If you’re seeking the ultimate “no-makeup makeup” look, don’t look to TikTok or the pages of Vogue. Look to Transportation Secretary Pete Buttigieg on Fox News.
Or to Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz on CNN.
Or Pennsylvania Gov. Josh Shapiro on the stump at a high school gymnasium.
As of this writing, all were being considered for the role of Vice President Harris’s running mate; these appearances, then, were not unlike auditions. On top of making the right quips, promoting the right talking points and dodging all manner of traps, they, crucially, also had to look the part.
Their foreheads were mattified, their undereye bags dabbed with concealer. Their complexions were smoothed to perfection with powders and creams that catch the light just so. If time allowed, their faces may have even been “warmed up” with tinted moisturizer or darker foundation to help make them pop on-screen.
Kriss Blevens, a makeup artist who has labored over the pores of every president since Jimmy Carter, describes the ideal candidate glow-up this way: “like they’re on a new vitamin.”
Since the 1960 televised presidential debate between Richard M. Nixon and John F. Kennedy, the way most Americans have engaged with our presidential hopefuls has been through a screen. And with every subsequent campaign season, we’re inundated with even more images of candidates running for office: in political commercials and cartoons, in debates and conventions, in memes and “fancams.”
The bronze sheen on our presidential candidates — noticeable since the vast majority have been White men — used to be organic: the result of hours spent in the sun rallying crowds and shaking hands with prospective voters. But even if the campaigning is done in the confines of a television studio, you’ll still see sun-kissed skin, glowing just the right amount for the HD cameras.
Women in politics have long had to be meticulous about their appearance: The wrong shade of lipstick or an ill-fitting outfit can invite criticism not just of their looks, but also of their competence. That men now feel some of this pressure — needing to appear youthful but not too young; experienced but not too wrinkled; enthusiastic but, dear god, not sweaty — speaks to how much image matters in this election cycle.
“Part of what’s really critical for people going on TV is that these interviews live forever,” said Andrea Purse, a communications consultant and media trainer. “Your three-minute TV hit is now a 30-second or 10-second clip that lives online, … so the optics are incredibly important and probably more important than ever.”
Makeup telegraphs the way politicians see themselves — or how they want others to see them. The men on Harris’s short list for vice president have portrayed themselves as middle-of-the-road, no-nonsense everymen, an image complemented by their polished but natural makeup looks.
The Republican National Convention in July brought forward a different kind of male face: Kardashian-bronze, a look favored by party standard-bearer Donald Trump. There was Rep. Matt Gaetz, sporting a deep Florida tan and a preternaturally smooth brow, promising that the “swamp draining will commence soon.” There was Texas Gov. Greg Abbott, his cheeks browned with foundation, rousing cheers from a crowd waving “Deport Them All” signs.
Then, the great unveiling of Trump’s running mate, Sen. JD Vance (Ohio), a 40-year-old former Never Trumper whose beard apparently reminded the former president of a “young Lincoln.” Liberals have speculated about whether Vance, in his appearances at the RNC and since, has been wearing eyeliner — with no evidence supporting this theory, though it appears as if the conservative senator may just be born with it. (Or, as Blevens put it: “I think he has those dense, fabulous lashes that many women dream of having.”)
This parade of copper-coloured men were a united front of Trump aesthetics: highlighting the strange cocktail of masculinity favoured by Trump himself — a mix of swashbuckling American masculinity and Hollywood sensibilities, expressed in deep tans and bandaged ears, a kind of gilded populism.
“Appearance really matters to him,” Purse said. “If there’s an aesthetic that has developed, it’s in order to get the attention of [former] president Trump, who is probably their most important audience.”
Because women in U.S. politics have never been able to pretend that their looks don’t matter, when politicians such as Hillary Clinton sat before Blevens to get their makeup done, they would be protective of that time to prepare, she said.
The same wasn’t true of many male politicians, who brought a lot more trepidation to the makeup chair, Blevens said. They focused on what they didn’t want (no hair spray, no overgrooming) and offered a constant refrain of, “Are you done yet?”
Some men were different, Blevens noted — such as former California governor Arnold Schwarzenegger, whose makeup Blevens did during the 2008 presidential campaign season. Schwarzenegger, a Hollywood actor and former Mr. Universe, knew well the power of his image and leaned into it, swaggering through the Sacramento Capitol in snakeskin boots, Gucci suits and a boxing championship ring gifted to him by Muhammad Ali.
Blevens was given just 30 seconds to do the governor’s makeup before the Republican primary debate. A producer then attempted to hurry her along. Before she could rush the job, Schwarzenegger, who had been serenely staring out the window, grabbed her hand.
“He looks me right in the eye, and he says to me, ‘Kriss, you scramble for nobody,’” Blevens recalled.
Nowadays, men are “most definitely” more amenable to getting their makeup done, she said.
One of the key concerns for male politicians is mitigating shine and sweat – the result of heat, bright lights or naturally oily skin. Sweat and slickness read to audiences as nervousness or a lack of control, Purse said.
Makeup artists will also try to erase signs of exhaustion and stress by brightening the eye area and smoothing out eye bags with color-correcting makeup. Color, in general, is key, Blevens said. If a man is too pale, he can look washed out, even sickly, on-screen. If he’s too orange — probably the result of self-tanner, she says — she’s tasked with “knocking down” and neutralizing the color. Attention is also paid to covering age spots and minimizing wrinkles. We want politicians who are experienced, but we also don’t want to worry about their health.
The current need for male politicians to wear makeup is, in part, a reflection of technology: HD cameras can highlight every flaw and inconsistency. But the reasons men use cosmetics, and how we interpret their image, have been fairly consistent throughout history, notes beauty historian Susan Stewart – whether we’re talking about Botox, self-tanner or “periwigs.”
“It’s all about youth and health and wealth, largely,” Stewart said.
The dark and dramatic eye makeup worn by Egyptian men had a practical purpose — protecting their eyes from the heat and dust — but, because of its expense, it was also a signifier of wealth and status. Tanning was a beauty ideal for Roman men, not women — a signifier of masculinity and vitality. The powdered wigs of French nobility weren’t just a court custom; they also masked “undignified” bald patches and bloody sores brought on by syphilis.
The 1960 presidential debate offered an important lesson in the power of political optics.
Howard Smith, moderator of that debate, said at the time that a bronzed JFK looked like an “athlete come to receive his wreath of laurel,” writes Alan Schroeder in his book “Presidential Debates: Fifty Years of High-Risk TV.” Meanwhile, Nixon, who had recently been hospitalized for a knee infection, appeared haggard and underweight.
Unbeknownst to Nixon, Kennedy received cosmetic touch-ups from his staff after rejecting a CBS offer for a makeup artist. Nixon, who declined the makeup artist because Kennedy had, was instead slathered with an over-the-counter product called “Lazy Shave” – which famously melted off his face as the debate wore on.
Even as more men use makeup – inspiring lines such as the U.K.-based War Paint — these cosmetics can come with political risks. Inconsistency draws attention, Blevens noted (such as former Trump White House press secretary Sean Spicer’s orange evolution).
People may want their leaders to look good, but they don’t want that to come with great effort or cost, lest they be seen as vain or wasteful.
French President Emmanuel Macron came under fire early in his first term when news outlets reported that his makeup bill over the course of three months came to 26,000 euros. (Aides for the president defended the makeup work as a “matter of urgency.”)
Nor can it mask bigger problems.
In late June, President Biden shocked audiences and alarmed prominent Democrats during his debate against Trump: His voice was raspy, and his ability to control his thoughts and movements appeared to be greatly diminished. Adding to concerns about his frailty and age was his pale appearance — which pro-Trump cartoonists notably seized on in their portrayals of the debate.
Even if a makeup artist had warmed up Biden’s skin so he wouldn’t appear so ghostly next to Trump, no amount of bronzer could have hid the president’s long pauses or gaffes like “we finally beat Medicare.”
A month later, Biden would once again appear before a national audience, this time sat at the Resolute Desk to explain why he had ended his campaign for reelection. Many of Biden’s supporters cast his decision as “heroic” and “selfless,” and, that night, addressing the American people, Biden appeared to lean into those characterizations. He lauded his administration’s accomplishments. He spoke of his love for public service. He urged his fellow Americans to take history into their own hands.
To many who had known Biden at his most fiery and verbose, the president still appeared diminished. Questions about his health linger.
But he was certainly more tan.
Our website is the place for the latest breaking news, exclusive scoops, longreads and provocative commentary. Please bookmark nationalpost.com and sign up for our daily newsletter, Posted, here.