Each costume piece gets me closer not just to my chosen character, but closer to feeling powerful, feeling adventurous, beautiful, sensual. Anna helps me carefully tug the gold wig from South Korea over my ears. With expert precision, I tuck my wavy brown hair up into a tied-off pantyhose on my head. The rest of my costume: sleeveless vest, choker, skinny black pants, brown boots, gloves, and an eyepatch I’ve sewn myself. She’s not coming with me on my adventure - not her scene - but she still wants her work to last. When we’re both satisfied, Anna sets the make-up with a finishing matte and hairspray. As I sponge the mixture onto my skin, it immediately fuses into a solid barrier that traps my arm hair beneath its surface.įor the next hour, she helps me layer on the flesh-colored scar wax, the blending foundation, and burgundy powders until the patches resemble ill-healed wounds. She selects a foam beauty blender, and I douse it in the pungent liquid latex. My younger sister Anna, the make-up enthusiast, is standing by to assist.
I spot-clean my forearms and left shoulder with cotton pads and rubbing alcohol, ignoring the caustic smell. Liquid latex, scar wax, isopropyl myristate. O n the day of the April masquerade, I retrieve the supplies I purchased during the Halloween season.
