The Colour Competition
What Your Lipstick Says About You
A sharply taloned hand reached into the darkness and shards of light illuminated my leather surroundings.
“Is that the new Marc Jacobs?!” I heard another woman exclaim from somewhere nearby.
Marc Jacobs. Who is this Marc Jacobs anyway? His name is plastered all over my humble abode, although I’ve never actually seen him. I hear he is all the rage, though; always spotted at Bloomingdales and Nordstrom, yet still exclusive enough to remain just out of reach.
The owner of the talons that were fidgeting amongst various possessions around me picked up my Marc Jacobs dwelling and said, “Just going to freshen up; I’ll be back in a sec.”
Then there were heels tick tacking down a marble hall and jostling of the Marc Jacobs, which I was thankfully saved from by still being stuck in the talons’ clutches. Suddenly, I was jerked upwards and into a fluorescent-lit powder room. She rummaged around some more before checking my label to ensure I was the colour she’d wanted. Ruby Woo - that’s me! Thank goodness she chose me today. Usually she picks a more neutral shade like Spirit or Creme de Nude, or Brave Red if ever a red at all, which is not often to be honest.
I feel jittery and excited as she presses me to her lips in two smooth sweeps. I am the missing piece of today’s identity. Without me, her lips would be the same as yesterday and she would be the same woman she has always been. Where’s the fun in that?
With me, her new persona is electric. A jolt of energy surges through her aura as she deposits me back into the Marc Jacobs, smacks her fiery cerise lips together in a final statement, and strides out to meet the concrete jungle beyond.