RoxysMakeupMoxy6 Gets Real
Friends and frenemies, drag queens and drama queens, this will probably be my last tutorial. I’ll be trading the cold glow of my ring light for the warm glow of candlelight soon, with all of you. So, I’ll just rip off the wax strip and get to it.
I don’t have much to offer at the end of the world. But not much doesn’t mean nothing.
Yeah, I’m no expert on survival, unless it’s surviving nasty comments about my weight (we’re facing the end of goddamn civilization, ChadderCheese3. I’ve been stress-eating plant-based protein bars, and I look better than ever with this booty, so log off).
One thing I do know about the post-apocalypse is survivors will lead a nomadic life—so you’ll need to learn how to pack light. And I’m not talking boho-chic, yoga poses across the globe, using a Romani slur as your handle nomadic. I’m talking outrun the gangs of cannibals nomadic. Never set down roots for too long nomadic, or they’ll be cut off like I cut off my ex when he told me I shouldn’t wear heels. (Never let someone make you smaller than they are, friends. Literally or figuratively.)
But in these dark days, some of us still don’t want to let ourselves go—right? Because if we don’t have ourselves, what do we have?
If this is you, keep watching. If this made you irrationally angry, scroll on.
For those of you still with me: let’s start with your eyes, the stained-glass windows to the soul.
You know those nights when you leave your makeup on—a night with the girls that your partner didn’t want you to go on—and somehow it looks better in the morning? And you don’t want to wash off that perfectly smudged smoky eye? Well, that’s the makeup you’re going to stock up on. Keep those creamy pencil liners, and toss the liquid ones in the trash, ‘cause they’ll get crusty after a couple days.
You know, the only time I went camping, back when I was un-self-aware enough to date an outdoorsy type, I brought a powder compact and some mascara. I brought a razor too, not just for my legs but for those dark hairs that appear above my lip in less than twenty-four hours.
And let me tell you, this absolutely infuriated my boyfriend. Not that I was touching up my “natural look” on the sly, but that I’d brought these things at all. I was violating the sanctity of the woods, I guess. I told him if he wanted Sasquatch, we were in the right place to find a real one.
Which reminds me: razors. Chuck out anything with a goopy moisturizer strip. If you’ve got a man, take his razor—unless it’s electric, because obviously that’s a no-go (unless you’re one of the apocalypse deniers in my comments, in which case nothing will be obvious till you’re literally on fire).
Anyways. Your man will be too busy growing his Grizzly Adams beard to use it, and “men’s” razors are made to last longer. Big surprise, right? Bonus points if he’s got an old-fashioned safety razor with the blades that screw in. You can use them to fashion a makeshift weapon, but more importantly those blades last hella long if you keep them dry.
Another thing for our go-bag is baby wipes, or moist towelettes from your nearest, nastiest fried food franchise. Save these for your acne-prone face, not your body. Everyone’s gonna smell so bad that no one’s gonna notice you smell bad too, girl.
Add some moisturizing sunscreen, and a foldable wide brimmed hat for when you inevitably run out of it.
Skip the lipstick. Your lips are gonna be too cracked for color. Just bring your favorite transparent balm. Maybe a scented one—a comfort scent just for you, like violets or vanilla.
You’re not gonna need your contour stick either. Food will be scarce, and you don’t want to enhance sunken cheeks. Just bring some concealer for special occasions. “What special occasions?” I can’t know that. Special is a subjective word.
I know what some of you are thinking. Poor RoxysMakeupMoxy6. So insecure. Such a waste of hours, shaping your eyebrows, when we may have so few hours left.
But I’m an artist, and the art is me. What if I was a musician? You best believe there will be dudes lugging their acoustic guitars through thousand-year floods and fire tornadoes, whether anyone wants to hear them or not.
“What about my hair,” Cottagecorotica4 is asking. Get yourself a nice wig and shave it, girl. You know everyone’s gonna be a walking nightclub for lice. And when you’re lonely you can put that wig on your feet while you sleep, and pretend it’s the Shih Tzu you had to set free because he barked too much while you were hiding from human traffickers.
Okay, I know, that sounded bleak. I’m just trying to be real here. Real Roxy hours.
You know I never actually start these videos without makeup on? I’ve always got a bit of primer to blur the imperfections. Just enough to be camera-ready.
I bet you think I’m gonna say that today, you’re seeing me for the first and last time, bare as a baby. You’d be wrong. I don’t owe you that.
Do you hear those sirens in the background now? People are starting to lose control already. And we don’t have control over other people. Soon, you won’t be able to recognize some of your friends. Your family, even. You won’t be able to trust your neighbors, or some of your closest acquaintances, when the lights go out.
A crisis can bring out the ugliest in people, if it drags on too long.
But when we look in the mirror, we can continue to recognize ourselves. Not our best selves, but something close enough.
This is RoxysMakeupMoxy6, signing off with love and biodegradable glitter.
About the author:
Íde Hennessy (she/they) lives in Humboldt County, California with her partner and three special needs cats who can see ghosts. Her fiction has also appeared in or is forthcoming in Fusion Fragment, Reckoning, Cosmic Horror Monthly, Apex’s Strange Machines anthology, Dark Matter’s The Off-Season anthology, and more. She also writes lyrics for and performs with darkwave band Control Voltage.
Find Íde:
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