I didn't always love my eyes. My Korean grandparents immigrated to the US in 1960 after the Korean War, fleeing from tyranny of North Korean rule and looking for a better life in a new world. My mother was raised in Boston, and as the daughter of Korean immigrants, she stuck out like a sore thumb punching a hole into white bread.

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Growing up, I received a lot of mixed messages about my looks. One could count the number of Asian students in my school on one hand, and I have distinct memories of unpleasant encounters with white peers who didn’t know better.

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My Korean culture felt like more of a distant memory. My grandparents spoke Korean to each other, cooked Korean food, and taught me some games and customs. But even earlier this year, as hate crimes hit the AAPI community, they urged me to"fully Americanize" for my safety.

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In short, to hide.

I started wearing eyeliner in 7th grade. My mom had always encouraged me to try out different styles and products.

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As a dermatologist, she says skin always comes first. But she’s no stranger to the joys of a good makeup haul.

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She taught me how to apply eyeshadow without it smudging, how to conceal undereye bags, how to treat pesky breakouts when they happened. By 7th grade, I was – some might say – a pro. I wore liquid eyeliner every day and had learned how to expertly apply the liner to accentuate my eye shape.

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My eyes looked better with liner, I thought. I didn’t expect to like accentuating them.

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In college, some of my friends disliked that I wore makeup. They found it offensive to their feminist beliefs. Passing comments expressed thinly-veiled judgement: “Wow I could never wear it every day like you.”

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I was always confused by that. As a strong woman whose strong female role models wore makeup, I’d never considered that my actions might be playing into gender stereotypes. Isn’t fashion just as much playing into societal expectations for women to look good? Why did those same friends have such strong opinions on cosmetics and at the same time invest in stylish fashion?

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I felt compelled to defend my use of makeup, but I lacked the words to convey the inherently empowering feeling I felt from a bit of eye liner or cream blush. It was an idea still in formation, then.

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‍When I met Nick, some of these ideas fell into place. Nick’s a “guy’s guy”, and though he was a D1 athlete and student at a prestigious school, he had the typical guy experience. He and my other guy friends were all in the dark when it came to personal care and grooming.

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I taught them the difference between shampoo and conditioner; and why 2-in-1s didn’t make a lot of practical sense; and not to use dirty towels to wash up or clean cuts. I told them why I ‘looked tired’ or ‘sick’ (I had dark eye circles from allergies and wasn’t wearing concealer); and picked out their outfits for dates; and warned them against using toothpaste on zits.

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On more than one occasion I thought, ‘How could someone know so little?’

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As women, we’re endlessly bombarded with the imperative of “being beautiful”. I’d never considered what it might have been like to have the opposite – no messaging whatsoever about personal grooming or even practical advice about things like acne.

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I considered for the first time what it might have been like in middle school for me, had I not had any concealer or eye liner.

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I might never have found that I like my eyes.

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FRONTMAN was born out of this thought, that maybe our personal care decisions had been decided for us, that society had told us what could or could not be used by men and women (let alone other genders).

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Nick: Why is it that girls never get acne?

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Me: What do you mean? We break out all the time.

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Nick: But I never see girls with acne.

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Here's our big secret. We have full industries dedicated to providing us with the exact tool for every beauty intention.

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Glowing skin? Semi-matte skin? Matte skin?

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Darker eye lashes? Longer eye lashes? Thicker eye lashes?

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You name it, they've got it. Perfectly packaged, marketed, and influenced.

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Even within more recent minimalist and skin-first beauty, we have more options than we could ever count.

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Beauty is a double-edged sword, like many things. It can feel requisite and oppressive. It can make you feel less-than.

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But it’s also a powerful tool, that you can harness to fuel your own confidence.

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Your face is what you present to the world. It is the physical representation of your being and, in some neofuturistic cases, a proxy for your entire identity. Beauty is so innately tied to our sense of self that it can be hard to pull the concepts apart.

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For men, the idea of “beauty” may not strike a chord. But as humans in this technological age, we all understand the idea of image.

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Power over your own image can be the most gratifying sense.

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It is now after all these experiences that I'm able to convey what I struggled to in my earlier days.

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Cosmetics give us choice. They allow us to face the world as we wish, on our own terms, in our own time. When and how we choose to embrace our unique traits, or not.

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And the result is freedom of self expression.

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Exhilarating and empowering.