Pride Voices: How makeup helped me see my non-binary beauty

Pride: non-binary beauty | Soho House

Writer and eyeliner enthusiast Dominic Cadogan explains how cosmetics were key to discovering their authentic self

Friday 17 June 2022   By Dominic Cadogan

In celebration of this year’s Pride, we're showcasing a special series – Pride Voices – to explore the many sides of LGBTQIA+ life and queer culture today, as told by people from the community

I wish I could remember the spark of confidence that first inspired me to hastily smear a shimmering purple eyeshadow across my eyelids. But, instead, the overwhelming feeling I recall from that time is fear. 

It was a tumultuous period of figuring out my gender identity. For years I struggled to grapple with thoughts that may as well have been spoken to me in a foreign tongue. I knew for certain that I wasn’t a man, but growing up without a dedicated LGBTQIA+ education or visible names outside of the gender binary to relate to, I didn’t have the language to put into words what I now recognise as gender dysphoria. 

Even today, as a happy and (somewhat) healthy non-binary person – they/ them pronouns, please – I don’t have all the answers and I’ve still got a lot to learn; lessons that will undoubtedly continue throughout my life. Somehow, unsurprisingly, the ever-watchful algorithm of my Instagram Explore page figured it all out sooner than I did, quickly transforming from a digital darkroom of dysphoria-inducing muscular bodies to a creative cohort of makeup looks that would fit right in on the set of Euphoria

Though fearful of what my newfound affinity for makeup would say about me, I forged on, seeking the joy that it brought me and the others around me. ‘We can’t go anywhere without somebody complimenting your makeup,’ my friend joked at dinner one evening. Who doesn’t love a bit of attention? For me, though, my makeup journey allowed me to connect with parts of myself I’d never tended to and I was beginning to see the beauty in me. Not, I might add, through concealment or changing myself to be beautiful, but finally giving myself permission to be authentically me. 

But the spotlight I found myself suddenly thrust into was a double-edged sword, and other unfriendlier figures began to notice me, too. For every positive reaction, there would be five negative ones – from mocking and public humiliation to verbal assault (if I had a penny for every time I’ve been called a faggot). It triggered a familiar feeling that I – and many other LGBTQIA+ people – experience growing up: to be othered, made to feel abnormal, and ultimately rejected. 

Earlier this year, activist and author Charlie Craggs shared her experiences of transphobia on the Tube – an altercation that ended with her being spat on, on the same line that shuttled me back and forth to the city from where I lived in the suburbs. Though I’ve not faced physical assault for simply existing, yet – I write that with a heavy heart – to this day, I feel a sense of terror and dread every single time I commute into London wearing makeup – my creativity desperately concealed behind oversized Prada sunglasses, hoping that I won’t be perceived. 

From the perspective of the government, we may as well be invisible. Despite efforts to legally recognise being non-binary, the progress has been infuriatingly slow, and a debate in Parliament last month – prompted by a petition that garnered more than 140,000 signatures – discussed everything but the topic at hand. Instead, MPs revealed their true feelings towards our existence, urging parents to ‘push back’ against children who have been ‘indoctrinated’ into being non-binary – perpetuating an archaic and reprehensible notion that giving children autonomy around their gender identity is akin to grooming. 

It’s upsetting, maddening even. It would be easy to fall into despair. I feel a twinge of sadness every time I open my passport or fill in a form that only allows for male and female. Yet, I am reminded of the resilience of the LGBTQIA+ community and non-binary people specifically every time I meet someone like me. I have been overwhelmed with the support I have found in my counterparts, and I will never tire of discovering more of us – as if we’re part of a secret society. 

Though donning makeup is not a prerequisite for being non-binary – we come in all shapes, sizes and colours, and don’t owe you or anybody androgyny – I like to think that I’m flying the flag for our community every time I step out the door with meticulously placed rhinestones or a Pride parade’s worth of glitter on my face. 

Whether you’re curious or confused, I’m always making a statement with my beauty. I’m proud and I’m free, and I deserve happiness as much as you or anybody else. Sure, it’s not ending world hunger or finding a cure for cancer, but maybe, in a tiny way, my eyeliner can change the world for the better, too. 

@dominic.cadogan

Pride: non-binary beauty | Soho House
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