Red My Lips By Carrie Morgan
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 My lipstick makes those lost in a sea of pinks just a shade envious.
It's racy. It's rock and roll. It's really, really red. It's this new lipstick I bought. I don't wear it every day or with just any outfit. I wear it when I'm feeling, well, a little crazy, a little loud, maybe even a little obnoxious-feeling kind of like the lipstick.
Gentic reader, I hear your lofty protestations: Hey, big deal. Don't most women wear red lipstick? Should lip color be that profound an issue? Ordinarily, I would quite agree that one needs to sequester the trivial goats from the serious sheep of life. But this is no ordinary lipstick. It's so . . . RED. Not one of those sissy orangey reds or pinks, but dangerous, screaming, fire engine red-a little wax, chemicals, and pigment with the power to raise temperatures.
Wearing this red lipstick makes me feel taller. Authoritative. Regal. I feel like I'm walking around with same big statement on my face. There's a certain shock value that comes with looking so audacious. with wearing lipstick so downright brazen. It's a near guarantee that people will notice me, that I'll stand out in a crowd of girls wearing this summer's floral prints and romantic chiffon blouses. Donning the red lipstick, a borrowed Harley-Davidson motorcycle jacket, and silver-toed black leather boots, I'm suddenly a woman with a purpose, a femme fatale to be reckoned with. It turns going to 7-Eleven for a pack of gum into an adventure.
The true essence of red lipstick is attitude-the right attitude. For that reason I steer clear when I'm, say, in the middle of a PMS-produced anxiety attack/junk food binge. This is not the lipstick for when you have a paper due on the fall of the Ming dynasty or a test on the quadratic equation. This lipstick is for days when I don't have to hit the snooze button-even once-before bouncing out of bed. Days when it's sunny out there and the worries I went to bed with have all disappeared: No matter what challenges the day offers, I'm ready. I've got my red lipstick on, and, at that moment, I don't care that the ozone layer is rapidly diminishing and the Earth could be headed for another Ice Age. A me beneath the contemplative, responsible me surfaces: I can let go of my troubles and just have fun.
Of course there is more to life than rock and roll and red lipstick.
And usually I play my role as a dedicate, hard-working student of life perfectly. My appreciation flows toward beautiful things that are somewhat more trenchant than red lipstick: Renaissance art. The ballet. Mozart-the clean, unadulterated lilting of violins, the solemn majesty of the tympani. Maybe I can say listening to classical music is like not wearing any lipstick at all. A face with no artificial enhancements; music without electronic jolt or boost. No mascara; no synthesizers. What's there is what's there.
I've come to realize that being a recreational user of red lipstick can't hurt me. Quite the contrary. Just because I enjoy wearing it doesn't mean I don't appreciate natural beauty. I know I can't go through life without earring about the important things going on around me. But wearing red lipstick gives me the chance to get away, if only for a while, to a place where the sun always shines.
Source: Seventeen Magazine
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  BeautyRed My Lips
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