I don’t have a lot going for me as far as appearance goes, but I do have the perfect boobs. Or so I’m told. More than often. By both men and women. They’re the perfect size. Not too big, not too small. Not too high, not too low. The irony is, my Dad has called me Baby Bear since I was 3 for you Goldilocks lovers.
Then there’s my red lipstick. I can honestly tell you I never wore anything on my lips prior to a year ago. I was an eyes girl. But we all change. I’m still perfecting the process…the primer, the liner, the lipstick…man leave it to women to over complicate a coloring stick.
I love my perfect boobs. I adore my pink lipstick. I used to hear other gals mention how feminine they felt wearing lipstick. Now I get it. And for a lets play a sport, just give me a beer kind of girl, it has been pleasant getting in touch with my dainty side. Who knew existed? I’m glad we’ve acquainted.
I want to make my life-thus-far long, conundrum brief and untangled. I’ll begin with the facts. When I wear what my friends call the “coveted bra”, the one that accents the perfection, I don’t just get attention, I get things. Things I feel I don’t deserve. I get into events with a cover fee for free, when I forget my ID (which is all the time) I can still get a drink (half the time on the house), at a concert I can easily work my way to front of audience. And I’m tall. No body wants a big haired giant in front of their face.
Now add the red lipstick. My chest and my lips are what Hollywood calls a Power Couple. You see these free-bees have always happened, but with the lipstick, now they happen almost every damn time. What is this magical chemistry that makes people change their mind? Why am I now an exception to the customs and regularities?
Not that I’ve ever been a rule follower but perhaps because I’ve seen they can be completely arbitrary. Over and over again.
I know it is the presence of my Power Couple is the game changer. The playmaker. The get out of jail free card. Because if one or none doesn’t exist, I am just another face in the ground or silly forgetful girl at the bar who has now inherited the role of DD for the night.
I am all over the place with how this makes me feel. Sometimes, there are evenings it’s super convenient and of coarse I’ll take advantage. It sucks forgetting your license in your other pants. Or when I get the text “you better wear the cb!” from a friend before we paint the town for the evening, I’ll think to myself, that is not a bad idea for the night.
But then there are times that I intentionally will leave the Power Couple at home because I don’t like the privilege it receives and the privilege my mind at times has come to assume. Yuck.
I like wearing my red lipstick. I like the way it looks, the way it shapes my plump lips, the way it makes me feel. However, just the other evening I had opened the tube and was about to fill in my lips but I stopped. I’ve been reflecting on this mystification for a while. How much power can this little tube really withhold? It’d proven itself a worthy component in every arena but I wasn’t sure if I supported the victory.
Now, I don’t want to over exaggerate. Yet if only you were with me, you too could vouch for my power couple’s influence. What it’s like when they are there. What it is like when they’re not.
You know, really what is the harm in me allowing their mysterious authority to pull a little leverage? I save money here and there, my forgetful self doesn’t affect my evenings, and I’ll get a high five from the lead singer. Then there’s the fact that these advantages pour over on who ever I’m with. It’s nice to be able to help a buddy out, even in a small way. I’m real friendly but I’m not flirty. I don’t flaunt the couple; they work their magic on their own. No one is being manipulated, no one is being harmed.
However, it still rubs me the wrong way. It churns my insides. I don’t like that I have this and others don’t. That at least thus far, I’ve had a pretty darn good coupon, that isn’t just for everyone one to pick up as they walk into the grocery store. It’s unlimited. It’s consistent. It’s mine. Though my lips purse as I speak what type, those last three sentences are true.
Now I know this is a very acute example of privilege. And parts of me feel at times it is a frivolous one at that in compared the atrocities of other systemic privileges. But it’s all connected isn’t it? The advantage of one or many over the majority or the minority. I’ve always thought privilege can be a good thing when used to uproot the trunks that’s founded its rotting branches.
I’m not sure what that looks like in the case of my perfect breasts and lipstick. Maybe that’s because I’m still curious about the extent of their leverage. It could just be so here in Minneapolis, Minnesota or because I’m in my roaring 20s. I have feeling a degree of it is universal and yes is probably accredited to my age. Nonetheless, in the mean time, I’ll keep pondering, digging, I’m sure at times rejecting it and others embracing it others. Walking slowly in this peculiar tension of the privilege of my perfect breasts and red lipstick.
You may want to invest in a subscription of People magazine to find out what happens to the Power Couple.