Lipstick, to me, is like placing an exclamation mark on my face. It signals that I’m ready to go. My makeup is finished, my look is complete and I’m about to take on the day. Bright lipstick, deep reds in particular, offer no apology. I’m unapologetic, owning my choices, when I wear bright lipstick. The application of lipstick itself is ceremonial, a ritual I’ve come to appreciate as an integral part of my routine. They have a history of their own. The rare red of the 1940s, growing all the sparser in the 1950s. The frosted pale ‘barely there’ nude of the 60s, taking a backseat so that the flick of a winged eyeliner can take centre stage. The disco gloss of the 70s, tasting of sugary silicone.