Concealer

On the inherent embarrassment of flattering fashions

On top of the bed sits my boyfriend, our cat, and a pile of clothes that don’t fit me right tonight. I’m changing out of my third outfit that Andrew had deemed “Perfect! Gorgeous!” and my palms are beginning to itch. I change my bra before putting on a different blouse because this one doesn’t go with boobs. If my frantic fashion show continues much longer, I know I risk entering and maintaining a very weird mood for the rest of the evening.

‘What was wrong with that last one?” Andrew asks, calmly petting Ozzie as the pile of intermingled clean and dirty laundry on the duvet grows. “You looked great in that.”

“Thank you,” I bark, fearing I might already be resigned to acting weird all night, pulling my shirt self-consciously away from my body like a nervous tick. “But that’s the point. It was too flattering. It looked like I was trying too hard.” I ditch the dress with the deep V and cinched waist for an oversized sweater and a miniskirt. Nice and safe. Borderlining effortlessly cool, if you don’t consider the absolute wreck I’ve made of my closet. Now, if I do not look good, at least it will look like an accident. 

When we finally arrive at the incredibly casual bar, a few friends compliment my sweater. I deflect with studied Midwestern skill. “Oh thanks, I just found it at the Goodwill forever ago. It’s so comfy though.” 

It's kind of like those goofy faces us girls would make in middle school, huddled before the lens of a digital camera for a photo op. The intentional ugliness a preemptive strike against the looming possibility of judgment. It says, “Hey! You can’t fault me if I’m not trying!”

Looking back on those photos now, it is insane to consider how much we concealed the effort we exerted on our appearances. At my middle school, it was common practice for girls to flat iron their hair pin-straight before throwing it into a “messy” bun. To completely disregard your appearance was impossible in that social and hormonal climate. But to make plain that you did care was even more crass.

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If you were to consult historical advertisements and incendiary satirical cartoons¹, you might think that tight-lacing corsets to the point of body mutilation was an epidemic among 19th century women. Male writers of the era penned impassioned pleas for women to stop wearing their corsets too tight, citing that the practice was responsible for misshapen livers and female hysteria. This opposition was so well documented that it has stood the test of time, despite the fact that few of these claims were rooted in reality.²

The truth is that the images used to advertise corsets were no more representative of the average woman in the Victorian era than Victoria’s Secret ads were to women in the 2000s. Even at the dawn of photography, sly collage techniques were engineered to fake unrealistic depictions of women’s bodies in commercial images.³ As for the supposed medical concerns, none were substantiated. Rather, urban legends of corsetry built a narrative— women were so frivolous and vain that they would trade their health for a slimmer figure.

Another crime of vanity among polite Victorian society was the visible use of makeup. While veering into a “painted” look was considered taboo, it was also impossible to maintain the beauty standard of clean skin and pinched pink cheeks without a touch of artifice. In the prudish social environment of the Victorian era makeup was heavily associated with sex workers. So even though sparing use of makeup was widespread, it was a dirty secret for many women. In stark comparison to the styles of the late 18th century (think Marie Antionette’s powdered white visage), bold looks like eyeliner and painted lips fell out of favor. 

One of the boldest looks of 18th century French aristocracy was the false beauty mark. Fake beauty marks emerged in Europe in the late 1500s as a clever way to turn a blemish into a cosmetic accessory. At a time when faces were regularly marred by syphilis and smallpox, this ornamental forgery remained a beauty staple for centuries. By the 18th century, the moleskine stickers evolved from small dots resembling moles to an array of geometric shapes with a symbolic language all their own. Tiny stars, hearts, diamonds, and crescent moons dotting powdered faces silently communicated cheeky messages akin to the designs on a My Little Pony’s butt. Beyond that, the flashy mouches communicated that the wearers were fashionably imperfect. Both a sign of physical defects and aristocratic affectation, the English became critical of the increasingly French practice.⁴

After fake beauty marks fell out of fashion in England, they became more associated with the elderly and disfigured. A French man remarked upon surveying the trend in 1719’s London that "The Use of Patches is not unknown to the French ladies; but she that wears them must be young and handsome. In England, young, old, handsome, ugly all are bepatch’d until Bed-rid." Over time, patches became increasingly associated across Europe with aging sex workers and aristocrats wishing to minimize blemishes turned to skin lightening agents like lead and arsenic.⁵

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The Victorian era’ sudden heel turn on powder and rouge reminds me of the way makeup has evolved over the past decade. Many self-professed beauty gurus found fame on YouTube in the early 2010s. Creators like Tati Westbrook, James Charles, and Nikita Dragun built media careers and product lines off of the audiences they grew with full glam makeup tutorials.⁶

Things began to change in 2014 when Into the Gloss beauty columnist Emily Weiss launched the Glossier brand, which offered only 6 skus.⁷ Within a few years, cakey foundation and colorful matte lips were cast aside in favor of airy BB creams and barely there lip oils. The “no makeup makeup” look ushered in the era of multi-step skincare regimes. Bathroom sinks once littered with lip kits and celebrity eye palettes became adorned by rows of serums and toners. Clear skin became not just a beautiful trait, but a mark of virtue. A bright, glowy skin proved that you drank lots of water and ate healthy food. Some might even claim that your gracefully aging skin could be chalked up to “being unproblematic”.⁸

Similarly prudish attitudes about makeup exist today as well. Before and after images of extreme makeup makeovers circulate online with jokes that men must take a girl swimming on the first date.⁹ Spanx and hair extensions are equated to false advertisement, as if my body is a bag of meat brandishing the threat of cellulite like salmonella. Women feel pressure to squish themselves into narrow definitions of beauty in any way they can, but cannot let on that they are doing so. It is not only necessary to conceal your body, you must also conceal the very fact that you have something to hide.

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I wore a lot of vintage dresses in middle and high school. I’ll admit that a twee proclivity was partially to blame, but my main motivation was a flattering fit. I got boobs too big and too early. And despite hours a week spent dancing and an occasional laxative habit, I was hippy before I was out of braces. In hindsight, which is far more forgiving than the eyes of a self-conscious teenage girl’s, I was still pretty thin. But I hated the way I looked in jeans and a tee shirt. Modern clothing, with its reliance on stretchy fabric, either hung from my chest or clung too tightly to the ounces of flesh I wanted to rip off in the bathroom. 

Vintage dresses were my solution. Cotton weaves and actual tailoring felt so much more flattering than poly-span fabric blends. Full skirts past my knees artfully concealed my rear while sweetheart necklines revealed just enough cleavage to be called something as classy as “decolletage”. I violently cinched patent leather belts at my waist as if to prove a point. To my dismay, many other shapely women had come to a similar conclusion. For every Zoey Deschanel wannabe out there in the early 2010s, a hundred plus size girls turned to retro style retailers like ModCloth for cute and flattering frocks. As embarrassing as it is to admit today, I hated the association.

I was far from the only person who balked at the idea of sharing a look with people I deemed less attractive. In 2006, Abercrombie & Fitch CEO Mike Jeffries gave a shockingly frank interview for Salon. In explaining his target market, Jeffries ranted, “We go after the cool kids. We go after the attractive all-American kid with a great attitude and a lot of friends. A lot of people don’t belong [in our clothes], and they can’t belong. Are we exclusionary? Absolutely. Those companies that are in trouble are trying to target everybody: young, old, fat, skinny. But then you become totally vanilla. You don’t alienate anybody, but you don’t excite anybody, either.”¹⁰

A trend that is flattering is quick to catch on, but that sudden ubiquity can become the nail in the coffin of its own coolness. A trend that is exclusionary doesn’t run the risk of appealing to, and subsequently disseminating in popularity among the unattractive. It remains in the hard to pull-off echelons of “I wish I could wear that!”

The trends that burn the brightest and briefest are the ones that push flattery into the realm of fraud. Clothing that alters the body to the point of deception, like bullet bras or those yoga pants with ruching at the butt crack, makes people uncomfortable in an uncanny valley way. Such bold faced duplicity invites criticism and mockery. As soon as those trends fall out of fashion, they become the laughing stock of that decade, emblematic of how insane women used to dress out of vanity or insanity.

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TikTok has ushered in a new generation of advice on how to flatter your frame. In styling tip videos, two recordings of a woman will silently dance below looming symbols to denote an outfit’s passing or failure. The woman under the check mark will conceal her insecurities and balance her proportions with ease. Her doppelganger under the red X will fall prey to fashion faux pas, like horizontal stripes. On a platform primarily aimed at young adults and teens, I can’t help but be surprised by how many of these fashion rules feel dated and judgy. I struggle to find the appeal of information regurgitated from the scenes of What Not to Wear where Stacy London and Clinton Kelly point out a contestant’s back rolls in their horrific 360 degree mirror.

But other styling advice on TikTok strays from this refrain of flattery. In place of the pursuit of flattering clothing, a new popular ideal has developed, claiming that the true mark of style is dressing without thought to your body shape or attractiveness. In December of 2022, a video titled “stop only wearing flattering clothes.”¹¹ went viral. In it, an aggrieved woman laments the years she spent dressing with the sole goal of appearing thinner, as opposed to choosing clothing that reflected her personal taste, flattery be damned. 

The same philosophy of dressing fueled Leandra Medine Cohen’s Man Repeller¹², which she began as a fashion blog in 2010, but quickly evolved into a popular site for fashion commentary and advice with multiple contributors. Man Repeller championed quirky accessories, off beat silhouettes, and clashing patterns. It was fashion writing for the girls’ girls, who didn’t care if they looked hot because they wanted to look cool. By the time Medine Cohen stepped down in 2020 amidst stories of racist treatment from former employees of color coming out, the publication had left an indelible mark on the way that many Millennial women approached clothing. 

Rejecting flattering fashion is an intergenerational trend, the Gen Z kids today are wearing baggy jeans under flowy peasant dresses. They are flaunting slight muffin tops in totally Y2K bedazzled low rise jeans. Saying no to the rules is cool. Whether revealing or concealing, these styles project supreme confidence by denying the impulse to externally shape one’s body.

But there are still narrow and rigid expectations for women, they’re just different now. Not only should you be effortlessly beautiful, but that nonchalance must be driven by a radical acceptance of all body types. I’m not just embarrassed because my arms are flabby, I’m also embarrassed that I even find my arms embarrassing. What am I, a Cathy cartoon? Being visibly self-conscious about my body marks me as a bashful loser and bad feminist. 

The otherwise conventionally attractive women going viral for flaunting unflattering fashions are all hyper aware of their minor aesthetic transgressions. It’s like seeing someone walk around with toilet paper stuck to their shoe— these women must combat the discomfort that comes from looking at someone and not knowing for certain if they’re fully aware of their flaws. The language they use to describe their styles is defensive. By wearing low rise jeans without her hip bones jutting out, this TikTok influencer is making a statement and being brave. The very presence of this commentary disproves the neutrality she feigns towards her appearance. By loudly and intentionally reclaiming what is wrong with them, these women are also demonstrating awareness of and, in some sense, showing penance for their shortcomings as beautiful objects.

My first foray into makeup was a stick of concealer borrowed from my mom in middle school to conceal pimples. It was a sorry look: no mascara, no tint to the lips, just crusty beige blotches all over my pink face. These days, there are other options.

The yellow star shaped pimple patches that are popular right now remind me so much of the 18th century’s decorative mouches. Bright and bold, these hydrocolloid stickers defensively call attention to the types of blemishes I try in vain to hide. They’re clinically proven and cute to boot. They say “Don’t worry, I know I have a pimple right here and I’m taking care of it!” I wonder if any tween girls still cover their pimples with almost-the-right-shade concealer that cakes up on scabs and only serves to further clogs their pores. I wonder why I still cover my pimples like that.

1. https://www.sensibility.com/blog/resources/vintage-images/victorian-fashion-cartoons

2. https://www.lancasterhistory.org/debunkingcorsetrymyths/

3. https://www.lancasterhistory.org/victorian-photoshop-how-altering-waist-sizes-affects-modern-perception-of-body-diversity/

4. https://www.collectorsweekly.com/articles/sexy-face-stickers/

5. https://www.messynessychic.com/2022/04/15/the-secret-code-of-beauty-spots/#:~:text=%E2%80%9CWomen%20who%20wanted%20to%20create,was%20preferred%20by%20the%20coquettish

6. https://neoreach.com/youtube-beauty-gurus/#:~:text=The%20First%20YouTube%20Beauty%20Guru,%2C%20then%20titled%20%E2%80%9CRicebunny%E2%80%9D.

7. https://www.forbes.com/sites/emilysiegel/2015/05/05/emily-weiss-glossier/?sh=1b3390fa7a42

8. https://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/ageing-lifestyle-anne-hathaway-kate-moss-b2336299.html

9. https://knowyourmeme.com/photos/1402320-pokemon-sun-and-moon

10. https://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/the-story-behind-fitch-the-homeless

11. https://fashionmagazine.com/style/what-not-to-wear-2023-fashion-rules/

12. https://www.gq.com/story/what-happened-to-man-repeller