I must admit something. I have covid-era inspired face-lust.
We’ve been watched by the walls of our homes since last March, and have seen too few real ones. It’s all been face-porn, watching characters on TV as our pets stare on. “Faces” are not the flat, pixelated images of co-workers on zoom, nor are they the tiny 2-D versions of your parents or friends on Face-time. I need faces. The full-fleshy cheeks, eyes, noses, and mouths of loved ones — even strangers are what I want. If I sound like I’m about to become face promiscuous, it’s because I am.
It’s been over a year since naked faces were in public. We are socially nothing more than a lonely pair of frantic eyeballs when masked in public, smiles unseen while smizing and yelling through fabric or over-gesturing with our arms. Our public sparring partners wildly gesturing and eye-ball communicating back. Eye-faces with mime arms. That’s what we’ve become. What’s a wide-eyed gaze without a mouth dropped open? Or a wink without a smirk? From wrinkles to freckles to moles to made-up faces to the face-lifted — our histories are told by the splendid maps of our faces.
When I was five years-old, I said to my mom “I’m happy I’m my face, and not my knee”. She seemed confused. But, faces were the most important part of the body to child-me, since everything I felt and thought spilled out of it. I couldn’t comprehend the complexity of the entire body. My knees or elbows? They couldn’t smile, eat ice-cream, yell for my toys, or talk incessantly at my parents. My face had feelings.
The face has forty-three muscles, allowing us to make thousands of subtle and complex expressions. The briefest of expressions confesses secrets, tells silent punch-lines to inside jokes, melts hearts, and exposes lies. I miss those micro-expressions as well as blatant full-out dramatic expressions of woe or longing. Of joy, terror, sarcasm or love. Revealing mood, temperament, and our instant reactions to life as it happens. I realize now the immediate and soft constant joy I get from being around real-in-the-flesh people, as we experience life in real time, after nearly every real-life face was snatched from each of us by Covid.
I returned to work in October, back to TV/Film sets where I put makeup on actors. My love of faces runs deep. I’m relieved to be working, even as work has vastly changed and is strictly monitored, as it should be.
myself at work
I covid test daily, then go to work behind layers of P.P.E protection. We squint (happily! safely!) through shields which offer up depth-perception issues. My actors are mask-less which is splendid, but only when in the makeup chair, then it’s all masks all the time until action. I yearn for the real fleshy full faces of the old days. There are millions of variations, textures, and moods faces can contain and it’s why no one has the same face. Sure, I have trouble with Dermot Mulroney and Dylan McDermmot like everyone else, but rest assured they are different people.
Think about the real in-person full-faces you’ve seen this year. Think about the new faces you’ve seen. Maybe you’ve only seen four actual faces, or zero new faces. Maybe you haven’t yet seen your families or best friend’s faces. Aren’t you yearning to stare and smile and wink or scream lovingly at real people, even strangers you’ve missed?
I want to see freckles and well-worn smile lines. I love a face where the lip curls up on one side when talking. Do you have a scar or beauty mark or birthmark? I want to see those, too. I want to see a nose wiggle or scrunch, or catch a friend biting their top lip with bottom-teeth when they’re frustrated by hearing a too-long story. I want to touch up my lipstick in a public bathroom, I want to see crowds of new people I’ve never seen before, and catch a fulled-faced stranger’s eye with my entire face.
Showtime on the subway pre-covid. Photo by me
I want silly, passionate, skeptical, frustrated, bemused, and confidant faces. I want annoyed subway faces, and hurried bartenders with perfect eye-liner, or bored book-sellers.
I miss the soft smile a stranger gives you when something unexpected happens in public, like when a singer surprises you both on a crowded street-corner or a crew of dancers break-dance on a subway. Yes! I want subway ‘showtime!
I miss having a public face much as I miss looking at others. My lips prefer bright lipsticks and my whole face is (so I’ve been told) very expressive. I smile at work a lot, because I like my job. Also, part of my job is putting actors at ease because sets are stressful. I laugh with my friends and co-workers, and give knowing looks to those who are deserving of such glances.It’s normal and human and lovely to lock eyes with a confidant during work-hour-thirteen on set.
Yet, my face remains mute behind masks and shields, and half of everything I say is missed, muffled. I use my hands and eye-brows like, yes, a mime. Not to get existential, but am I “myself” to others without my full facial expressions? My opinion after the past year is ‘no, I don’t think so at all.’ This year I’ve used my words more, and have said ‘I love you and I miss you” more. Which is perhaps the silver-lining of this.
At my current job, I’ve been putting makeup on one actress since early February, nearly every day. A month ago, she opened the door to my trailer and saw my unmasked face. She yelled joyfully ‘IT’S YOU! I SEE YOU! I SEE YOU SARAH! YOU HAVE A FACE!’ Her glee revealing that my face had been missed by us both. I felt lighter and more certain, knowing she’d finally seen me for 10 seconds. I threw my mask and shield on as she entered, content the mystery of my face had been revealed.
I’ve seen other co-worker’s faces only as they’ve pulled their mask down to sip water — and I’ve gasped when I realize how wrongly I’d imagined their faces to be. On occasion, we’ve run outside, pulling our masks down like we’re at a peep-show, exposing our faces and laughing at the relief and strangeness of it all. Our faces clicking like puzzle-pieces where our imagined faces once were, completing us to those we’ve known only as eyes.
Bless the masks for they’ve kept us safe. Bless our faces for they make us full. After we’re vaccinated, let’s show our blessed naked faces.