend.
The catalyst behind the slide towards obsession? My decision to board a five-hour flight with crimson lips. Why not? Every day should be a red lipstick day. Why save it for a special occasion; life is just too short to only feel fabulous on special occasions.
I read a recent article in a fashion glossy in which the beauty writer likened the idea of women wearing red lipstick to that of men aspiring to own a Ferrari. It’s quite true. While some men I have spoken to regarding this have sniggered, claiming that red lipstick is a far more achievable product to purchase, they miss the point completely. On each occasion I have fought back, trying to explain to them that it’s the fantasy behind these two things that indeed bind the ideals together.
Red lipstick was something I only aspired to wear before, not something I contemplated doing so soon. For adorning scarlet lips is a courageous act, performed only be those who dare have the confidence to, and sex sirens such as Sofia Loren and Marilyn Monroe easily spring to mind.
For me however, scarlet lips conjure up childhood memories of my mother, who never did I fail to see without red lacquered nails, matching lips and the smell of Yves Saint Laurent’s Rive Gauche lingering behind her. In the car, she would reapply her lip liner and lipstick while we paused at traffic lights, much to the dismay of drivers behind us, when the lights had already turned green. Her red lips would stain coffee cups and wine glasses. She would affectionately kiss my cheek and I’d proceed to smear off the bright crimson that would remain on my skin afterwards… “Muuummm!” I’d cry out. At times I would sneak a peek into her make up bag, only to find multitudes of lipstick in every intense and fiery shade of red imaginable.
I’d go into the bathroom and carefully try to apply some of her lipstick on my own lips, with the same precision, hoping to achieve the same kind of effect my mother had when she wore it. Also secretly hoping she wouldn’t catch me. Time after time of trying her make up on, I dreamed of the day that I too, would wear red lips and look like my mother.
And so that time has come! I feel like a sex pot when I walk out of the apartment armed with my red lips. It is indeed a weapon of mass seduction, and it makes me feel absolutely fucking fabulous.
I believe red lips are the epitome of a women’s confidence and even heralds a change in a women’s persona. Or perhaps, just my own; my ability to finally be comfortable in my own skin. The first time I wore red I felt like Ruby Woo wore me, and I was its accessory, it’s guinea pig… it’s protégé. Now? I wear the red.
