Personal Narrative-Gender Stereotypes

I stood on the tips of my toes as I reached frantically for the stained bag placed atop my parents’ bathroom sink. With a grunt and a huge jump, the bag flew in the air towards me as I plopped on my bottom. My parents were out of sight; my dad was at work and my mom was busy taking care of my two autistic brothers. I did not mind the solitude, especially when I peered into the bag of wonders that sat at my feet. I dashed to my own bathroom counter, bag in hand, and poured out its contents. I stared at the treasures in front of me. Makeup, I sighed. Whether a princess, a dragon, a pirate, or an animal; I could finally become whomever or whatever I wanted to be.

For years I practiced my art in secret. As other children painted on paper, I chose instead to paint my face. Inky black liner covered my eyelids and creamy crimson hues adorned my lips and cheeks. I began to watch grainy online tutorials, sitting at my grey HP Pavilion for countless hours to imitate the women on the screen. My skills refined themselves with each passing day, strengthening my fervor.
Sexist expectations were plagued upon us preteen girls, makeup included. Though I knew my makeup abilities were polished, I was fearful of wearing any makeup in public. Makeup was how I expressed myself; to wear it outside my home was, for me, giving into the misogyny I desperately sought to combat. I swore never to wear a drop or splash of makeup in