Men Who Wear Makeup

Many famous people throughout history have adorned their faces with makeup: Gene Simmons from KISS, William Wallace from Braveheart, and Bozo the Clown. Simmons’ “Demon” makeup reflected his character’s cynicism and dark elements, as well as his love for comic books. William Wallace decorated his face as an intimidation technique, inspired by a dream he had that the Virgin Mary visited him and painted the blue and white flag of Scotland on his face. Bozo the Clown, on the other hand, covered his face with paint due to an unfortunate early career accident involving pulling a rabid cat he found behind a dumpster out of his hat (thus opting for more passive and unassuming rabbits in the future). However, there is one thing all of these persons have in common—I’ve never wanted to be any of them. But as fate may have it, I, too, would fall into the ranks of men who wear makeup.

I am currently in a community theater production of Romeo and Juliet, playing none other than the role of Gregory (who is kind of like a hemorrhoid on the play’s derriere…you always keep him in the back and never let people see him in the light). I must admit that I am inexperienced when it comes to theater, which is why I was so taken aback when I discovered I would need to not only purchase makeup, but put it on myself as well. After accumulating a list of items that I would need to procure before next rehearsal (a list as familiar to me as my fetal pig dissection instructions in high school—Pinna? External nares? Nictitating membrane? I don’t know about that but I can pick my piggy’s nose with my needle probe!), I sent my mom to the store to buy the appropriate tools, for the same reason I don’t go to the store and buy my girlfriend tampons.

The following evening, I cautiously made my way into the men’s dressing room with the same amount of discretion I would during swim class when I was little and I would inch my way to the pool in my parent-bought Speedo, while everyone else splashed around in their swim trunks (and at that age, it looks more like a G-string… “Just blend it,” I’d recite as my mantra). To my surprise, every guy was at the counter putting their makeup on! And they had makeup kits! More like makeup fishing tackle boxes…not a CVS bag of mommy purchased makeup. So I nestled myself in between two of my cast members and got to work (still reciting to myself “Just blend it”).

But wait! I don’t know how to put on makeup. So I kindly ask cast member number one on my left, Stephen, what to do. Now Stephen is what you might consider a theater veteran. He is tall and lanky, with long hair that drapes down over his shoulders. He commands a certain amount of respect due to his theatrical experience, kind of like the tenured pirate that has wooden pegs for arms and legs. As Stephen continues reaching into his makeup kit/RV parked on the counter, I pummel him with makeup 101 questions, until he turns to me and says: “You know, I hate it when people sit and ask others questions about makeup.” What?! Is he talking about me! How dramatic…well, he is an actor.

I then turn to cast member number two on my right, Bill. Now Bill is quite the opposite of Stephen. Bill is one of the older cast members (but not quite a veteran), with patches of white hair scattered about his cranium like someone tried to glue cotton balls on his head. He spends his days as a painter, and previous to that career, he was a goat seamen collector (during intermissions, Bill would narrate these vivid and gripping tales, much like I imagine ancient storytellers would recite back in the day where characters like Hercules would slaughter men by the thousands…but instead of a metallic sword dashed with blood, I would have to envision Bill wielding a goat’s penis and trying to insert it into a homemade goat vagina replica. As you can already tell, I love Bill).

After tapping Bill on the shoulder for help, he turns to me, and instead of the immaculate makeup application I expect to see like Stephen, Bill looks…well…interesting. Instead of a modest base, Bill looks like someone farted flour on his face. The clear-cut shadowing performed by Stephen looks more or less like Bill got in a fist fight with a turd, his cheeks splotched with little brown markings. And Bill’s worn-down eyebrows have been colored in with brown eye-liner with the same precision a kindergartener does when trying to color in the lines. All I can do is crack a grin when looking at Bill, and he fondly replies, “Shut up.” Bill instructs me on what he is attempting to do, but then again, Bill looks like a two-bit hooker, so I take his advice with a grain of salt.


The time had come. The director lets us know we have ten minutes to be on stage, so I decide to just take a crack at it. Step 1) lay all my makeup out before me. Step 2) figure out what everything is. Step 3) take what is before me and put it on my face. Simple, right? At this juncture, I feel similar to the astronauts on Apollo 13 having to assemble an air purification system out of a rope, a Styrofoam cup, and a pair of dirty socks. Now while we all may have suffocated and died on Apollo 13 if I was the astronaut in charge, I did manage to make it out on stage in time with about a inch of makeup protruding from my face. More is less, right. Or is it less is more? Anyways, when the curtain went up and the lights hit my face, everyone had to turn their eyes away because my face resembled that of Iron Man’s, with the same reflective qualities (imagine how it feels when you look God in the face).

Now that I look back upon yesterday’s adventure, I am proud of myself…and humbled (due to the fact that everyone else looked normal and I stood out). But I was raised of the mindset: “Go big or go home,” which is probably why when I asked my parents to buy me a cup for little league practice, my dad came home with one designed to protect King Kong’s genitals (so embarrassing when I haven’t even hit puberty yet and I walk up to the plate looking like I swallowed a jar of Viagra…I think my cup stuck out farther than my baseball bat). But I was also raised of the mindset: “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.” So tonight I strive to land somewhere between Stephen’s professional MAC counter skills and Bill’s someone poured all my makeup in the toilet then gave me a Swirley-expertise. Mr. Simmons, Mr. Wallace, and Mr. Clown, wish me luck!