Clearly, it’s time to blend a new blush shade. Name: Utter Humiliation.

2

Callie

After my second major humiliation of the day (third, if you count the guy who catcalled me with ‘Getting real juicy these days’), I’m tempted to head straight back to my apartment to console myself with a tray of snacking cake and a Real Househusbands of New York marathon, but I’ve still got one more stop to make before I can truly wallow.

I hop off the train a couple of stops early, and walk over to the Eastside Women’s Center, a squat grey building parked on the end of the block.

“Hi, Suze!” I call, as I buzz into the front lobby. The day manager looks up from her stack of paperwork and gives me a small nod. I grin. Suze is six-feet-tall, gray-haired, and made of stern stuff, but I know her kryptonite. “How’s Terry?” I ask, and sure enough, she lights up.

“He’s doing so great,” she coos. “I took him to the zoo yesterday, and he went crazy for the sloths.”

“I hope you got pictures.”

“Of course I did!” Suze whips out her phone, and shows me the full album… Of her prize Chihuahua, Terry, out on the town.

“You spoil that dog,” I laugh, scrolling through.

“No shame in that!” Suze eyes my backpack. “More goodies for the closet?”

“I scored at work today,” I beam. “Delivery screwed up and gave us a box of bad packaging. I’ve got Fenty for days.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Suze says, “But go ahead.”

I make my way through the lobby and into the center. It’s a great space: A community hub and halfway house, offering classes, counselling, and all kinds of support to women in the neighborhood. I’ve been volunteering here all year, ever since Fleishman’s sponsored a fundraising drive, and I got to see the place up close. Since then, I’ve been helping out with what they need and also with my own special project, what I like to call The Closet of Dreams…

“Hey ladies,” I greet some of the patrons as I enter the room. It used to be a neglected boxy room on the second floor before I got my hands on it. Now, it’s a brightly colored lounge full of donated clothing, toiletries, and—yes—makeup, where the women can find outfits for job interviews, pick up some goodies, and have a moment of pampering just for them.

“Hi Callie,” the chorus goes up. I recognize some familiar faces, and soon everyone is picking over the new makeup donations and getting caught up on my not-so-big break pitch.

“I guess I’m going to have to change strategy,” I say, fixing one woman’s eyeshadow for a date tonight. “Luxury stores are just too snooty to take a risk.”

“You need to get on TikTok,” Tara suggests. “My kid sees something on there, and boom, she’s begging to buy it.”

“Or have one of those influencers promote you,” someone else agrees.