FASHION Magazine

Photography by Peter Stigter

When I first saw glossy black lips on the Fall 2008 runway at Yves Saint Laurent (left), I nearly doubled over with excitement. Black is a favourite colour of mine, and a splash of it on the lips seems strong, tough, sexy and a teensy bit taboo. I mean, you’ve got to have the ’tude to pull it off. Since my own experience with this shade has been limited to Halloween soirees, I was thrilled—and marginally intimidated—to embark on an inky-lip adventure on a non–trick-or-treating day, especially since the French house came out with its own limited-edition gloss inspired by the show, Yves Saint Laurent Gloss Pur Pure Lip Gloss ($34, at Holt Renfrew).

While studying my closet that morning, I decide to forgo my quotidian ruffled tops and black jersey dresses in favour of something more pared down. I strip all jewellery, apply nary a lick of makeup, straighten my hair and slip into an oversized heather grey V-neck, a white tank and black skinny jeans. My lips, I figure, will be so dramatic (my usual lip-colour default ranges from clear balm to sheer berry) that the rest of my outfit shouldn’t overwhelm. Maybe I’ll even blend in.

It’s a real challenge to apply this slippery, deep yet sheer gloss. To mimic the show’s high-shine finish and depth of colour, I need to layer several coats (I settle on four). I also have to focus my efforts on staying well within the natural lip line, because the slightest venture close to the border is a hideous mess. I end up trying to clean up the residual grey marks, which is trying. (Do not attempt to apply if you’re in a moving vehicle or robbed of a mirror or lip brush—these are the fundamentals of the black-lipgloss tutorial.) After a full seven-minute application, I’m in line at Starbucks, and I’ve already given the barista such a scare that she’s forgotten my order. It’s not even 9 a.m.

After an elevator ride with a co-worker who can’t contain her giggles, I am looking forward to sliding into my cubicle and letting the comments roll in. After a quick mirror check (I’m thrilled I kept my face bare, because my lips are so bold), I whip around to hear a co-worker with an urgent request. What becomes more pressing, however, is her newfound interest in what’s happening “here,” as she frantically waves her index finger across her lips. “I’m just trying a new beauty trend,” I say very matter-of-factly. “It’s on the runways, you know.” She rebuts by saying I look paler (than usual?). I’m flattered, since I prefer that to porn-star bronze, though I suspect her connotation is negative.

All of this got me thinking: Is there any other beauty trend I could try that could ignite such reaction? I think about crimson-lined eyes, furry patterned lashes, a face full of glitter—nothing, it seems, compares to black lips. I have a feeling that being adopted as the primary colour of goths has done nothing to help with public opinion.

Mid-morning, post–tea and scone (note: crumbs really stick to gloss), the shade has lightened to a nearly sheer, almost purple stain. While I think it looks awful, a co-worker offers that it’s “more tolerable, less ‘sucking on a tailpipe’-like.” Charming, no?

Later, I decide to break the silence with the parties who have so far pretended not to notice. A few confess they weren’t sure what to say, while another set smile politely. When I lean in to jokingly kiss a co-worker, three people scream, “Eww!” Please people—it’s pigment, not poison. These overreactions are reason enough to reapply, though I have to do this quite often anyway. One false move—a lick of a lip, a big sip of tea, too much movement with the mouth—and I’m forced to reload to maintain the shine and opacity of the runway look.

Today, I’ve heard the word “goth” more times than I’ve cursed. Teensy black dots have settled between my teeth, and I’m still puzzled by the overwhelming reactions to my bout with the black bouche. (Though I am relieved I skipped wearing powder with this look.) While it may seem revoltingly creepy to some, there’s a gaggle of beauty devotees across the continent on wait-lists for this gloss. If you can see the potential uses of this shade—mixing it with a clear gloss to score a divine blackberry, layering it atop a red lipstick to darken it, or wearing it alone with full-on shine for the ultimate cult-status stamp—then you’ll see it is surprisingly functional.

Later that night, I slick on a fresh coat in time for my beloved’s arrival. While he’s become accustomed to my penchant for beauty trends, when I press him for an honest thought, he responds with a stilted “Well, it’s black…” Alas, the truth surfaces when he asks if I mind removing it before a goodnight kiss. Poor black. Any other lip shade would never suffer such humiliation.

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