Tonight, something unexpected happened during one of our casual mukbang chats—Darius and I wandered into a conversation about beauty that left me completely floored. It wasn’t just funny or sweet—it was deeply insightful. Who knew my son had a lowkey masterclass in makeup stored in his back pocket?
We started off talking about AI (our usual nerdy banter), which somehow segued into a debate about wig mannequin heads. I was explaining why I always opt for Black mannequin heads—not just with dark skin, but with facial features that actually reflect Black beauty. I told him, "I don’t want a white woman dipped in chocolate. I want real representation." Darius didn’t fully get it at first, so I had to break it down. Authenticity in representation isn’t just about skin tone—it’s about honoring features, structure, identity.
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That’s when things got hilariously deep. Darius tried to joke, “But it’s Black—it has eyeliner on!” I cracked up. But then he said something that stopped me: “Isn’t it nose couture?” Baby, I nearly choked on my noodles.
“It’s contour, not couture!” I corrected him, laughing. But what came next was no joke. Darius—my son who barely looks twice in the mirror—started describing advanced contouring techniques like he’s been sitting front row at a YouTube beauty conference.
He explained how contouring adds definition to the nose: “You shade the sides, highlight the bridge, and even do an exclamation point—line down, dot in the center—to pull the nose up visually.” I was stunned. “Darius, how do you even know this?” His answer was simple: “I watch makeup videos the way you watch court cases. It’s just fascinating.”
From there, it was like talking to a young glam guru. He broke down banana powder, setting powder, setting spray—he even name-dropped One Size and their sweat-proof, all-day formulas. I sat there wondering when my baby boy became a whole Sephora associate.
Curious, I asked why people go through so many steps. Isn’t foundation enough? His answer was so mature it gave me pause. “Foundation evens you out, but it also flattens your face. Highlight and contour bring the structure and shadows back, so you don’t look like you’re wearing a mask.” Whew. Okay, beauty philosopher!
I laughed and said, “That sounds like too much work for every single day!” But Darius had a point: “If you master it, you can turn it into a career. Beauty content is a whole world.”
He kept going, explaining how to contour cheekbones to make them pop and how framing your forehead helps balance your features. I was honestly in awe. It wasn’t just the knowledge—it was the way he delivered it with care, precision, and respect for the craft.
Later, I shifted gears. I’ve been thinking about growing my lashes out naturally. I told him I’ve avoided extensions because I heard they weaken your natural lashes. We ended up comparing our lashes—mine are short and stubborn, even with mascara. His are long and lush (unfair!).
We talked about how constant use of glue, extensions, or wigs can hinder natural growth. “Hair needs to breathe,” I told him. “It needs sunlight, vitamin D, just like skin. If it’s constantly covered, it weakens.” Even glueless wigs, worn daily, can stifle healthy growth.
What started as a playful chat turned into one of the most enriching conversations I’ve had in a while. My son didn’t just impress me with beauty knowledge—he reminded me how powerful curiosity is, and how these simple moments can connect us in beautiful, unexpected ways.
Because sometimes, the richest lessons aren’t in textbooks or tutorials—they’re sitting right across the dinner table, covered in hot sauce and laughter.
