This morning I came across an article in Broadsheet on the latest of a long line in products meant to beautify a lady’s intimite parts.  This time, the item in question was “Benetint”, a repackaged liquid blush now meant to rouge ostensibly too pale nipples.  

There was the usual, “it’s empowering” (by the beauty company), and “it’s disempowering” (by the NOW president), but, what most struck me is, such total artificiality is was what I always liked about the naked girl industry.

One of the things I loved about nude modeling and burlesque was that, with relatively little effort, you could make yourself far, far prettier than you had any right to be.  Of course, the illusion is fragile.  Once you unclip your fake hair, un-cinch your corset and wash off your spray on skin, you’re back to the same lumpy, veiny human you always were.  But for those few hours, you’re a goddess.  It’s a very egalitarian vision of beauty, far more so than the elite cannons of fashion, which demand gazelle-like fourteen year olds, or nothing.  But that’s why it’s glamour- the original meaning of which is on par with witchcraft.

During my tour, me and Jen Dziura shared plenty of dressing rooms.  Once, before a burlesque gig, she watched with horror as I used body makeup to erase my areolas, then places the pasties up high enough to just cover the nipple.  It’s a boob job without the surgery, and looks fantastic, though of course utterly impractical for real sex.

If civilian women want to use sex worker trickery to make themselves look better, more power to them.  Though remember, if you want to use lipstick on your nipples, its sexy, but not really sexual.  No man wants a mouthful of paint.