You don’t love someone because they are perfect, you love someone inspite of the fact that they aren’t.
In a world filled with people with rotting, old souls hidden underneath a preserved body, imperfection is a rarity. We only want the best: we won’t come near gluten anymore, we use apps to track how much glasses of water we drink because apparently we will die without these notifications and we contour our faces as if we’re the Caravaggio of our own skin using chiaroscuro to get the highest cheekbones as possible. This is not a lecture on makeup, makeup gives you the opportunity to have a different appearance every time you step on Goffman’s front stage and it has the power to discover yourself once you’re behind the curtains. This is an ode to imperfection, a love song to big noses, crooked teeth, Steve Buscemi-eyes and all the features society just cannot accept.
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