See spot run

I spent my childhood obsessed with the horror that was my freckles. I was convinced they were the key to my (imagined) hideousness, and I pressed every grownup about when, exactly, they would go away.

In living colour

hide

I dabble in pinks and oranges, I have a box full of berries and I own eyeliners of every shade. But my—may I say iconic?—look is caked-on red lipstick and enough mascara to make Tammy Faye weep.