The Wonder Chronicles: 34

On Eyeliner

Ancient Egyptian painted alabaster head from Treasure of Tutankhamen, New Kingdom, XVIII Dynasty. Photo By DEA / G. DAGLI ORTI/De Agostini/Getty Images via artsy.net

This is part of a running series. Read the previous Wonder Chronicle: On Refusal

Beauty in the time of fascism is solace and power. It is what I call Deliberate Beauty and as I adorn my eyes with liner every morning, it is also homage and healing.

Women and men of all social classes in ancient Egypt were wearing eyeliner as early as 6000 BC. I consider my eye liner brush a family legacy.

One of my favourite items at an exhibit on Egyptian queens that I went to for my birthday in 2021 was a kohl container with an inscription showing that it belonged to both the king and queen–the parents of Pharaoh Akhenaton

.Tube for kohl (eye makeup) and applicator bearing the names of Amenhotep III and Queen Tiye, parents of Akhenaton, grandparents of Tutankhamun (1390-1353 B.C.)

Being a writer, I am particularly delighted that the hieroglyphic term for makeup artist derives from the root “sesh,” which translates to write or engrave. As I hold that eye pencil or brush, I feel like a calligrapher, writing a letter of love to myself:

The ancient Egyptian word for “makeup palette” derives from the word meaning “to protect.” My ancestors believed Kohl eyeliner protected them against the harsh sunlight or the Evil Eye; I believe the eyeliner I apply every day protects me against the ugly days of fascism.

Fascism will have you wondering “What’s the fucking point of eyeliner in these grim days?”

When fascism aims to strip us of our hope and joy in living, I write those daily letters of love to myself around my eyes, determined and deliberate in my beauty.

Beauty as antidote; beauty as power.

In 2011 when my arms were both in a cast, unable to do the simplest of things for myself, and adrift in a bottomless pit of grief, I felt I had been robbed of beauty. I could present my two broken arms and say “Here are my wounds” but I did not know what to point to by way of explaining what that trauma had robbed from me.

Beauty, it had stolen beauty.

Bit by bit I rebuilt it.

After a visit to the orthopedic surgeon, I went to the nail salon and got my nails manicured and painted green. Here I am, my green nails said. One step in front of another trying to walk forward to beauty.

I became a regular at the hair salon–both arms in a cast made it impossible to wash and care for my hair. Stylists who weren’t doing anything would volunteer to wash my hair until the stylist who was to diffuse dry my hair as big and curly as I wanted it to be, was ready.

My 30 minutes at the salon were a most necessary respite for my heart, adrift and bereft. That community of love and beauty whispered to that heart “We know you’re strong. Look at what you survived. You can be soft here, we’ve got you.”

Find your Deliberate Beauty and write a letter of love to yourself. Tell your heart that you’re fighting fascism and look fucking amazing doing it.

My goal: that you are found by wonder.

My wish: that you intensely live.

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Mona Eltahawy is a feminist author, commentator and disruptor of patriarchy. She is editing an anthology on menopause called Bloody Hell!: Adventures in Menopause from Around the World. Her first book Headscarves and Hymens: Why the Middle East Needs a Sexual Revolution (2015) targeted patriarchy in the Middle East and North Africa and her second The Seven Necessary Sins For Women and Girls (2019) took her disruption worldwide. It is now available in Ireland and the UK. Her commentary has appeared in media around the world and she makes video essays and writes a newsletter as FEMINIST GIANT.

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