New York, New York, USA
May 27
The Beheld
I write The Beheld (, a blog examining our concepts of beauty, using interviews with women whose professions and passions lend them a keen insight into personal appearance; analysis of news, business, economics, and culture; beauty experiments; and personal essays.


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OCTOBER 25, 2011 3:02AM

MAC, Transformation, and The Authenticity Hoax

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Like any child of the late '70s might be, I was tickled by MAC’s recent choice of Miss Piggy as spokesmodel for the brand. It was the final step in winning over skeptical little moi, I thought: With a history of choosing unlikely models and collaborators—Johnny Weir, Cindy Sherman, hell, Cyndi Lauper—I’d been gradually warming to MAC despite initially being turned off by its flash. By the time they rolled around to featuring the porcine glamour of Miss Piggy, I was on board. “Its brand managers have a keen appreciation of the fantasy aspect of makeup,” I wrote when the news came out a couple of weeks ago, “and I like that MAC isn’t asking me to buy its product to make me a better version of myself.”

I particularly liked the MAC campaign in opposition to the “better version of myself” ads I was referring to. From Dove’s “Real Beauty” campaign in 2004 to Bare Escentuals’ “Pretty is what you are, beauty is what you do with it” commercials, I’ve critiqued these ads as being only a step removed from “Maybe she’s born with it, maybe it’s Maybelline.”

By associating natural or inner beauty with their products, companies get to have it both ways, selling us potions as well as self-esteem. I saw MAC as presenting a more authentic alternative, one that acknowledged the metamorphic possibilities of makeup and that didn’t try to pretend it was selling us inner beauty. By selling us not our natural (but prettified) selves but our made-over, over-the-top fantasy selves, MAC emphasizes the very fact that it’s selling us transformation. All makeup sells transformation; MAC was just being more honest about it. Therefore I’m being more honest about it when I pay my $14 for its lip pencil, right?

What I didn’t see is that that’s exactly what MAC wanted me to do. I fell for what journalist Andrew Potter dubbed The Authenticity Hoax with his 2010 book of the same name. The idea is that since authenticity is the ultimate sell (who wants to buy something fake?), it makes an easily fetishized buzzword that can transform pretty much anything into profit—and that when we chase authenticity we’re seeking not truth but identity and status. And if that status is something that brings us a sense of being terrifically individual, even iconoclastic? All the better. By selling us transformation into our wildest, most creative, most individualized selves, MAC slips in through the back door to sell us authenticity.

I had been thinking that the role of authenticity in cosmetics marketing was unique because cosmetics are inherently inauthentic: Their entire purpose is to alter us into prettier or more glamorous versions of ourselves. In truth, though, both the “natural beauty” campaigns and the MAC approach are selling beauty authenticity, just different versions of it. Bare Escentuals (and Maybelline, and Revlon, and every other makeup brand that has relied upon the girl-next-door aesthetic) tries to sell us us an authentic version of our best selves; MAC tries to sell us a more authentic version of makeup. In fact, the MAC ethos wouldn’t work unless we were already souring on the peddling of “natural beauty”; as Potter reminds us in The Authenticity Hoax, “the notion of cool only ever made sense as a foil to something else.” We like MAC not only for its products but for its cool.

It’s not that I don’t like what MAC is doing, or that I don’t appreciate the inspired sensibility and tone of irreverence that led it to feature Miss Piggy as their latest model. I like that it openly acknowledges the crucial role gay men have played in the beauty industry. Hell, I like its products. But at its heart, we must remember that MAC is part of a major company, and that major companies are known for their abilities to find what resonates with their consumers, including uppity feminists who think they’re too savvy to buy into ads targeted directly toward them (ahem). MAC pushes the line of supposed subversion because it’s in the company’s interest to do so (and when they realize they’ve gone too far with their subversion, as with last year’s line inspired by Juarez, Mexico, aka “the capital of murdered women,” they scale back—as well they should). It’s not actually goodwill for MAC to acknowledge that drag queens use makeup, and it’s not actually more authentic for MAC to posit itself as the truest route to transformation—or for me to buy their lip liner because I feel like their ethos somehow fits with mine.

There’s nothing wrong with selling products or making money, of course—full disclosure, at various points in my life I have both earned and spent the stuff. But I for one need to check my tendency to not cast scrutiny upon a brand just because I prefer its flavor of false authenticity to that of another. We need to remember that MAC’s fortune is in its appearance of irreverence, not makeup. I disliked the Bare Escentuals campaign because I immediately recognized the ways it was preying upon our yearning to see a broader definition of beauty, and I felt manipulated. I didn’t feel manipulated by the MAC campaign because I deemed it “authentic.” Both companies make things that go on your face to make it look better, but each campaign would have you believe that they’re doing far more—that they’re giving us a long-awaited answer to legitimate complaints about the beauty industry. Bare Escentuals gives us acknowledgment of the other factors that make us beautiful—our activities, our diversity, our personalities. MAC tells us makeup is for fantasy and play, taking pretty much the opposite tactic as Bare Escentuals, but leading to the same place: sales.

MAC’s reputation as an edgy, alternative brand neatly obscures the fact that it is owned by a beauty behemoth. Estee Lauder Companies sold $8.8 billion in 2011 and is one of the biggest prestige personal care companies in the world. MAC began with an alternative vibe—two men named Frank, one an entrepreneur and the other a makeup artist, collaborating on a line designed to pop on-camera and to match a wider variety of skin tones than was available on the market in 1984. Today, though, MAC is not edgy. MAC is as corporate as it gets. Estee Lauder’s individual branding strategy—that is, marketing MAC distinctly separately from, say, Bobbi Brown, which is marketed separately from Clinique, Origins, and Aveda, while all of them belong to the same company—shows that Estee Lauder understands the value of positing MAC as living on the edge even though it’s anything but.

With any beauty product—with any product, period—what we get when we plunk down our money isn’t merely a mixture of petroleum and Red #7. We get whatever set of qualities the company imparts to us simply by bearing its own label. If I wear Chanel lipstick I get a nice shade and the satisfaction of knowing I am treating myself to a luxury good; if I wear Wet ‘n’ Wild I get a similar hue plus the 99-cent smugness of almost believing I’ve gotten essentially the same product for a song. It’s what is known in marketing circles as brand equity, or the value a brand has opposed to the actual product the brand represents. Every time we wink at MAC for being cheeky, irreverent, and driven by fantasy, we increase its brand equity. By buying into our fantasies about ourselves by believing the feedback loop a company sells us, we may increase a brand’s value without spending a dime.

And to be perfectly clear: I just may continue to do exactly that on occasion. Despite the mini-Marxist in me, I blog about beauty and am enthralled with many of its trappings, and sometimes that means being enthralled with colored bits of petroleum I smear on my face. But while I’m smearing, playing, smudging—while I’m transforming—I want to be as clear as I can about understanding what I’m doing.

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I don't normally read articles on make up. In the interests of full disclosure I am a non-consumer, even on Halloween. But this is a bit like reading Rolland Barthes.

I bumped into the authenticity fetish along a very different path many years ago. I opened a music store and soon discovered that authenticity was my stock in trade.

I once turned down an offer to join a band that played middle eastern music. I love Arabic music, the band members were all good musicians and friends of mine. But I knew this thing was going to be disgustingly hip. It was. And when they weren't gigging they were topping each other in authenticity: rhythms, quarter tones, esoteric knowledge gleaned from very hip websites. I have no regrets.

My philosophy is that authenticity is what happens when you aren't trying to be authentic. Its been my experience that musicians steeped in various traditions are mostly unaware of the rules, and if you pay attention, you may notice that they don't generally follow them either. I knew an excellent musician who was turned down for a folk music gig because he wasn't authentic enough. He wasn't playing somebody else s music. It was his music and he made his living playing weddings and celebrations for that community.

That said, I think beauty is authentic however it is arrived at. Many of the most beautiful women I've known have been skilled at applying make up. I think that if makeup were not available they would find another way to dress their canvas, and the results would be just as beautiful, and just as authentic. It really is about them and how they express themselves. When the canvas is your body, you can't get much more authentic than that. That's what I think.
Working in advertising for many years, I feel as someone who has seen behind the forbidden curtain; it is all smoke and mirrors. For me, the magical product -- be it a car, a pair of jeans, a hair gel -- is gone.

That being said, I do have a kind of affection for companies that deliver campaigns I find clever, insightful, ads that perform interesting commentary on contemporary culture. It makes me think, well, "someone there must have a clue," leading me to be partial to an intelligently campaigned product over a poorly campaigned one.

If you absolutely must have an eyebrow pencil, wouldn't you prefer one supported by an intelligent ad campaign vs a dumb ad campaign? If they're intelligent/creative enough to put together a clever ad, maybe they're intelligent/creative enough to make a decent eyebrow pencil. Anyway, that's the logic I use now. For what it's worth.
Fishgold, I like what you're saying about how authenticity happens when you aren't striving to be authentic. Flow states induce both good work and authenticity, IMHO. As for beauty, I agree that we're at our most beautiful when we're presenting ourselves in a way that reflects who we are. But I think deciding "who we are" is particularly difficult--we're encouraged to fashion our identities through social media, for example, which takes us away from that flow state...and, therefore, authenticity.

Monsieur, there is something to financially rewarding companies that seem to "get" what I want in makeup--even if the product is no different than their competitors, why wouldn't I support companies that have me in mind when they're designing their campaigns? And indeed when I was in journalism school (my first and only close contact with ad folks, as the advertising department was included under the journalism umbrella) I remember being continually astounded by the creativity of the ad designers, and we earnest magazine and newspaper majors would wonder how long it would take for them to come back over to the right side. There's this fundamental suspicious we all have of ad folks, and it's unnecessary *as far as the work*: There IS is a lot of creativity in advertising, there IS a lot of thought. But there is never subversion, and that's why I think the MAC campaign needs a closer look: because part of its premise is that it's daring, when it is absolutely not.

All this is to say, I really really liked the Emerald Nuts commercial from the Superbowl a few years back:

Now you're challenging me. I need to look up flow states and IMHO. And you are right, my last paragraph was muddle headed.