'She uses me as an empty vessel of things she would tell her younger self if she had the chance.'
I was six-years-old, staring at my father's mother's reflection in the bathroom mirror as she applied her signature red lip with expert precision. She looked perfect. “Always put makeup on, Nanee,” Nana instructed me. “You never know who you’re going to meet.”
Growing up, she had a lot to say about my appearance. I have a vivid memory from 2012 when I’d just walked into my aunt’s house. Nana greeted me, not with a “hello” or sentimental greeting, but with a very matter-of-fact “You look tired.” She pointed out the puffy bags underneath my eyes, advising me to either get more rest or put some ice on them. Now, every time I look in the mirror, I apply concealer even if I don’t need it.
When I finally perfected the art of contour and invested in outfits that flattered my thick thighs and décolletage, I still preferred a quick, fresh-face beat and a sturdy pair of jeans for day to day. Only recently did I stop hiding behind a full face of makeup during our bi-annual Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve visits . That annoyed Nana like no other.
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