It All Started With the Nail Polish...

I was standing in a makeup aisle, staring down the Essie nail polishes.
"Eight dollars.... but I need a new dark nail polish. I miss the way I feel in darker colors..."
I thought. I thought.... I grabbed a deep, gunmetal-y, metallic black.

I was excited. But then I stopped at the New York Color section. The same polish, literally, the EXACT same color. $1. I switched. I was even more excited.

The dark polish made me want dark eye makeup. I watched NY Ink.
My brain started thinking once more. "Megan has the most amazing style... and the best makeup and hair..."

I was sick. Hadn't worn makeup in more than a few days. Hair was in a permanent ballet bun.
Everything was too clean. My face too one-dimensional. My hair too...unmyself.
I was on the edge of just throwing myself into a sea of inky blackness. I looked down at my hands...
The polish pushed me.

My eyes were a shimmery pink in the inside lid, a lavender in the middle, and a gray-blue covered the rest. Black went into the creases, black drenched the waterline, black winged up and out.

My sister was inspired by the makeup. "Can I do your hair??" she asked.
It was as if the polish answered for me. "Yes!"

She worked on my hair while I worked on my lips. Not red. I needed maroon. That maroon I've searched years for. Not a brown red, or a deep raspberry. I needed the lovechild hue of black and red.
The obviousness of the answer was in the question all along.

I grabbed an old Smashbox palette and emptied it of it's champagne pink contents, and replaced it with a black and a blood red. My perfect maroon lipstick was born with the first swipe of the lip brush.

My sister finished with my hair. Megan would have been proud.

My sister exclaimed in giddiness, "You look so pretty! Lets take pictures!"

I looked down. My grey tank top and house shorts didn't belong. My sister and I eyed the corset top in the closet at the same time. It was only fitting that the skirt I normally wear as a mini-petticoat was to be paired along with it. The seamed fishnets and black satin prom gloves went along for the ride.

I was quite a sight. By the time I had gotten in front of the camera, it was obvious I wasn't sure what I had gotten myself into. My sister assured me when it was over she'd have them edited beautifully and that we should do this more often.

The results made me look down, not in embarrassment, but so as to say to the beautiful shade at the tips of my fingers, "Thanks for the inspiration."