Lipstick, Me, and Dickens
“Never leave the house without lipstick on,” joked my mom, repeating a phrase from her mother. When I first heard this mantra, the little raging feminist in me was appalled. How could my grandmother say that? Why would my mom repeat it?
In my eyes, my mother was the epitome of feminism: a single working mother raising two kids effectively alone in Philadelphia.
These two personas were dissonant in my mind, so I dismissed it as the saying of a past generation. Something to ignore rather than internalize. Ignorant, I felt superior in my judgment of my mother’s feminism. My feminism somehow demonized femininity. This judgemental feminism made me uncomfortable in my own body and mind. One night, my cousins put mascara on me, playing around. Looking in the mirror, my throat tightened and my eyes watered. Though mascara didn’t make me look that different, I smiled at this “new” version of myself, then wanted to cry. My desire to feel feminine was a betrayal of the identity I strived towards; my conception of feminism was “independent” in thought, action, and appearance. The feeling of betrayal reemerged every time I heard my mom jokingly repeat that phrase.
Reading, A Tale of Two Cities in my 10th grade English class made me confront this contradiction. In the novel, Dickens presents two female characters, Lucie and Madame Defarge, as foils of one another. Lucie is fair, compassionate, and kind, while Madame Defarge is independent, cunning, ruthless, and, in the end, bloodthirsty. My class rejected Dickens’s portrayal of the ideal woman in Lucie, still, they continued to perpetuate a binary view of the good woman and bad woman. Dickens labeled Lucie as good and Madame Defarge as bad, so my class responded with the opposite: Lucie-bad Defarge-good. Listening to my peers ridicule the character of Lucie, a familiar feeling of confusing contradiction reemerged. I left the class feeling I needed to pick a side yet neither felt quite right. I agreed Lucie’s portrayal was a product of Dickens' misogynist ideas; yet, I felt that the femininity associated with Lucie should not be ridiculed. Lucie remained kind, compassionate, resilient, and even beautiful in the face of trauma and tragedy; though these traits should not define a woman, they are positive and often lacking in the world, regardless of gender.
Before this discussion, before reading this novel, I could not seem to comprehend that two things could be true at once. Now the contradiction I had been so strictly imposing seems almost comical. The writing in Dickens' 1859 novel continues to impact people almost 200 years later. This text, though not generally perceived as radical or incredibly provoking, made me reframe my understanding of myself and the world around me. Writing and language have this power. The power to make the reader question their assumptions about the world and even their identities. It can be an act of vulnerable protest. Writing can be an outlet to express my ideas about feminism and activism more broadly.
My mom can wear lipstick and be a feminist. Lucie can be the product of sexism yet be admirable. This revelation that two seemingly contradictory beliefs may both be true allows me to embrace ideas that challenge my conception of the world. I love that femininity can be delicate and pink, while strong and unwavering in its pursuit of equality. Although I am still growing in my relationship with femininity and feminism, for now, there is nothing wrong with wearing lipstick or mascara every day. Femininity does not detract from my mother’s feminism, nor my own.