I was sitting in a movie theatre next to my mother when, as the lights were about to go down, she turned to me and said, “Don’t you want to put on a little lipstick?” She didn’t mean just any lipstick. She meant red. Bright, bold red.
My mother had an almost religious belief in the power of red lipstick to alter your life. Growing up poor in the Bronx with deaf parents who didn’t speak English or know any sign language, she had to advocate for her family from a very early age. She grappled with government agencies, teachers, and landlords on her own andright after high school and while she took night classes, determined to get an education. Eventually, she married and travelled the globe, but red lipstick remained her talisman, a signal to herself and the world that she was worthy of attention. And when, in her 60s, she went in for cataract surgery, she painted her lips before being wheeled away, certain the doctors would pay extra care. The first thing she said in recovery: “All the nurses love my lipstick.”
