How To Rage-Sparkle And Repel Men In 2017

By Jenn Culp

Welcome to the latest how-to from Make Your Face, a makeup tutorial series with a simple mission: makeup for your own entertainment, Establishment-style.

This week, Jen celebrates 2016 the only way she knows how — with glitter-rage. Get thee to your most garish frock and dance away the crushing sorrow that piled upon your back these past 365 days. Hope feels hard to foster right now, but sparkle-armored gyration will help . . . a little.

Hey babes. How you been? Not so fantastic, I fear. This last month and a half has been pretty nasty, and I hope you’ll forgive me an old-school selfies + writing installment of Make Yo’ Face to close out the year. It sort of sucks to make and edit a video when you just really don’t feel like looking at yourself, you know? And given the state of the world…just, fuck makeup! It’s hard to make myself give a shit.

This is me most days, lately:


But here comes New Year’s Eve! A sparkly, bacchanalian evening intended to cap off a run of December festivities, or welcome the coming 365, depending on how you look at it.

I hate NYE a little bit. I am always exhausted by the time it arrives, at least one party over my limit regardless of how well I pace myself. I am at my most misanthropic rolling up to January 1 each year, but…fuck it! Once you hit that point, what’s stopping you from tossing on some slap and glaring at people while you dance to the death of the previous year’s damage? Stick a liner in your eye and see to your ritual.


Glitter is the traditional NYE accoutrement, and man do I love that shit. “Glitter is a lot like dirt,” I told some dude earlier this year, “only sparklier, sharper, and meaner.” Also incredibly feminine, near-impossible to get rid of and thus, my guiding aesthetic for 2017. That kind of tenacity is #goals, but in the final days of this difficult year, I’m still a little too raw to bear the discomfort of glitter myself. On New Year’s Eve it’s imperative to shine! Gold shadow satisfies the requirement more easily on the eyelids: apply it with a fingertip.


Mascara. (Fuck fake lashes on NYE; I’d just dance ’em off anyway.)


This week I saw a friend ask for skincare and face makeup advice on Facebook. The 50+ reply comment thread following offered a TON of useful information, so I chose to save my foundation-application advice for this column. Look dude, when it comes to making your face look pore-less and airbrushed, you can go REALLY HARD with brushes and different tones to sculpt your bone structure into your ideal vision, or you can just stick a finger in a little puddle of your-skin-similar shade of product and rub it where you want it. Guess which approach I prefer!


When you’re headed into a low-light situation, go hard with the blush. Hit your cheeks, obviously, then get up under your chin with it.


Here is a bronze eyeshadow I bought at Hot Topic a few years ago. Here I have chosen to use my right index fingertip to smear it all over my temples and cheekbones.


Silver is typically less flattering to the skin than gold and bronze, being…well, a shiny grey color, but fuck it man. I ain’t scared of that sexy undead cadaver kinda flavor, and so chose to fill in the space between my gold and bronze with it.


Now it’s time for some color. This faux-iridescent thing I did photographs for shit right here but looks AMAZING in life, so! I have added some Photoshop scribbles to show you where I placed each shade. All of ’em are shimmery Urban Decay shadows from my Vice Reloaded palette rubbed on with a finger: “Acid Rain,” “Hot Pants,” and “Asphyxia,” (green, pink, and purple, respectively). Just trust me here; wait for the final better-lit photos.


Dudes, what the fuck??? Allow me a brief aside here.

Madeleine Davies’ essay “Becoming Ugly” for Jezebel really resonated with me this week. (Ugh, is there a grosser way to say that? Forgive me, BUT) I think about beauty, particularly the performance of feminine beauty, all the fucking time, and I’m still so bad at grasping the proper vocabulary with which to describe and discuss it. Davies just fucking slaughtered that visceral sense of “FUCK you and your ruination of my life and entitled fucking perverted sense of access to my body” that all women feel for men at some point or another (or even all the time), in that essay.
I’ve felt that. I feel that. I recognize it bone deep. Identity deep. I don’t know another life! But I suppose I’ve come to a slightly different conclusion in regard to aesthetics, perhaps? “How do I become ugly to these people?” Davies asks. I’ve found my own way to accomplish this end, and it demands the embrace of feminine EXTRA. The more fucking femme you are, the more macho, in my book. Society DESPISES the embrace of obvious decorative effort, on the whole. The Cool Girl is “natural.” The woman covered in glitter and rhinestones is far more difficult to embrace! And such an open and declarative display of femininity, in this misogynistic culture, is a blatant statement of abjection, almost. It’s an armor that some men like to look at, but few dare to touch. I have found it very difficult to make myself ugly, on the whole (and apologize for the sheer assiness of that statement, but women? Y’all get it). I find it much easier to make myself repulsive through beauty. Repulsive and perhaps more importantly, FRIGHTENING to those who still dare to desire. No one approaches me casually when I’m fucking head-to-toe glitter. It works!!!

So this year I developed a favorite, FAVORITE fucking feminine-as-fuck lipstick, Kat Von D’s hot hot pink “Sexer.” I wrote about it here on two occasions, first when I discovered it and wore for two weeks solid…then my dog ate it. Then I found ANOTHER SAMPLE OF IT in my house (how??? Still unknown) and celebrated by gluing glitter all over my whole body this summer. But then, in spite!! (because???) of it being my favorite, I let it sit in my lipstick drawer for months, because Power Lipstick should only be used in its own time.

Friends, I took it out to wear it today, and this is what 2016 has done to my signature 2016 lipstick:


God. Damn. It.

Fuck if I can explain to you how it happened; I dunno. I thought for a brief instant about using a brush to squish that stuff on ANYWAY, but then I remembered my (glorious and perfect) sister-in-law recently gifted me some NYX lippies for Christmas, including a “Shocking Pink” shade.


You know what? Most men will risk getting some red lipstick on their faces. A lot aren’t even put off by purple. But try to kiss a straight man in this era with Barbie pink on your lips and just WATCH ’em recoil, hahahahaha, FEMININITY FOREVER, FUCKERS, let me dance in goddamn peace. Listen to Keb’ Mo’ and get with the clues!


Fuck you, 2016.

Look, I’m not an idiot. I know things aren’t going to improve mystically because of a turnover on an arbitrary-ass calendar. I know things are actually about to get way worse once the sexual assaulter our electoral college installed in the presidency takes control. But good goddamn if I can’t dance like an idiot for a single minute.


Coming for you, 2017. Coming goddamn hard, straight at your fucking face.

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