Fingering My Make-up: Experiencing Beauty Non-Visually in a Visual World

Photo by marianela on Unsplash

I stand on tip-toe in front of the bathroom mirror and swath pearly pink shadow across my eyelids. My mom stands behind me, directing. I’m ten, and she’s initiating me into the world of make-up. The soft, luminescent pink speaks to me. It’s a color I will be drawn to my entire life. It’s a color my kids will eventually ask why I have so much of in my wardrobe. It’s a color I will have fond memories of but no longer visually linger in its pop because, now, I’m blind.

There was a time when I primped each morning in front of the mirror. Make-up brushes, palettes, creams, and glosses splayed across the vanity in a rainbow. My attire for the day determined what shades adorned my face. It was fun and exciting.

I’m now in my 40s, a mom of two, and work from home. I’m wholeheartedly into the Lululemon lifestyle. I’ve traded skinny jeans and crop tops for yoga leggings and V-neck t-shirts. Ponytails are my hairdo of choice. If I’m feeling fancy, I pull out my beach-wave wand. And if I wear make-up at all, it’s lip gloss.

My routine is about convenience, not high fashion. It’s cute but comfortable. However, there’s an even bigger reason why make-up has become more of an acquaintance than a close companion.

In my early 20s, I became blind. Several simultaneous illnesses narrowed my senses down to four. I’ve adjusted, grown, and moved on. In my experience, I do little differently to navigate the world non-visually than I did visually. It just requires some different tools and methods at times.

I didn’t lose my interest in fashion or make-up.

There’s still a calming quality to shopping for the latest trends. While my kids play on the playground, I frequently check out fads on E Insider, Vogue, and even Amazon. Some descriptions are great, detailing cut and style. But many lack enough description assuming all consumers are purchasing off the provided pictures.

Fingering rouges, eyeshadow palettes, and tubes of gloss do not inform me about color or tint. Descriptions do little to enlighten. What is Passion floral? Or Electric burst? Even when an actual color is given—scarlet, indigo, grey—this does not necessarily tell me what shade within its color gradation it is.

Illustrations and photos demonstrating technique are silent. The silence is subtext indicating to me that my needs do not matter. Videos are potentially more helpful, but it depends on how descriptive the person demonstrating is, primarily if you’re new to make-up or a specific technique, especially if you’ve never experienced it visually.

I hoped to gain a little knowledge by watching shows like Daily Pop on E. However, with descriptions like, “And just line like this,” or, “And then add a touch just here,” I walk away with little understanding. And not because I’m blind, but because the beauty industry rarely considers disability. On the occasion that it does, it forgets to include blind people.

I have a visual reference to the world. I understand the gesture, color, and graphic description, but when the explanation is nonexistent, it does little to include a woman who still enjoys the world of beauty. What about blind people who have no visual reference? The lack of visual experience does not equate to an absence of care about exterior attributes like clothes and make-up. 

I love that fashion is beginning to include my 40-year-old mother of two body. There’s a small crack in the door showing another perspective of beauty. Demonstrating that beauty doesn’t have to look and act a certain way. But when does the blind person in me get to feel included? When do I get to be forty-something without constantly asking for help shopping for make-up and clothes?

When do I get to stand in the make-up aisle again, spending far longer than I should, mesmerized by the colorful options surrounding me? Finger’s gliding over Braille descriptions or scanning a bar code on an app on my phone and reading detailed descriptions via Voiceover, a text-to-speech software.

I’m still the little girl entranced by the rainbow of shadows and rouges arrayed on my mom’s dresser. I’m still the teen perusing racks, seeking styles found in Seventeen. I’m still the college girl standing in front of her closet each morning, perusing options for the day’s wardrobe, brushing and swathing a collection of make-up across her face from an assortment of palettes littering her vanity.

I’m still her. I want the world to see all of me. And to see me in the way I see myself. I’m tired of being dismissed. I’m tired of my needs not being considered or included as an after-thought.

Beauty may be trivial compared to most things, but if the beauty industry doesn’t care to include disability, what chance do we have to have our needs regarded elsewhere? Employment, parenting, education. We need a seat at the table. Blind voices need to be included, heard, and listened to.

About the Writer

Bridgit Kuenning-Pollpeter (she/hers) is a freelance marketer during the day, a creative writer at night. Her work has appeared in the Brevity blog, Hippocampus Magazine, Random Sample Review, Parents.com and elsewhere. When she’s not chasing children, picking up messes or reorganizing the house, she enjoys yoga or reading to relax. You can periodically find her on Twitter.

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