Makeup Symbol Analysis in She Memes Well

What Makeup Represents in the Memoir

In She Memes Well, makeup is a recurring physical object that tracks Quinta Brunson's changing relationship with her own image. On the surface it is simply cosmetics—eyeliner, foundation, lipstick—but across the memoir it accumulates meaning as a symbol of the gap between external beauty standards and internal self-acceptance. Brunson traces her own arc: from a five-year-old whose mother applied makeup for a recital, to a teenager caking on too-light foundation, to a working actress negotiating with stylists on red carpets. At each stage, makeup is a tool that can either disguise or reveal, depending on who is wielding it.

From Stage Paint to Self-Erasure

Makeup first appears in Chapter 2, when Brunson is five years old. Her mother applies it before the summer recital at Swarthmore College's Lang Performing Arts Center. At this point, makeup is neutral—even warm. It is part of the costume, part of the performance, and part of a family ritual. Her family's standing ovation after the routine is what Brunson credits with inspiring her to pursue performance. Makeup here is stage paint: it helps a child become a performer, and it is applied by a loving parent.

The meaning shifts dramatically in Chapter 12, titled simply “MAC.” Brunson's acronym stands for Materialism, Advertising, and Consumerism—not the cosmetics brand, though the pun is deliberate. She describes how the beauty industry profits by breaking down consumers' self-esteem: “You can't sell cover-up if people like their natural skin.” By her late teens, makeup had become a weapon she turned on herself. She caked her face in foundation that was too light, permed her hair against her sister's advice, and wore a magnetic nose ring that she accidentally inhaled while laughing at Family Guy. The details are comic, but the pattern is grim: everything about her became “fake, high maintenance . . . and sometimes hazardous.”

The chapter's turning point comes in an Urban Outfitters dressing room. At nineteen, trying on a yellow dress, she dry-shaves her legs in a hurry, cuts herself, and bleeds on the dress. When she looks in the mirror, she sees “an abstract version of myself”—bleeding leg, smudged makeup, weave tangled across her face. She is startled by her own reflection. The makeup that was supposed to make her more acceptable has made her unrecognizable to herself.

The Mirror That Broke the Spell

That mirror moment is the pivot. Brunson describes how she had gone from waking up each day “with the goal of projecting my purest self into the world” to someone who didn't want to leave the house because she lacked the butt of Buffy the Body or the cheekbones of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The comparison is telling: even her pop-culture reference points were split between a music-video ideal and a TV fantasy. Neither was attainable, and neither was her.

Her recovery process is concrete. She lists steps: no idols, shop small businesses, reevaluate your relationship with makeup, ask yourself why you want something, diversify your content. The most memorable instruction is to make sure “you're wearing the face, and the face isn't wearing you.” This reframes makeup as something that should serve the person, not the other way around. She also credits a friend's affirmations—saying kind things to herself in the mirror—with helping her believe in her own worth. The mirror, which had shown her a stranger, becomes a place for self-reclamation.

Makeup as a Class Marker

Makeup also carries class connotations in the memoir. In Chapter 10, Brunson describes a night out in Los Angeles with a model friend and two dismissive men. She notes that she arrived “dressed like a pirate wearing Rite Aid lipstick.” The detail is self-deprecating, but it marks a real divide: the models in the club all seemed to have bought their bodycon dresses from the same rack, while Brunson stood out as “the weirdest looking person in the club.” Drugstore lipstick becomes shorthand for being outside the beauty economy that LA's nightlife runs on.

The footnote in Chapter 22 reinforces this. Brunson recalls that in high school she wore makeup from Rite Aid that cost five dollars or less, then “graduated” to CVS. The joke is that CVS is barely an upgrade, and the real problem was color matching: she had to settle for foundation two shades too light or too dark for years. It took Fenty Beauty—Rihanna's brand, launched with a wide shade range—for her to find the right color. “All I knew was that I wasn't 'sand.'” The line captures how the beauty industry failed her for years by not making products for her skin tone. Makeup here is not just a personal struggle; it is an industry failure that Brunson had to work around.

Reclaiming the Face: Red Carpets and Fenty

By the end of the memoir, makeup returns as something Brunson can enjoy on her own terms. In Chapter 12, she describes the 2019 press run for A Black Lady Sketch Show: stylists dressed her, styled her hair, and gave her “the hottest trends in makeup.” She looked great, but when she saw Getty images of herself, she thought, “wait . . . who is that?” The recognition problem persists even in glamour. Her solution is to treat styling as a relationship, not a surrender. She works with her stylists to communicate how she wants to look and be perceived, so she can feel “more like myself, and less like whoever was blowing up people's timelines.”

This is the mature version of the symbol. Makeup is no longer a mask she hides behind or a product she buys to fix herself. It is a tool she directs. She is explicit about this: “You gotta be true to yourself above all.” She also warns that self-care cannot be purchased—the creams, gels, and crystals are “just twenty-first-century versions of those awful magazine ads.” The only difference, she jokes, is better Photoshop.

The arc is clear: makeup begins as a loving parent's stage paint, becomes a self-erasing mask, and finally becomes a choice. Brunson does not reject makeup; she rejects letting it define her. The symbol's meaning changes because her relationship to her own image changes. This connects directly to the memoir's themes of self-acceptance and authenticity and internet fame and identity evolution, as well as to Quinta Brunson's broader journey as a performer and creator.

Study Questions

1. How does makeup function differently in Chapter 2 and Chapter 12?

In Chapter 2, makeup is applied by Brunson's mother before her childhood recital. It is part of a family ritual and a performance costume, and it is associated with the standing ovation that inspired her to pursue performance. In Chapter 12, makeup is something Brunson applies to herself as a teenager and young adult, and it has become a tool of self-erasure. She uses too-light foundation, heavy eyeliner, and weaves to try to look like someone else—specifically, the thin, light, or conventionally voluptuous stars she saw in media. The same substance shifts from a loving ritual to a self-destructive habit.

2. What does the Urban Outfitters dressing room scene reveal about Brunson's state of mind?

The scene shows the logical endpoint of her obsession with appearance. She dry-shaves her legs in a hurry because she is ashamed of having body hair, cuts herself, and bleeds on a dress. When she looks in the mirror, she sees “an abstract version of myself” with smudged makeup and tangled weave—someone she does not recognize. The moment is a wake-up call: her efforts to look acceptable have made her unrecognizable to herself. It is the catalyst for her decision to “relearn” herself and stop letting advertising dictate her self-image.

3. How does the memoir use drugstore makeup to comment on class and beauty standards?

Drugstore makeup appears as a marker of being outside the beauty economy. In Chapter 10, Brunson describes herself as “dressed like a pirate wearing Rite Aid lipstick” in a club full of models, highlighting her outsider status. In the Chapter 22 footnote, she recalls that high school makeup came from Rite Aid for five dollars or less, then CVS, and that foundation shades never matched her skin. The class commentary is twofold: cheap makeup signals economic difference, and the industry's failure to make shades for darker skin means even affordable options don't serve Black consumers. Fenty's wide shade range is presented as the eventual solution.

4. What is Brunson's final position on makeup, and how does it connect to the memoir's themes?

Brunson's final position is that makeup is fine when it is a conscious choice. She still loves getting glammed up for red carpets, but she insists on being “the conductor of your own narrative”—communicating with stylists so she looks like herself, not like a generic celebrity image. She warns that self-care cannot be bought and that products are not solutions to self-doubt. This connects to the memoir's themes of self-acceptance and authenticity: the goal is not to reject beauty tools but to use them without letting them define you. It also connects to her comedy career, since she argues that creating honest work requires being “cool with who I am first.”