GUEST WRITER
WOMEN'S HISTORY MONTH
March 31, 2026 / Written by : Makiyah Hicks

Makiyah Hicks, Obsession

I couldn’t tell if it was vanity, but I didn't care. I only knew it was beautiful, It was “glamorous” and glamour was one of the first things I believed to be all telling, this of course was followed by beauty.

I would peer into the eyes of women passing by, and those who only existed in the reality of movies and tv scenes trying to gauge just what they wanted me to see. Was it the mole painted just above the lip? Their shiny copper skin? The flutter of a few lashes? Their cherry stained lips? Or the men that always seemed to be fawning not too far behind them? I would find myself pressing my face to the screens of televisions feeling the static against the tiny hairs on my cheeks.
As I watched insatiably, as the women dazzled the screens. Adorned in silk gowns, long furs, and smoky makeup flooding the hoods of their eyes. I reached out a soiled hand, yearning for even a flicker of attention. A quick glance from the pristine people who only existed on my television screen. Because I was sure that one day walking through a suburban shopping mall, someone would find me, they would cry out “YOU’VE GOT IT.” And I would materialize onto that same screen, I could already hear the cheers in my ears, the sizzling stage lights would be seeping into my heart, and I would be somebody. But for the time being I settled for 1$ crumbly smoked eyeshadow and metallic lipsticks from beauty supply stores. I would wander through the aisles of thrift stores running my fingers through lace and satin. Imagining it against my skin as cameras blinded me on burgundy carpets.

My mother would never dare buy me a magazine, so I settled for flipping through Ebony, teen Vogue, and Elle in the aisles of grocery stores.

I vowed that if it wouldn’t leave the store with me, the least I would do is savor every single second I could attain. As we inched towards the register I could feel my time waning, with every beep of a barcode, I felt my life rooted in a fantasy slipping away. My dream sat within the palms of my hands, my breath was synched with the flip of every page. A glittery image of the Hollywood sign was the last thing I was able to set my eyes on, before in a bellowing voice my mother would finally announce, “okay that's enough we’re leaving.” Among the shelves of reflective candy bar wrappers, I propped the magazine up, staring at myself amongst the backsplash of gold. “Glamour” I whispered to myself.
 SUBSCRIBE 
 CONTACT