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Lipstick for the Living
Long before my mother got old-old (she died at almost 97), in one of those I-think-this-now-because-I’m-still-hale-and-hearty musings, she told me and my sister that she would be okay with us putting her in a nursing home, with one caveat: “Just make sure my hair is done; even if I’m in a coma, I’ll know.”
Things didn’t turn out that way, thankfully (she and I lived together for nine years in a sweet little house before she died of pancreatic cancer last August), but her comment came immediately to mind after reading the post “70 Years Ago Today” on the website “the beheld” about women survivors of the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp.
The post was about how, much to one soldier’s practical dismay, the Red Cross had brought lots of lipstick to the liberated camp:
This was not at all what we men wanted; we were screaming for hundreds and thousands of other things and I don’t know who asked for lipstick [but] … it was the action of … sheer unadulterated brilliance. I believe nothing did more for those internees than the lipstick. Women lay in bed with no sheets and no nightie but with scarlet red lips; you saw them wandering about with nothing but a blanket over their shoulders, but with scarlet red lips. I saw a woman dead on the post mortem table and clutched in her hand was a piece of lipstick. At last someone had done something to make them individuals again; they were someone, no longer merely the number tattooed on the arm. At last they could take an interest in their appearance. That lipstick started to give them back their humanity.
My mother was a one-of-a-kind personality–she almost startled a room by walking in–but I never realized until reading this post that her wish to look lovely was more than mere vanity, that it was, in fact, a souvenir of the life force.
Lipstick would not be an expression of my own desire to live, since I’ve never been a makeup-wearing girl. And I wonder, given the casual sexual ambiguity of our own time, what seemingly incidental consumer product will become the unintended female symbol of this generation. Will it be something different? If so, what? Or, perhaps, will it still be lipstick?
(Thanks to the Virginia Postrel’s Twitter feed for the link.)
Published in General
I am going to steal your mother’s quote if you don’t mind, Leslie.
My mother was not one for praise, but one of the nicest things she ever said to me was that during the 10 ten years I was either pregnant or post-partum I never got “that look”, I may have been feeling crummy or exhausted but I always made an effort to not look that way. And I think it positively effected my attitude.
A crummy day isn’t nearly as crummy if you’re having a good hair day and wearing lip stick.
Unfortunately, tattoos.
My mother was not one for praise, but one of the nicest things she ever said to me was that during the 10 ten years I was either pregnant or post-partum I never got “that look”, I may have been feeling crummy or exhausted but I always made an effort to not look that way. And I think it positively effected my attitude.
A crummy day isn’t nearly as crummy if you’re having a good hair day and wearing lip stick.
Hey! I was either pregnant or postpartum (nursing…endlessly) for ten years, too! And I am very sure I did get “that look”… and that probably affected my attitude for the worse. Nothing like standing in a room full of screaming small people (when you have four children, it seems someone is always screaming) and catching a glimpse of yourself…still sporting bed-head from the morning, epaulets of spit-up on each shoulder and food stains on the hem of your shirt because you’re the family napkin…so discouraging. Since I was a feminist stay-at-home mother-of-four ( those were incoherent times, y’all) I didn’t shave my legs or wear makeup, but looking back, a little lipstick might have helped?
She would love you stealing her quote, Anne!
I did not think of that ET, but, ugh, you’re probably right!
I had one major cheat, Kate. I became a pretty serious runner before I turned 40 and showed up every morning at school car line in running clothes and a hat. I ended up running five marathons, but in hindsight the running was just an excuse for poor grooming.
It’s hard to talk about this subject without sounding shallow. And maybe I am. Out of three sisters I was the least blessed in the looks department (I’m NOT just saying that. My husband has known me since I was 13 and can attest to it taking me a while to figure it out). My whole life I’ve been surrounded by gorgeous sisters and gorgeous friends. So maybe I’m used to trying harder. All I can say is the effort has always had a positive effect on my attitude.
But during my 10 years of reproduction and now with 57 looming, my mantra has always been I will “… not go gentle into that good night”. I will go kicking and screaming with a lipstick in one hand and blow dryer in the other. And if my hair’s already done, a glass of champagne.
One of my favorite videos in the Holocaust Memorial in DC is that of this female survivor who reciunts the day the allied soldiers came to their camp – the German soldiers abandoned the camp but the prisoners still stayed within the walls, just milling around. A young American soldier asked her to show him around the camp and, as they approached the first building, opened the door for her. She said that in that one simple gesture, she not only got her humanity back, she became a woman again. But the story doesn’t end there. A few years later, she married that young American. For all that has made America great, our ability to see humanity even in the worst situations is what sets this country apart.
Thanks for posting this. It is good information to have. It seems that being human is not just a matter of having govt-provided jobs and health care.
A wonderful story. Thank you.
I love this, too. It’s heartbreaking.
I’ll be bringing a group of law enforcement officers to the Holocaust Museum next month—I’ll have to remember to tell them this story, in case it’s not playing on our official “Law Enforcement Tour.”
I just read a link from instapundit. It was about a book: sort of science fiction, but – I’m sure someone here can provide the correct name for the genre – where modernity is stripped away and then you need to figure out how to survive.
The fun of those stories is that you learn a lot that no one has to know anymore. Survivalist stuff. It’s an education in that it strips away what you take for granted and then you have to build it back from first principles: nutrition and calories; shelter; drinkable water; safety; defense against predators human and otherwise.
I don’t know – the lipstick and the holding the door comments . . . they seemed revealing in that same way: humanity was stripped away, and then in the first moments it was restored, lipstick was one of the things that helped restore humanity?!?
It seemed a glimpse at something we’re gladly almost never privy to – what would you place value in if your freedom, after being taken away for some time, was newly restored?
Puts the desire for caring about one’s appearance in a fresh light. A contra message to the one that says it’s about vanity. It hit me with a jolt to be grateful I have the liberty to care about it and to appreciate that. Definitely didn’t expect that when I started reading the post.
One of my girl friends–who at one time had worked at a hospital–explained to the lesser-half how she could always tell when a hospitalized woman was feeling better: when she asked for her makeup.
Blowdryer and lipstick are not my weapons of choice; nonetheless, I understand.
I, too, had reason to believe I was remarkably unblessed in the looks department. Moreover, for a long time, I clung to the antiquated belief that virtuous women should not care about clothes or makeup. It was becoming close friends with a girl in high school and occasionally borrowing her actually fashionable clothes that taught me how much better people will treat you if you make some effort to conform to others’ expectations of attractiveness. After that, it was a no-brainer.
“People will treat you like an actual human being if you simply make the effort to look nice.” It sounds shallow, but when you think about it, it’s a pretty sweet deal. You don’t have to conform to their other expectations, just a few skin-deep, essentially trivial ones, and then you can feel more free to be yourself in other ways. So what if you’re unpopular, or don’t have great social skills? If you’re a woman and willing to be just a bit ornamental, others will be inclined to accept you just for that. (A pretty wallflower is still valued for her looks, it turns out.)
Not to mention that, if you’re sick or grieving, people will give you a much less awkward time if you don’t look the part.
Such a wonderful post. Thank you, Leslie.
I guess my mom was 65 when we brought her to the hospital over something or other. It was rather hurried. We didn’t expect her to be admitted.
We got her checked in, and once she was in the room, she wanted us to get her nightgown from home, and a brush for her hair. I found that illuminating.
There’s a wonderful scene in Westward the Women, when the women who have fought their way across the country to reach husbands in California, are left with nothing except the ragged clothes on their backs, and just a short distance away from the town where men and their new lives await. The hardened girls train their guns upon the two men left of the wagon train and order them to go to the town and get table cloths, curtains; anything to fashion dresses so they don’t arrive looking like beggars.
My mother was a farmer’s wife. She milked the cows in the evenings (Daddy did it in the mornings) until my big sisters were old enough to do it on their own. She could bale hay, and all those other manly things. However…she would have NEVER gone to town without her hair fixed, mascara and lipstick on, and clean clothes. She insisted that my dad clean up, too, before he ever drove to town for any errand. She disapproved of appearing in public disheveled. Every Sunday, it was earrings, matching purse and shoes.
I know I sound like an old fuddy-duddy, but I’ve never understood the appeal in the “messy bun” hair fashion.
Re: 17
The messy bun fashion on a girl that beautiful seems like a kind of showing-off. It says : Look how much I can neglect my appearance and still outshine the rest of you.
Ha! Shows how out of it I am fashion-wise. When I first glanced at the picture, before reading Cow Girl’s comment, I thought, “Must be a before picture.”
I’ve really enjoyed reading these comments by all you lovely ladies.
I asked my wife to read this. She told me that if I found it interesting, she probably would not, but then read it anyway.
She, alone of her siblings, took responsibility for both of her parents as their minds were vaporizing into Alzheimers and senility, and she saw in your mother her parents, and she saw in your efforts her own.
When she finished, she told me how much she liked your article.
I liked it too.
Thanks.
dt
It’s odd to talk about this in the context of holocaust survivors, but it’s a good reminder that life isn’t always about grand ideas and big moments. In fact, good life is to be lived in the mundane and small.
By the way, I’m all in favor of grooming and taking care of appearance. However, I beg the ladies of the world to ease up on the makeup – perhaps consider going without. For the young, you don’t need it. For the old, the more you need to apply the less the intended effect is achieved. Women are good and beautiful and desirable as-is, and the thought of kissing or caressing chemicals is a bit off-putting as is the idea that you’re trying to hide something. If you must wear makeup then the best is when it doesn’t look like your wearing any. Otherwise I’d rather you invested your time and money in exercise and complementary clothing.
I suppose I’m a minority in these views amongst the brotherhood, but I think everyone would be happier this way.
It’s not just a show-off thing – though it can be.
I have it on good authority (my husband’s) that hair that’s not perfectly neat appeals to men. “A sweet disorder in the dress” and all that. Moreover, not everyone has hair that behaves itself. Those of us prone to frizzy, flyaway wisps might as well adopt a style where the inevitable disorder stands a reasonable chance of looking winsome rather than jarringly out of place.
Not so much on lipstick – now that there’s no one to share it with, in particular – but Mom and Dad both subscribed to the “Look sharp, feel sharp, be sharp.” theory and passed it on.
Were you once accustomed to leaving scarlet lip-prints on others, Nanda?
As a child, I read of a teacher who used to shame the kids who fell asleep in her classroom by applying lipstick, then kissing their foreheads and insisting they keep the mark there for the rest of the day. Apparently, it worked to restore classroom discipline. These days, no doubt, it’d be sexual harassment.
Fortunately, men can be remarkably oblivious in this respect. The number of supposedly observant guys who praised me in college for “wearing no makeup” was truly astounding.
I’ll own obliviousness, it’s very often blissful.
As I say, though, when makeup is noticeable it generally isn’t a plus. That includes odd shades of lipstick or eye shadow or even nail polish. The ability to apply makeup without it being noticed is apparently not a widespread skill.
My caretaking efforts totally pale in comparison to those of your wife, Donald. I can’t express how touched I am by this. All best wishes to you both.
My dad was also into looking good, Nanda. Neither left the house without being fixed just so. It did seem to work for them. That’s why I wonder if their approach is a vestige or an ongoing fashion.
Your POV is what I’ve always counted on, Ed.
Re : 23
Like so many poems you’ve shown me ( Thank you much, by the way. They’ve often been startling, always interesting.) this one reminds me of how much everything about us we think is new isn’t at all.
But that hair wouldn’t look like sweet disorder on anyone over, I think, 40. It might even look more like tired, slovenly and disoriented on women as young as 35. And, of course, you want to avoid it when it could be taken in an unintended way.