Makeup Artistry and Social Justice Emily Luong

As a toddler, days at Grandma’s house were a colorless blur of television and snacks--that is, until naptime. Once the clock struck noon, I scuttled promptly into my aunt’s room and jumped under the covers, eyes screwed tightly shut in semblance of slumber until I heard my grandma’s footsteps walking away from the door. Then, the mission began.

1. Pull back covers.

2. Creep out of bed.

3. Tiptoe stealthily to my aunt’s drawers full of makeup.

Victory!

For that glorious hour, I would smear myself in lipsticks and eyeshadows so bright they left stains even after a shower. When time was up, I tried my best to cover my tracks--once in awhile, though, a drawer was left ajar in a tell-tale sign of my presence. Those naptimes are the root of my love for makeup today.

Eventually, I began purchasing my own cosmetics, and Fridays became what naptime once was--not party nights, but evenings for crafting avant-garde makeup looks, discovering new color combinations and placements onto my eyelids, and blending products into seamless gradients. I treasure the time spent losing myself in the therapeutic repetition of product application--an escape from the stress of unadulterated academia.

With the limited availability of makeup for women of...