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An Ode To Naked3

I am in love, and her name is Naked3.

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I take my time admiring her body. The sheen of her golden casing catches the sunlight.

My drugstore cosmetics weep. Their reasonable price tags can’t compete with the overpriced glory that is the Naked3.

When I pick her up, she almost slips through my fingers. She is a delicate flower, a masterpiece that will shatter into hundreds of pigmented pieces if dropped.

I open her, and the angels sing.

Her dozen colors astound me. I see a pale pink, a sunkissed bronze, a devilish brown. I try them all without cleaning the makeup brush in between.

She’ll make me glamorous. She’ll make me beautiful. She’ll give me the perfect nude smoky eye that doesn't even exist because nude ≠ smoky.

For the next few days, she hangs out on my eyelids.

When I take her to class, she knows every answer.

When I take her to the bar, she’s my trusty wingwoman.

She’s the ideal companion for all of life’s challenges.

Thank you for introducing us, Urban Decay.

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