It’s one of those memories that’s so imbedded in my mind’s eye that I remember what I was wearing. My outfit, of course, meticulously planned and executed, was a critical piece of the mosaic of that day.

And so was my makeup. At fifteen years old, the fact that I had recently been granted permission to wear mascara and clear lip gloss was more than a rite of passage. It was a desperately craved form of expression, yes, but moreover, it felt like a gateway to the future me.