The Forgotten Joy of Red Lipstick

The Lips That Never Got Their Moment

Back in 2023, I finally did something I had been daydreaming about since my twenties: I got lip filler. Just 0.7ml, nothing crazy, but enough to give me that soft fullness I’d always admired on others. It wasn’t a self-esteem thing, more of a vibe shift. Like when you change your bedsheets and suddenly feel like a whole new person. I wanted a bit of oomph. And let me tell you, I loved the result. They looked lush, plump, and a little bit juicy without screaming “injectables.”

But here’s the twist: I completely wasted their potential. Not once did I swipe on a red lipstick. Not one single time. I had these perfect little pouty lips and treated them like they were under witness protection. Nudes, balms, the occasional gloss. Never red. Never bold. Never giving Sophia Loren sipping espresso in Rome. I let my sexy new lips live a beige life and I regret it more than most of my exes.

Now it’s 2026 and I’ve just had them redone. Same amount, different injector, same subtle lift. But this time? This time, I’m not playing shy. I am absolutely unleashing the red lip era. Not because I’m trying to prove something, not because I want attention, but because I deserve to see my reflection and think, “Yeah, she’s that girl.”

Red Lips Then vs. Now

Once upon a time, a red lip meant precision. It was a whole ritual. Lip liner. Brush. Bold pigment. Gloss. Pray to the lipstick gods it wouldn’t transfer onto your teeth mid-sentence. It was full commitment energy. Think power suits, high heels, shoulder pads, and someone named Cheryl telling you to keep your opinions to yourself unless they were client-friendly.

And I used to love it. I loved the drama. The glamour. The way it made me feel like I’d stepped out of an 80’s music video, ready to stomp into any room with wild confidence and shiny lips. But it also came with pressure. It had to be perfect. Flawless. Unsmudged. That kind of perfection isn’t sustainable when you’re trying to eat dumplings in your car at 11pm. I used to drink my green tea from a straw in order to maintain the perfect pout.

These days, though? Red lips are having a quiet little revolution. It’s all about the blurred edge. A soft swipe, smudged with your finger. A hint of colour like you’ve just kissed someone in the backseat of an Uber. It’s less “Don’t mess with me” and more “I just woke up like this, but make it sexy.” The energy has shifted. And I am so here for it.

French Girl Lipstick and Forty-Something Confidence

The French have always known how to do this. That effortless, lived-in red. The kind that looks like it was applied yesterday and still somehow looks good. And while I’m not strolling down Rue de Rivoli in vintage Levi’s and loafers, I am a woman in her forties rediscovering what it means to dress for herself.

Some people say red lipstick is too much after a certain age. To them I say: I’ve survived heartbreak, grief, failed diets, bad haircuts, and Bumble. I’ve earned every swipe of rouge. If anything, red lipstick is more fitting in your forties. You’ve stopped dressing for the male gaze, you’ve started caring less about looking “appropriate,” and you’ve definitely stopped apologising for being too much.

It’s not about trying to be young. It’s about reclaiming the things we put down when we were trying to be palatable. Red lips included. And honestly? Nothing says “I’ve got my sh*t together” like a woman in comfy shoes and a perfectly blotted lipstick.

Let Your Lips Do The Talking

Here’s the thing no one tells you: red lipstick is a gateway drug to being a bit bolder. Once it’s on, everything shifts. Your posture straightens. You speak a little louder. You laugh with your whole chest. Suddenly, you’re the most magnetic version of yourself. And the best part? You don’t even have to feel confident to wear it. You just have to let it sit there until the confidence catches up.

I wore red lipstick on a matcha run last week and I felt like I was starring in a short film about a woman rebuilding her life one almond flat white at a time. People noticed. Not in a creepy way. In a “Wow, she’s got her sparkle back” way. It wasn’t about being noticed. It was about noticing myself. And liking what I saw.

Red lipstick is a reminder. That even if you’re crying in the car or feeling like a goblin gremlin with adult acne and existential dread, you can still swipe on a colour that says, “Actually, I am a little bit iconic today.”

This Lipstick Is For Me

I’m not wearing red for the compliments. I’m wearing it because I like how it makes me feel. It’s for the days when I’ve got three spreadsheets open and no will to live. It’s for the Friday nights spent reorganising my skincare shelf. It’s for the woman I was in 2023, who finally found the courage to try something she’d always wanted, but forgot to let herself enjoy it.

So now, when I swipe on that creamy red and give it a little smudge with my pinky, I’m not just doing my makeup. I’m rewriting a tiny little piece of my past. I’m giving those 2023 lips the moment they deserved. And I’m doing it without apology, without precision, and without needing a reason.

Because honestly? We don’t need an occasion to wear lipstick. The occasion is you. The celebration is you. And red is always a good idea.

The moral of the story? Swipe the lipstick. Smudge the edges. Be the main character in your own damn story. You don’t need permission. Just lips.

We Need to Stop Clapping for Basic Decency – Chaos, Crumbs and Clarity

In today's episode of Chaos, Crumbs and Clarity, we're unpacking why we need to stop clapping for basic decency. You know the script. A man texts back within twenty-four hours and we're screenshotting it to the group chat. A man plans a date more than three hours in advance and we call him a unicorn. A man manages to listen, pay attention, and behave like a fully formed adult, and our nervous systems short-circuit because we genuinely don't know how to receive it.Here's the truth nobody is saying out loud. The bar has been dragged so low that Satan himself needs a chiropractor after a competitive round of limbo. We've been culturally trained to be grateful for behaviour that should not require gratitude. We've been told these things are bonuses when they're actually the entry requirement. And in the meantime, women have been quietly doing the basic decency thing forever, without applause, while men get standing ovations for outputs we generated for them.Today we're talking about why a great man is genuinely just an average woman, who benefits when the bar stays low, the invisible labour women have been performing for free for centuries, and the friend-test that cuts straight through every excuse we've ever made for mediocre men. Let's get into it.For more visit BryJaimea.com or follow over on IG @BryJaimea

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