Putting on makeup feels far more tedious than writing. I enjoy it. Unfortunately, I’m not especially good at it. It remains a hobby, more than a craft. Still, makeup is a lot like writing a story. It moves in chapters, with parts that blend into one another through quiet transitions.

Think about every layer of mascara like the climax of a book you can’t seem to put down or look away from. The lipliner and lipstick are the takeaway, wrapping up a story so seamlessly.

Makeup tells stories, too. Some passages are cursive, delicate, and flowing; others are written in dark ink, bold and confident. There’s a dichotomy between fountain pens and ballpoint pens, like the contrast between eyeliner and lipstick, which holds the story structure together. Then there are the bright colors behind eyeshadow—the kind that make the eyes pop like exclamation points on a page.

Blush is like an adjective, and bronzer is the adverb supporting the text with grace.

I have so much respect for the meticulous women who shape their faces as if each brushstroke were an extension of themselves. They create narratives with color and precision, crafting a beauty I can only admire from the periphery.