“Hey sister, lose the red lip.”
This advice – unsolicited – has stayed with me for 36 years, and I think you will love the reason why. I do.
Here’s the scene. It was a sleety-icy November day in 1989. Somehow I didn’t have work, maybe it was the Monday of a three-day weekend. Regardless, it was a rare thing to be alone with my first-born at high noon. Maternity leave was six weeks back then; I saw Roscoe early mornings and evenings, and on the weekends, my husband and I tossed him back and forth like a hot potato. Not that he wasn’t cute. He was ridiculously so. But he was permanently fussy, a cranky little screaming machine. It took us 18 years to discover he couldn’t tolerate gluten or milk, but who knew anything of such things then? Whatever, on the day in question, I was profoundly exhausted and completely unsure how to take care of my child.
Of course, I took him to the mall.
I think I was on my third lap of the place when I wandered into a MAC store. I know you will find it hard to believe, but I was quite frumpy in those days. More people were frumpy in general back then. But also, my mother was an artist. She is 98 now, and I don’t think I have ever discussed makeup with her one single time. In sum, to young-Suzy, gussying up meant an occasional swipe of pharmacy lipstick in a color slightly darker than blood. I’m not sure I even knew other colors existed. (Photo evidence has been provided!) |
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Within moments, the MAC saleswoman beckoned me over. “Hey, sister,” she began with a smile. “I don’t care if you buy anything or not, but someone has to tell you. Lose the red lip. You can’t carry it. You need a smoky eye and a pale lip.” |
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Continuing with evident warmth and pity, she whispered. “It makes you look old. And you must be Italian, right? I am too. The dark lip kind of leans into that, but not in a good way.”
And then, poof. She was gone, turning her attention to another customer. Still in shock, I wheeled Roscoe’s stroller around, and bolted to the car, shocked, dismayed, embarrassed.
And grateful.
Thirty-six years later, I remain grateful.
First, she was right. Unlike Taylor Swift, I cannot carry a red lip. But putting that life-changing a-ha aside, she also taught me a lesson I love so much that I literally teach it in my classroom every semester. I taught it just yesterday.
It is always better to tell the hard truth than a soft lie.
Because once the shock wears off, everyone would prefer it.
And yet, with the best of intentions, most of us peddle nonstop in nicety-nice BS. That saleswoman could have told me I looked great and tried to sell me another shade of red. It would have been easier. Instead, she told me the truth.
How good of her.
But here’s the thing: Because telling the truth is so hard, I firmly believe we need a system by which to do it. The one I use, and the one I teach, is called OILS, which stands for Observe, Impact, Listen, and Suggest.
Observe: Hey sister, I notice you are wearing dark red lipstick.
Impact: It makes you look like a 50-year-old mafia wife.
Listen: {I didn’t have much to say, but most people do, in such conversations.}
Suggest: Go nude.
I am being frothy with this example, so let me be clear, you can use OILS to tell anyone the truth about anything, at work, in life, and in love. And indeed if you want better examples of OILS in action, tune into my latest podcast here, where I demonstrate two serious applications of OILS with the help of my daughter, Sophia.
But even if you don’t tune in, I’d love you to try “radical candor,” to borrow Kim Scott’s phrase. Do it today. Do it now. Make sure you’re coming from a place of constructive kindness and tell someone something they would be better off hearing. State what you’re observing, talk about its impact, listen for a reaction and honor it, and then suggest a solution.
They will thank you later. Just as I am still thanking that saleswoman, wherever she may be.
For the makeup tip that changed my life, and could change yours. |
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This story reminds me of the fact that young mothers too often feel alone and incompetent, as I did. The vast internet has helped by creating places to commiserate, but it also displays glambot-mothers of 12 making peanut butter from scratch in stilettos. Many are also wearing perfect makeup, which you get the sense they’ve known about since age 11.
Very annoying. That is all.
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This edition of the newsletter is about truth-telling and feedback, so I want to let you know that I am receiving yours all the time, thank you! I love hearing from you, even though I cannot always answer every question.
Here’s what I’m wondering, though. Why are so many of my queries from people who are struggling to land jobs in their 40s and 50s? Is there a serious phenomenon of ageism afoot? I suspect so, and it pains me. I hope to make a helpful podcast about this topic soon, and if you’d be willing to share your story for it, please let us know at hello@suzywelch.com.
Until then, here’s to radical candor about lipstick, love, and life in all its messy glory,
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How to Tell the Hard Truth…More Easily
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What would you prefer to hear in life — a soft lie that makes you feel good but leaves you in the dark about something you’d be better off knowing, or straight-up honesty that may sting at first, but ultimately sets you straight? Let’s be real; it’s not even a choice. Everyone wants to know. In this blocking-and-tackling episode of Becoming You, I have the antidote. Tune in to listen, laugh, and learn. Telling the truth — your truth — may never be quite the same.
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