I'm an Immigrant. When I Spend Money on Makeup, I'm Paying to Feel Safe.
“My mother and I had disagreements about it. I could see that she rarely used her makeup, reserving it for special occasions or for church. Weeks passed, and she continued to venture into Manhattan barefaced. I panicked and pleaded with her to wear it whenever she encountered white people who determined her life or livelihood, like at work or at the doctor’s office. I asked her to wear a full face of makeup whenever I was not with her to serve as her interpreter, whenever my credit card could not communicate in a demented shorthand that we are human too. But she wouldn’t listen. For my mother, a top shelf is a magical cloud of luxury, a delicious feel-good fantasy.”