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After I had my arm amputated, I swapped out my bandages for the temporary tattoos that came with some vintage Lisa Frank valentines I bought on eBay. I know what you're thinking: those must've been some transcendental tattoos! And they were. Not because almost all 24 of them stuck to my skin perfectly despite being manufactured before Y2K was revived (okay, one rainbow dolphin tail was lost to uneven water coverage, an obvious irony.) But more importantly, those tattoos acquainted me with the scars I'd been skillfully avoiding since my arm was removed several inches above the elbow.
My repulsion towards my scars didn't stem from any sadness that my arm was gone. In fact, that was something I chose: Several years ago, I had an accident that caused permanent paralysis in my left arm from the elbow down. Ultimately I felt I'd live a more functional life without my ball and chain, so I went through with my amputation last December. It's one of the best decisions I've ever made to set myself free, physically and emotionally. But after the procedure, I felt a bit intimidated by the little arm that remained.
Even when it's your decision, losing a limb is weird. I felt afraid of and grossed out by my new scars: one big incision where my arm was amputated, and another nearly three inches long on the inside of my residual limb. No longer wanting to look down at them, I felt tyrannized by my own body. They were (and still are) bumpy and raised, and when someone touches them, it feels like someone's grasping at the hand I no longer have. Like I said, it's weird, and it makes it all the more surprising that making them stand out even more would become a form of therapy.
Post amputation surgery, I was doing what anyone might expect of someone recovering from getting their arm cut off: binging the new season of Euphoria. I spent my time wondering if I could pull off the same intricate looks with my own eyeliner, which led me to go digging for the Colourpop face gems I'd purchased after seeing season one’s bedazzled beauty looks. Makeup wasn't exactly a priority of mine while struggling to readjust post-op; I was barely in the mood to put on matching socks.
Still, I'd broken convention when I decided an amputation would be a positive force in my life rather than a negative one, and it was about time I applied that to how I viewed my scars. If I didn't need four perfect limbs to be beautiful or functional, my makeup didn't need to be typical either — or even on my face. Doing your makeup teaches you to familiarize yourself with your face, uniqueness, and forms. By experimenting with my own Lady Gaga-inspired eyeshadow, mint-colored mascara, and moon-shaped glitters, I learned how to feel more at home with myself. So why not try that with a limb that I had not been properly reacquainted with post-amputation?
I began adorning my scars using my stash of flash tattoos, glitter, and waterproof eyeliner — suddenly, I found my scars pretty cool. More ideas for arm makeup looks spiraled in my mind. Some Haus Labs eyeliners combined with a spritz of setting spray made for a much safer and colorful alternative to the Sharpie I'd let a friend use to turn my scar into a happy face, and I finally had a suitable use for the hot pink glitter I couldn't use on my face because its hue made my eyes look like I'd been crying. (The shade was aptly named "Get a Grip!" which I finally had.) I even lined one of my healed incisions with the neon gems I once thought I'd use to (badly) mimic Euphoria’s looks. Sure, a couple gems were lost while trying to retrieve them from their sticker sheet with one hand, but that comes with the one-arm territory. With the salvaged ones in place, I saw my scars sparkle in the sun brighter than a Twilight-adjacent vampire. They didn't seem as unappealing as I'd previously felt them to be. Like the Japanese art of kintsugi, which embraces damaged ceramics by mending them with gold lacquer, I could embellish my little arm with color and sparkle. And although my bedazzled scar did look extraordinary on its own, the bigger victory, I realized, was that I'd stared at a scar that was once revolting to me for the 15 minutes it took to decorate it. I'd never been able to examine my scar for that long before.
Amputation came with having a lot more curious eyes on me in public, and that has been an adjustment. But now, I’m pretty sure they're looking at my uniquely placed (and still killer) makeup job versus what I no longer have. When I decided to have my arm amputated, I did so proudly. While it can be hard to comfortably explore a new body, for me, makeup is the perfect vehicle for doing so in a way that feels fun and undaunting. Now, using eclectic products to create new looks on my arm is helping me understand the shape that remains. It's helped me view myself one individual piece again, rather than the fragmented version I was seeing. It's as much a part of my healing as is the scar cream I'm (supposed to be) applying daily, and it allows me to further embrace my decision. Our bodies are art — really elegant art —and makeup is my medium of choice. A touch of sparkle or color can be more than a quick topper for your eyeshadow. In fact, it's what's bridging the gap between me and my scars in my case.
Glitter remains my favorite decoration to use, though, because it's made for imperfect application — something I know well. It famously sticks to every crevice and crease and remains there, a nightmare to some. But for me? I don't mind it settling into the uneven skin that makes up my scars. The application is messy, as is the journey, but the outcome can be beautiful.
Read more about finding empowerment through beauty:
- How Dyeing My Hair Helped Me Accept My Physical Limitation
- Makeup Tips for People Who Are Blind or Have Low Vision
- How Lash Extensions Are Helping This Woman Fight Breast Cancer
Now, take a tour of Patrick Starrr's enormous makeup room:
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