Kyu Kyu Thein
TW: body dysmorphia, mention of ED
I used to ask my older sister for her lip gloss all the time.
I loved the color she used. It was a bright pink with some sparkle inside. It came in a tube and wand and it was the “perfect summer color” or whatever the latest issue of Seventeen magazine said. It was small enough to fit into her pocket but a little went a long way whenever she put it on. I’ve always seen it on her. In fact, she used it so much to the point where the lettering of the brand was practically non-existent.
I’d always ask if I could use some of it. I would look at myself in the mirror and carefully put it on, imitating the way I saw my sister do it. I felt like the baddest bitch whenever I put it on.
She’d put on her hoops and sweep her bangs to the side. And then she would grab her keys and we would go shopping at the mall and get boba tea, our favorite past-time. I loved hanging out with my sister. In my eyes, she was the coolest girl I knew. Her music taste was so good and she had so many cute clothes. Her work ethic was admirable too and she was sometimes too independent for her own good. It must be a Capricorn woman thing.
Above all, I think she’s one of the strongest people I know. Being the eldest daughter in an immigrant family isn’t a role for the weak and sometimes, she would be better at parenting than my parents. I was able to ask her more things that I couldn’t ask my mom, questions about boys and periods and perfumes. When I was having a bad day, she would cook me Thai food and take me shopping. A lot of her friends talk about how she’s the mom of the group but sometimes, it does kinda feel like she’s my mom. I don’t like telling her that I love her but I genuinely do.
I always liked the concept of wearing makeup but I didn’t start until high school, when I was in show choir and we were required to learn how to do our own makeup. It was the full face glam – glittery eyeshadows, rosy blush, dazzling highlighter, and fake eyelashes that went all the way up to your eyebrows. I didn’t know how to do makeup and, as someone with tan skin and monolids, I was respectfully not letting any of my White co-members do my makeup. I remember burying my face in my hands, frustrated with the way my eyeliner always looked so uneven or how my lipstick did not match my skin tone at all. I hated the way I looked. I always thought I looked ugly but I never realized that even if I attempted to make myself look pretty, it wouldn’t even work. It was pointless. I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror for too long or else I would point out everything I didn’t like about myself.
This feeling stuck with me all throughout high school. I started eating less, sometimes forgetting to eat at all. I poked at every part of my body that stuck out. I hated the way my shoulders looked and how big my arms were and how flat my ass was. Many people want a bigger chest but I would always hide mine; it seemed like the only thing people wanted to look at sometimes. I was obsessed with skincare, hoping that my eyebrows would get a little bit thicker or that my face would get slimmer. Because maybe, just maybe, if I got prettier, I was worth somebody’s time. I was worth their attention and I wouldn’t feel so lonely.
I was looking at old photos of my family and I saw the way my sister would do her makeup. I chucked at how young both of us looked and how small I looked next to her. I remember those days of watching her get ready in her messy bedroom, with clothes thrown all over the place, as she tried to find the best earrings to go with her look or what type of shirt to wear. I’d sit on the bed and watch as she would curl her hair or put it into a fancy updo and I’d wonder if I could do that too when I get older.
Then I looked at myself in the mirror. And I looked at the makeup on the dresser. And I looked at that photo of my sister’s makeup. And I thought to myself, “I could do this.”
I filled in my eyebrows, not overarching but coloring them in just enough for them to show. I put concealer under my eyes and blended it the best I could. I did my winged eyeliner and put a sweep of black eyeshadow on my eyelids. I prayed that the mascara I stole from my sister wouldn’t ruin my look. I smiled in the mirror and put blush on the apples of my cheek. I patted highlighter down the bridge and on the tip of my nose. I was scared to line my lips with brown color liner but thankfully, it worked. I swiped lip gloss on, it wasn’t the same lip gloss that my sister would use but it was something similar to it.
I stared at myself in the mirror. For the first time in my life, I thought that I genuinely looked so beautiful. This was what I’ve always wanted to feel. I’ve been looking for this type of emotion my whole life and I finally found it. I took so many embarrassing selfies of me posing, with good lighting and bad lighting, and I would never post them on social media but I would look back at them from time to time to remind myself of how pretty I was.
I still do my makeup that way. My friends saw a photo of my older sister and talked about how similar we look. One of them even said that she was my blueprint for doing my makeup. And maybe that’s why I really like doing my makeup like this – I’m pretty because I remind myself of my sister. I feel more i-n-d-e-p-e-n-d-e-n-t, like I got my own house and I got my own car. Like I got two jobs and work hard, I’m a bad broad. I feel more confident in myself, more secure in my appearance and in the way I talk. I embody the image I have of her, the girl that drives her sleek black car and pays for everything herself, and I feel it every single time I reapply my lip gloss.
I was walking around some makeup store and I found the exact lip gloss that my sister used. I could buy one for myself. But I think, at least for now, I’ll just ask my sister to use hers. I know she’ll let me.