The Politics of Red Lipstick

On symbolism, gender performativity, and being a bold-mouthed girl.

Red lipstick has a long history: it was relegated to sex workers in Ancient Greece, worn by the suffragettes as a symbol of resistance, included in American women’s army uniforms during WWII, and is classically linked to glamourous sex symbols from the 1950s onwards. A woman in red is bold and beautiful; feminine but never demure. I've long wanted to brave the red lip but the implications have left me nervous. Am I really all that? And (perhaps more pressingly), do I want to be perceived as all that?

Symbolism

The symbolism of red lipstick extends beyond the contemporary vixen. Sex workers in Ancient Greece were required to wear red lip paint as a form of branding lest an honest man be unknowingly seduced. Comparatively, upper class women in Babylonia, Ancient Egypt and Ancient Rome enjoyed red lipstick, with deeper pigments signalling higher status. During 16th-century England, under Queen Elizabeth I, women used red lipstick to ward off evil spirits. In 1912, Elizabeth Arden distributed her Venetian Lip Paste and Pencil to suffragettes marching down fifth avenue in NYC. Red lipstick had a new face; a symbol of defiance and strength. This empowerment carried through WWII when “Montezuma Red” was included in American women’s military uniforms and “Victory Red” was advertised to women in Allied countries. Throughout the 21st Century, protest movements in Nicaragua, Chile and Portugal have worn red lipstick to denounce oppressive regimes and sexual violence. It seems there is something inherently powerful in sporting a red lip.

Sex Appeal

Since the 1950s, red lipstick has been synonymous with sex appeal, a call to Hollywood glamor. But why? And is this true in the real world? Research suggests that red lipstick makes women more likely to be approached by men (Guéguen, 2012) and earns waitresses higher tips from male patrons (Guéguen, 2012).

Given higher estrogen levels can cause facial redness, including redder lips, some theorise that the sex appeal of red lipstick is biological. As I watched Glamour ‘take to the streets’ asking ‘ordinary men’ what they think of red lipstick (cringe, I know, bear with me) I was surprised that many justified their preference for red with “it catches your attention.” The cynic in me was quick to judge: while the men’s attention may be caught, I doubt they notice what is said. Is the sex appeal of red lipstick as simple as drawing attention to an orifice?

Post the clean-girl-aesthetic and no-makeup-makeup-look trends, wearing red lipstick feels particularly loud. To be classy is to be quiet. The noise of a red lip can feel almost too performative. It makes me uncomfortable. And that’s why I’m so drawn to it.

The Politics of Choice

Women are acutely aware of the weight their makeup choices carry—whether to wear it, how much, and in what style (Gurrieri & Drenten, 2019). Writing this piece has forced me to examine my own relationship with makeup. I’ve realised the subconscious gymnastics I perform each time I pick up a brush or pencil. Makeup is for when I want to make an impression, whether that be obvious (with colourful eyeshadow) or subtle (with light concealer and blush).

I am confronted each time I sit at my desk to put on makeup: am I participating in feminism through consumption? Is this an act of conformity or confrontation? What does it mean to perform femininity? Will I ever wear makeup without peering down this line of inquiry? This is, of course, a uniform experience;

“Women use makeup as a means of strategic self-presentation. The specific style and degree of makeup a woman chooses to apply can vary significantly depending on a range of factors, including how attractive or competitive she feels, with whom she expects to interact, and the context in which that interaction will occur.” (Biesiadecka, et al. 2023)

The performance of my gender is not purely built on self expression - it inherently acknowledges an audience. As I craft my mask and step into a role, it makes sense that I should question her character. I turn to the phenomenological perspective of being as a continual act of becoming and apply this to my gender performance. As Simone de Beauvoir so rightly wrote, "one is not born, but rather becomes, a woman.”

Judith Butler understands acts of gender as bearing similarities to performative acts within theatrical contexts (Butler, 1988). The body offers a world of possibilities to be continually realised - our identity constituted through context and repetitious acts. To Butler, we create and define “man” or “woman” each time we use the terms. Gender is as developmental as our very state of becoming. To set a new routine, to try out a new makeup look, is to step beyond our established identity. It is to assume the costume of a character before we’ve yet embodied her traits.

In my artistry I’ve toyed with makeup brutalism and soft drag to confront my relationship with gender and makeup. I rejected the notion of trying to be beautiful - beautiful was boring, anyone could do it. Somehow, though, as my frontal lobe developed, so too did my desire to look tradhot. I’ve found this troubling. These days my participation in makeup is rarely a subversion of my gender. Rather, it feels like a submission - a curtsy before the patriarchy. I need something bold. Something personally challenging in my regular look to push me beyond my own understanding of gender and makeup.

Can I be her?

Something about wearing red lipstick has always appealed to me. I like how it compliments my eyes. I’m attracted to classical beauty. I strive to be bold. For years I excused myself from donning red in any form, fearing it would bring out my acne and subsequent scarring. But, as my European trip approached and my skin healed, I made a commitment: in France I will test-drive being a red lipstick girl. The stakes were low, the setting apt. It was time to embrace the woman I’d long wanted to be.

I marched into Marseille’s MAC store.

“I’m looking for a long lasting, matte, red lip combination that will suit my complexion.”

Immediately I am handed a lip pencil and lipstick. My sister helps me put it on. I look in the mirror: my mouth appears loud, imposing, obvious. I balance my face with some mascara.

Am I wearing the red or is it wearing me?

Inez insists it suits me. I pick up a black pencil eyeliner. I make my purchase - tax free.

For the next few weeks, I moved through France with rouged lips. Each time I caught my reflection I was taken by surprise. I felt vaguely disconnected from my face: she was certainly mine but her outfit was new. Simultaneously, I really liked how I looked.

Wearing red lipstick mirrors my act of becoming - an embodied transformation to the character I’ve been waiting to play. I hear the audience take their seats while I enact my morning ritual; shaping my mouth with its bright hue I morph into an elevated version of myself. Throughout the day I may forget the red upon my face, but the initial act has influenced the very way I am be-ing. Bold and beautiful, feminine but never demure.