Eyeliner befuddles me.

I still don’t know how I feel about this fashion transition I’m going through.  BUT – I’m going to go all the way with it, as far as I can muster.  In my lifelong quest to stop being the quitter my mother always told me I was (because I was REALLY miserable playing basketball when I was eight, I mean, come on— run back, run forth, run back, run forth… who wants to do that when I could have been at home playing GI Joes?) I have decided first to come to Los Angeles and admit that I am an actor, despite being rather queer, and second I decided I would not quit being an actor until I had absolutely given it my best and fullest try. The try to end all trys. Which, at this point, means I must work on the Fashion.

Except that I didn’t realize that part of the Fashion includes… The Making Up of the Face.

That’s right. Makeup. Wearing it. Not necessarily every day, but when it counts to look more put together. And frankly, since I’m rapidly approaching the next decade of my existence, I need all the help looking put together that I can get.  If that help comes in a little pot of pastel goop, so be it.

I experienced the first of two major rites of passage a few weeks ago (the second came just last week, but I’ll get to that in another post).

It started with a little YouTube research. Then I went to the drugstore. And bought eye shadow. And I went home and put it on.

I know. I almost died too. I mean, I’m less uncomfortable buying non-lubricated condoms wrapped in menstrual pads and acne cream. But I did it in the name of The Professional Photos Which Will Be Shortly Taken. As part of the Assignment. As part of discovering this new/old side of myself.

And although I had a healthy intro to makeup back when I was doing a ton of musicals in high school, and from watching the PGF and those who came before her getting dressed up, I realized that I have no idea what I’m doing. And then I realized that most women, when first learning about makeup, have to go through a weird adolescent period where they actually put makeup on often enough to get good at it. Ugh.

So I’ve been trying to wear eye makeup. Some days, days when I’m temping at the World’s Most Boring Office, I go all out. Foundation. Powder. The whole deal. I’m terrible at eyeliner, but I keep trying. It smudges everywhere. I feel like a sad drag queen who just lost the lip sync contest. No glitter dildo for you, Patsy!

And the worst part is, the part of me that likes girls recognizes that the makeup makes me look… I hate to say better, but, more finished somehow. It makes my eyes stand out. It evens out my skin. It makes me look a bit younger.

But the part of me that is clinging to my butch comfort – that part that can wear the same t shirt and jeans four days in a row and never removes the belt from my pants until they’re getting washed, that part that knows just enough hair product to get the proper ‘hawk going and wears only one sensible yet still quietly stylish pair of shoes – that part can’t deal with the effort. Makeup requires upkeep. It requires planning, and at least ten minutes. Ten minutes the Coach has instructed me to add to my routine. Ten minutes that require a kind of focus that stretches my every gay muscle.

What’s a pretty boi to do?