My first introduction to beauty was through Bonnie Bell’s Lip Smackers. I was in fifth grade and I remember needing to have every flavor – watermelon was my first and favorite. Then came a second incarnation: a Christmas gift set I called The Untouchables. I wanted to keep them perfect and pristine. And so they stayed.
Fast-forward several decades and my box of Untouchables remains, though its contents have been whittled down to just a few collections that have stood the test of time: Urban Decay’s tribute to Pulp Fiction, Nars’s tribute to Andy Warhol and his Factory, and MAC’s whimsical, visual riff on The Simpsons, complete with Marg Simpson’s blue Lipglass, a nod to her 10-foot-tall pompadour hairstyle.
For me, these beauty collections bring the makeup needle closer to artistic intent. They are masterfully intelligent, irreverent and highly sophisticated; tangible pieces of personality combined with sentimentality and nostalgia. And they are rich in memory: for what they represented, where they were when they were released, and the iconic moments they honored.
Each one embodies a different creative piece of who I am: Pulp Fiction is the edgy, slightly dark and slightly misunderstood storyteller, often moving to a soundtrack only I can hear. The Simpsons is detailed and multidimensional; a deeply layered experience wrapped in a deceptively simple cartoon. And Warhol, a piece of New York history. To be ahead of his time. The outsider who saw art, people, even the way we lived, differently.
Courtesy of Nars
Pop culture and beauty have long had an intense love affair. Limited editions that specifically highlight a celebratory milestone or pay homage to an icon, if done right, are a perfect mix of wearable art; tribute meets usability. They are captivating and worthy of a time capsule; full of memory and dedication, immortalized in supreme glosses, brilliant shimmers, high pigmentations and purposeful packaging.
Unfortunately, most limited-edition beauty collabs these days now feel instant without the gratification; lacking legitimacy or personal connection. Others have lost the cultural references, the iconic experience and the historical moment.
What makes my Untouchables collection feel different? “When you choose to collaborate with artists or something of cultural importance, there has to be a connection between the values of the brand and what the culture [moment] represents,” says Silvia Galfo, general manager of Giorgio Armani Beauty. Melanie Dir, creative director of beauty incubator Flash Beauty, says they must be “authentic and curated visionaries…there must be innovation combined with functionality, longevity and credibility.”
Wende Zomnir, creator of Urban Decay in 1996, was already a huge fan of Pulp Fiction when she launched the collection. The 2012 release coincided with the film’s 20th anniversary and was a throwback to the early days of the brand. The collection included details for super fans, including a nail color and lipstick that mirrored what Uma Thurman wore called Be Cool Honey Bunny; Zomnir put Samuel Jackson’s speech, “The Way of the Righteous Man,” on the front of the eyeshadow palette.
MAC’s The Simpsons collection honored the 20th anniversary of the show and the matriarch of the cartoon family, Marge. The products highlighted everything the show was and is: original, clever and satirical. Lip shades included: Nacho Cheese Explosion, a bright neon lime yellow; American red, fuchsia; and Itchy & Scratchy & Sexy, electric blue violet. There were shadows, blushes, false eyelashes, even Marge Simpson’s Cutie-cles Nail Stickers.
Perhaps my most treasured Untouchable is Francois Nars’ Andy Warhol Christmas Collection: 29 pieces of cosmetic art released in 2012. It magnificently and authentically emulated and paid homage to Warhol’s entourage and muses: Debbie Harry, Candy Darling, Edie Sedgwick and its legendary Factory. . Included in the assortment were images and sayings that were synonymous with their creator: think lip glosses housed in a metal soup can whose names represent places and people of that era, the Silver Factory and the Chelsea Girls; a lemon yellow nail polish called 15 Minutes; and eyeshadow palettes imprinted with Warhol’s “Self-Portrait” from 1967 and the painting “Flowers” from 1965. A Warhol quip was inscribed on each compact mirror: “I never met a person I couldn’t call beauty.” and “Everything is beautiful”.
My desire to keep the Untouchables in pristine condition (unused, untouched, sealed like artifacts) is personal, psychological, and emotional. It is coupled with a strong desire to hold on to a specific moment, and perhaps my youth.
Robert Thompson, director of the Bleier Center for Television & Popular Culture, calls this nostalgia. “In this society, we willingly label ourselves by what we connect to. We advertise our identity through our taste,” he said. “These items express our identity. There is a sensible, intelligent and conscious aspect that comes with the products that we maintain.” These articles bring me joy because I understand the inside jokes. I appreciate the creative efforts. The tangible promise of always.
And these items represent loss. For the moments we can’t hold on to, and the lives that are gone. She was 18 years old in February 1987 when Warhol died. I remember understanding his meaning and contribution then, and even more so now. Pulp Fiction was released two years later, in ’89. I remember being mesmerized by the performances as I sat with some college friends in a room full of strangers as we all shared a specific experience found in the last screening of the night.
Perhaps these collections pose or represent the questions I am still trying to answer myself: where do I belong and how do I fit in?
Today they remain in a sealed box that is currently inside my closet where I keep my will, contracts, copies of my filed taxes, and apartment paperwork.
It feels important to have these items, let alone keep them; unused, like my Bonnie Bell Lip Smackers. A collection of products that serves as a “little chapter of her autobiography,” says Thompson. Memories and moments of my old self, frozen in time.
Galfo says it simply: “If it runs out, you can’t get it again”.
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Source: www.bustle.com