Macklemore and Makeup. And oh yeah.. Facebook, too.

Do we really know what a feminist is? We say people do, but more and more (thanks to this wonderful call the internets) I run into people who actually have no god damn clue. I apologize for the swearing, but actually I do not apologize. Because ignorance is one of my biggest pet peeves. Ignorance yells loud while true knowledge whispers. (So, internet, here’s a tip. If you’re yelling, you’re probably not the genius.)

I have a Facebook (plot twist!). And on that Facebook I have liked the page “Women’s Rights News”. Not as news-y as I might have liked, but they have cool pictures. Today, just minutes ago in fact, I came across a Macklemore quote on makeup that I really liked… until I looked over into the comments. Let me show you what I mean.

Macklemore

(click the picture to read the comments. It should work. And if it doesn’t… *shakes fist* Technology!)

Obviously, the first thing you noticed was my fabulous name-scribbling-out skills and the fact that I totally possess them. The second thing is that the hufflepuff picture is me commenting in what might be considered a semi-upset manner. But I agree with what I said to Christina. She has no idea what she’s talking about. Feminism, as I have said before, is not PRO WOMEN YEAH! It’s equality. It’s being valued in society and individually equally. It’s respect. That does not mean that we shun the fantastic and lovely Macklemore, who is expressing a pro-woman opinion (if you hadn’t noticed. Because that escaped Christina’s notice.)

I didn’t even see all of the other comments below Christina’s until I had already posted the comment. Can I just ask this here? What the hell is up with all this fuck Macklemore nonsense?? Do these women not know about the makeup industry and how the media portrays women as perfect and unattainably beautiful and photoshopped thin, and all the issues about self-image and body issues and this obsession with physical perfection?

And in case you other women commenting on this picture didn’t notice, Macklemore is not trying to take away your makeup. This quote actually has nothing to do with you, surprisingly, since the world obviously revolves around you.

No one is saying that makeup is bad (Well, perhaps me. A little. But it’s all so expensive and time-consuming and complicated!). But we are saying that women who do not want to wear makeup, who do not want to mess with the smoke and mirrors, who do not want to jump through the hoops of foundation, concealer, highlighter, setting powder, eyeliner, eye shadow, false eyelashes, mascara, lip liner, lipstick, lip gloss, blush, bronzer…. (*gasp* I’m out of breath. And out of products to name, though I’m sure there’s more), that those who don’t want to do that shouldn’t be penalized, punished, devalued, shunned, made fun of, or laughed at. That a woman should be seen as just as beautiful without all of those hoops as with them. And why is that a bad thing???

Because women do devalue themselves when they don’t wear makeup. And why is that fair? Why is that okay? Why, when we don’t feel like doing that entire Hairspray-level song and dance do we say to ourselves and to others “Ugh, I look disgusting today.” Or I’m such a slob. Or I’m gross. Or etcetera etcetera. That’s not okay to say. That’s not okay to feel. We should feel good about ourselves and value our natural beauty, because you are beautiful. You are gorgeous. Whether you have on ten tons of makeup or you’ve just gotten out of the shower. You are absolutely stunning no matter what anyone says. We should be proud of ourselves, and that is what Macklemore is trying to say.

So, basically what I am trying to say, is fuck Facebook. People are stupid. Makeup shouldn’t be put on a pedestal. The media is lame. Macklemore is right (despite Christina’s whining that he has a penis rather than a vagina. We’re all the same, Christina. One day, hopefully, you’ll see it). And you are beautiful.

 

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You are Beautiful. Really Truly.

You are beautiful.

You are worthwhile.

You are perfect.

You’re not too fat. You’re not too skinny. You’re not too blonde. You’re not too brown. You’re not too pale. You’re not ugly.
Your freckles are cute.

You’re nose is not too big. Your lips are not too thin. Your hair is not too flat, or too bushy, or straight or frizzy or curly.

I’d bet money your eyes are fricken glorious.

Your breasts are not too small. Your pecks are not too flat. Your arms are not too flabby. Your butt is not too big. Your eyelashes are fine the way they are. Your cheeks are like glow-in-the-dark roses. Your smile is not too dull; it’s brilliant. Your eyelids look fantastic flesh-colored.

Your skin is perfect. Your dark spots don’t contract from your beauty. Your acne doesn’t reflect your character. Your scars don’t detract from your personality. Your imperfections make you interesting.

My skin is not blemish-free. In fact, it’s the worst its ever been in my entire lifetime, including those pesky pubescent years. My skin is… I’ll say it, horrible. So much acne. So many acne scars, pock marks, blotches, and bumps litter the surface of my head you’d think it was the surface of the moon. The doctors I’ve seen say that some of it will clear up in time, some of it with medication, and the rest with lasers.

The first thing I thought when the doctor said lasers was no way. No way, Jose! (Or whatever your name happens to be.) But then I went to visit my family who I hadn’t seen in a year. While there, three people confronted me about my acne. The first was a stranger who asked my how I had scarred my face. I wasn’t sure what he was talking about. At first I thought I had somehow unknowingly scratched it on something, like a tree branch. But then the truth slowly dawned on me, and my stomach sunk to my knees. Awkward and uncomfortable silence followed. No one said anything else.

The second person was my grandpa, who just made a comment on it out of concern. The last was my grandmother, bless her good-intentioned heart. That probably made me feel the worst. She had an at-length conversation about it, asking me questions: had I seen a doctor? do I have any medication? what am I doing about it? On and on, turning my face one way and then the other to inspect my cheeks. Oh awkward grandma, how you embarrass me. But I still love you.

It was about at that point I started getting really self-conscious about it. It seemed that on every commercial break was some ad about Proactive, Skin ID, Flawless Finish Foundation, Skin Perfecting something or other. I’ve seen these commercials all my life, it feels, but they’ve never stuck with my like this.

It’s not fun, the feeling of inadequacy. I was seriously considering the lasers.

Well, that was a few months ago, and now I’m back to Screw That. So what if my face isn’t as smooth as a baby’s bottom? Who cares if its not the supple flesh of a summer peach? I’ll tell you who cares: Assholes care.

Girls down at the watering hole giving you the once over? Are their eyes fixating on that giant angry volcano erupting hellfire from your nose? Who cares. Seriously. What does it matter? Some people just need to look down onto other to feel better about themselves.

Don’t worry about it. Does one, or two, or ten zits on your face make you a horrible person? No. Are they going to plaster a giant red Z for zit on your jacket? I don’t think so. Will your zit somehow cause the Earth to line up with the center of the Milky Way Galaxy and start the zombie apocalypse that will kill us all at the end of this year? Dear god, I hope not. Imma say a tentative no. I’ll get back to you on that by New Years.

And if a guy (or girl) is going to dismiss you, stand you up, or diss you because of a few red bumps, then he wasn’t your knight in shining armor to begin with. He was just some punk in an aluminum foil hat.

If people don’t like you for exactly who you are, then they’re not worth being around. Friends are supposed to be there to support one another. If they’re not supporting you, they’re not your friend.

A very wise man once said that he wished we could all judge each other not by the color of our skin, but by the content of our characters. Even though I know Martin Luther King Jr. was talking about something very different, I think the spirit of what he said still holds; I’m just adding another color to the spectrum: red and blotchy.

As for me, I’m not getting the laser treatment. I don’t need it. I don’t care if my face never entirely clears up. I am already beautiful.