Today I bought Pillarbox Red lipstick. I’ve never got on with red lipstick. Infact, despite having what might be seen as an unhealthy interest in all other makeup, lipstick has always scared me a bit. There’s something about it feels old fashioned. Perhaps because it was the only makeup my mum and her mum wore. Or a bit obvious – you can’t pretend you’re not wearing lipstick.
When I do wear lippy, I go for something that doesn’t really change the look of my face much. Something pretty neutral. Probably might as well not bother: mostly my lipsticks are the same colour as my lips. But something told me to be bold today.
Perhaps it’s the new job. Or a bit of extra confidence from my recent improved health. Or my hormones playing tricks. Anyway, this afternoon I found myself in a well known high street chemist being advised on lipstick shades.
Now I’m usually quite allergic to makeup counter saleswomen, but I decided to go with it. I actually rather enjoyed sitting down and having her fiddle around with my face. A mini pamper was welcome after the morning I’d had. I happily succumbed to compliments and thinly disguised sales patter. I’m a difficult customer though, and I screwed up my nose at half a dozen shades. Yes, properly pulled a face. I do that. Then came pillarbox red. Very outspoken. Like me. I could grow into it.
Not one for impulse buying, I did the rest of my shopping before making up my mind. I enjoyed catching my reflection in the mirrors and windows of the shopping centre. A new, grown-up, self-assured looking me. A look to reflect what I feel inside.
I came home with Pillarbox Red in my pocket, and a bright (red) smile on my face. Something to hold on to as I pick myself up from the most tearful, pan throwing, doorslamming menopausal meltdown this evening. I’m stopping in tonight, to cry and grump and possibly drink cooking sherry. But I’ll have Pillarbox Red lips as I do.