The Wrong Kind of Eyes

I woke up this morning with what looked like the beginning of pink eye. So to “kill it in the egg” as the French say, I applied antimony powder or kohl to my eyes. It is essentially worn as make-up but my use of it this morning, was for its more practical attribute – the antiseptic one. (Note, most eye makeup being sold as kohl isn’t actually the true mineral antimony. So just go to the doctor if you get conjunctivitis.)

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I first discovered kohl in Egypt when I was a teenager, watching in amazement as a woman seemed to be poking herself in the eye with a toothpick sized stick, covered in black powder. One eye after the other, she pressed the stick between her upper and lower eyelid, squeezing them shut, but leaving just enough room to be able to glide the tool through, disposing silky ebony black antimony powder along the rim of both upper and lower lids simultaneously. A gesture done with such ease that it was obvious that she had inherited it from generations of women who’d done the same. Of course, doing it every morning will also make it look like child’s play.

I, too, have mastered the technique, but I don’t wear kohl every day. Only when I am in the mood. For example, when I look tired, I’ll put it on to “brighten” up my face. And by brighten up my face I mean, the only part of me that will be glowing or standing out are my eyes!

Sometimes after just waking up, I look in the miror, see my reflection, and I think, “Hmm. You kind of look White today.” Something about rest softens the top half of my face. And then I start to wonder if there are any O’Canainns that I resemble in that moment. Most of the time, though, I don’t see anything Irish about my face at all. I certainly have my father’s broad forehead and his deeply set orbits to go with it. Once, I outline those deeply set eyes with kohl any hint of Ireland washes away. And I could be just as much a twisted Orientalist’s fantasy as would be any full-blooded Middle Easterner.

So, I have this possibility, you see, to “intensify” my gaze or keep it “neutral.” I would even say, I can make myself look more Middle Eastern or more European. Again, it all depends on my mood. I’ll wear kohl when I feel washed-out or sometimes just happy. Or maybe when Norouz time (Iranian New Year) is on its way, or if a lot of racist propaganda has been circulating and I’m feeling defiant. Or, on very rare occassions, I wake up to pink eye.

There are also times when I will refrain from using kohl. These include situations where I have to do complicated administrative paperwork and don’t want to make things any harder should I come up against a racism. For example, I did not wear it when I went for my French naturalisation appointment. The appointment went well. The interviewer even managed to hit on me and make a racist remark about “certain lazy free-loading foreigners” in the space of five minutes.

In the early 2000s, in France, my family was looking for an apartment. Mohamed suggested I go alone to meet the realtor giving the follwing reason: “The French don’t like to rent to foreigners, but they like Americans more than Arabs.” I did not wear kohl. We got the apartment. It had the best view of any appartment I have ever lived in. 11th floor. We could see the city unfolded before us like a map. Even saw airplanes taking off from the airport in the bordering town. Unfortunately, it was infested with cockroaches.

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When I was a teenager in the U.S., I got free samples of colored contacts. Initially, I had just wanted to try them for fun, but seeing myself with lighter eyes had an unexpected effect. For the first time in my life, I looked like my family. Blue-eyed, like my maternal cousins. It felt incredible. It felt like “belonging.”

To belong. That’s what a lot of people want. I met someone who sought that at work one day. One of my students. He was a seasoned make-up artist with a Parisian accent dusted with something “not quite.” He seemed like a nice guy, genuinely well meaning. But he had been trained in the European make-up industry and now in his fifties, mainstream beauty standards were well anchored in him.

As he was a nice guy he offered me a customized beauty tip: “You have severe eyes. You should wear green or blue eyeliner and eye-shadow to make them less “aggressive.”

He must have noticed my smirk because, again, as he was a nice guy, he went on to sympathize with me, explaining how he too, had “the wrong kind of eyes.” He went on to explain how people with epicanthic folds like himself had to use make-up to make their eyes look bigger as they were “too small.”

Wow!

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When I first arrived in France, and wasn’t as used to being the target of violent racist media, I remember feeling out-numbered and unsafe. The finger-pointing at Arabs (or anyone who looks Arab) and Muslims felt so strong that I couldn’t help but think of France’s Nazi past. I would joke, with a chuckle to cover my fear, about Muslims being made to wear badges the shape of crescents.

It is during this time that I experimented with colored contacts for a second time. Only this time it was not for fun. I tried a few colors, keeping the one that looked the most natural and passed me off the best as a White girl should ever I need to blend in to protect myself. Dark green was the best color for that.

Afterthought
Writing this piece has brought something to my attention. I tend to be judgemental of people who feel ashamed of their ethnicity and try to imitate Western cultures. For example, the Asian make-up artist. However, I realize that I too, hide who I truly am at times. Albiet for me, it is a matter of protection. Or at least, that is what I tell myself. So, I ask myself: aren’t people, like the make-up artist, just trying to protect themselves from something too. Like being an outcast? Where is the line drawn?