Imposter 5

Channeling my love

of all things makeup,

I get a job at           , a major department store.

My training

“Your face looks good.”

**poof** “You’re a makeup artist.”

I write a scathing exposé

of customers getting “the special,”

which consists of telling them everything

they’re wearing on their face

is wrong.

I quote one manager’s claim,

“This is all just smoke and mirrors.

Give them a show.

Sell this shit.”

The article is my first sale

to a national magazine.

Ecstatic,

I tear through the shiny March issue

for my byline.

Discover the piece has been

put through a shredder,

bite and humor and truth removed,

so not to offend

the magazine’s mighty legion

of cosmetics sponsors.

I want to punch and wail.

Ahhhhhh! Ahhhhhh! AHHHHHH!

Don’t take my voice!

But those fashion magazines

must seek ad sales.

“Give them a show.

Sell this shit.”

Readers for sale, are

products neatly packaged,

the more insecure,

the better.

All smoke

and mirrors.