I’d like to think that 100 years from now when my great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren dig up old photos of me – whether these photos are found in ancient, hardcover scrapbooks or Facebook albums immortalized specifically for the convenience of future generations – two aspects of my life stand out: my dynamite sense of humor and my killer fashion sense. Sure, I hope that they can reminisce on my inevitably incredible career and my loving personal legacy, but my greatest wish for my future offspring is that they can look back on me, the matriarch of the family, and be like “Wow, she could make people laugh and look great doing it.”

The trademark of my personal fashion empire? Red. Lipstick. I’m talking bright, deep, radiant, red lipstick. Lipstick with ridiculous names like “Wee-Woo Goes the Fire Engine” (for everyone's inner-kindergarten teacher), “Seductive Apple” (because fetishizing fruit is a concept that’s worked for Fruit of the Loom all these years, right?) and “Cherry Seinfeld” (now I’d buy and wear the heck out of that shade). I’m talking lipstick that gives you the power to crush one hundred warrior men that bear a striking resemblance to Matt Damon in "Saving Private Ryan" between your thumb and index finger while simultaneously making you feel like a fairy princess goddess. I think it’s time that we, as a society, acknowledge the cold hard truth that red lipstick might as well be synonymous with everyone’s favorite, yet elusive C-word: Confidence.

That red lipstick is a source of much of my personal confidence is a truth I have wrestled to accept about myself over the past year or so. And that’s why a certain interaction with my mother on a rainy evening in May 2015 was particularly inspiring. We were in the car in a grocery store parking lot, waiting for the worst of a downpour to be over, when I pulled my beloved tube of red lipstick from my purse to reapply before going into the store. I had my compact mirror open and my lips poised and ready when I opened the tube to discover the devastating truth: My lipstick had melted. “I guess I have to make a trip to Rite-Aid now,” I whined. “My lipstick melted.”

“Maybe it’s a sign,” my mother replied, “Maybe you should consider wearing a nice pink lipstick instead.”

I was floored. This was “a sign”? That I should wear “a nice pink lipstick”? I slammed the red melted disaster shut and stared at her with a look that could only convey my utter disgust and complete betrayal (I’m sure I bore a striking resemblance to either like a crazed maniac, or a sullen teenager...but nowhere in between). This was no "sign." This was the universe reminding me why I started wearing red lipstick in the first place.

I started wearing red lipstick because it’s empowering. Because it’s dynamic. Because at some point during my freshman year of college, after days and weeks and years of the same makeup routine, I grew bored of my tame pinks and soft roses and decided it was time for a change. Maybe this decision was slightly subconscious and maybe it’s just a little too coincidental that it aligned with the period of my life in which I was on my own for the first time, but nevertheless the change needed to be made.

Red lipstick isn’t just about looking good. It’s about taking ownership of my looks, my body, and my choices. Switching to red lipstick pushed me to take control of my personal style and to own my unique look. (Months later, I would be inspired to throw out my Catholic school plaid to embrace crop tops and maxi skirts, and chop off five inches of my hair. Yes! Power to the female!) My bright red lips help me stand out (and there’s nothing more empowering than having the ability to identify my drink among the hundreds of others at a party because of the little red smudge on the rim. It’s kind of like marking your territory, but with more fashion and less urine involved).

Red lipstick represents ferocity, tenacity and fearlessness. Wearing it incites me to take on each day with enough energy and drive to power a small fleet of luxury cruise ships. When I catch a glimpse of my red-lipped reflection in cafe windows, I think “Yes.” And then I admire it for a few seconds. And then I remember there are people behind the window probably trying to enjoy their triple-shot soy caramel macchiatos and I promptly scamper away.

Does attributing my personal confidence to my daily makeup routine seem shallow? Maybe, but if it inspires me to feel my best every time I look in the mirror, is that such a bad thing? If it is, the ends certainly justify the means. The "means" in this case (to quote the original mega-superstar-fairy-princess-goddess herself, Taylor Swift) is “that red lip classic thing that you like.” And if it’s good enough for Taylor, it’s good enough for me.

So, in 100 years when my great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren look at old photos of me, what will they say? They’ll definitely be like “Dang, Great-Grandma slash Great-Great-Grandma, you rocked that ‘Sexy Strawberry.’” And I’ll be like, “Heck yeah I did.” (And yes, I will still be kicking, thanks to the wonders of modern medicine and my killer lipstick-induced confidence.)