This was SUCH a brilliant page-turner and just perfect for Glossier and Into the Gloss (or Glossy by Marisa Meltzer) enjoyers. I was thrilled to find at a launch event that Vanessa did actually read Into the Gloss for research and was fascinated by Glossy, which came out when she was doing revisions for Sheer. I was also shocked that Glossy *wasn’t* part of the research for this book, because the talented and tortured “natural, dewy beauty” enterpreneur story (along with her conflicting marketing hurdles and DEI scandals) felt so familiar and *real*. It’s like Sheer was a Glossier’s enigmatic, more precise (fictional) predecessor from before the days of internet blogging. The (often historical) backdrop of this book throughout decades of pop culture, media and trends is highly entertaining and vivid, and the descriptions of makeup textures and effects are indulgent and delightful.
The writing style is so engaging and (as per Carolyn Ferrell’s words in the launch event) in confessional, almost 19th century style. Brutally honest and impossible to put down. I discovered the book itself initially through Netgalley but the ARC had been sitting in my Kindle for months—only to literally wrench me out of my reading block as soon as I picked it up, entirely coincidentally the day before release. I gobbled it up in two days (so I finished day of release, and got to immediately watch the event on YouTube!), and spent the entirety of the book highlighting parts that made my head buzz from complex interpretations of Max’s thoughts. The realisation that she is not, in fact, a reliable narrator at all hit me like a suckerpunch during the last 30%, after which I started questioning nearly everything I had read. (I was tickled by the admission that Vanessa Lawrence herself has no idea on what parts are fabricated by Max—She also knows only Max’s narration. I love to hear about this level of immersion from authors, and I was barely surprised by the admission.) Besides being the usual (yet rare) female entrepreneur story with cautionary undertones and a fight for relevence against age (the dreaded four-oh), Max’s being queer shifts *everything* … and makes it several times more interesting.
There is a lot of generational trauma in this book. Max’s outlook in life is shaped by the kind of adult woman she wants—and doesn’t want—to be based on her parents. Innately, she is highly driven and wishes to be exceptional. Unlike her mother, she never wants to be financially dependant on men (but is haunted by the fact that her brand, Reveal, is financed entirely by the worst kind of men). She vows to never succumb to inauthenticity and unrealistic beauty standards, and she might not wear heavy makeup but as she grows she sacrifices every material pleasure to preserve her skin and body’s youth, often identically to her mom. She also judges women who don’t perform femininity that she personally believes to be “real”, as opposed to fake and patriarchal. She hates that the makeup industry (again, often run by men, based on patriarchal desires) shames women’s natural bodies—but then she does the same to women whose natural proclivities are towards colour and drama in makeup, based on Max’s own desires of the idealised, “liberated”, beautiful woman. Is the authoritarian tone any different when it comes from a woman? Max makes poignant statements about how lesbians are treated as dirty and dangerous (especially when gender nonconforming) in contrast to gay men (and that straight women and gay men in the industry are so competitive against one another they barely even like women like she does). And yet, she herself has no respect for drag culture and legacies—in fact, as a cis (soft) butch she not only can’t relate to how diversely femmes internally *feel* about makeup as self expression, she is also barely aware of any makeup consumers outside of cis feminine women … who also happen to be the object of her personal desires.
Reveal’s entire motto is authenticity—natural makeup that “enhances, doesn’t cover” (though we must wonder if there is *any* kind of paint that doesn’t cover *something*) … yet Max is extremely closeted as a high profile figure, even after marriage equality is achieved in New York. Her paranoia that coming out would ruin her brand’s success is influenced by the plenty of abuse and harassment (emotional as well as physical) she faced from authority figures as well as peers (starting from her parents and friends as a child, to her company stakeholders as an adult). Specific pieces of the emotional plot were difficult for me to put together, but they magically fell into place when I heard Vanessa herself speak about the book. A point that particularly struck me was that—Not only was Max’s extreme compartmentalization unhealthy for her mental health, but her not being able to have a normal, liberated personal life and subsequently forcing zero work/life balance, then aiming her sexual experiences *back into her work* where it absolutely does not belong … led to her ultimately falling into a product marketing campaign that was morally unjustifiable. Initially of course, I found it genius and very sapphic and poetic that she developed products based on her lovers’ postcoital glow—and how she was able to run away from standards of consent around that since she never had a long term relationship. The way the products got more and more personal to her partners were, indeed, a slo-mo trainwreck.
(Slight spoilers going forward.) Throughout the book, Max is certainly very … well, white. (Surely her disinterest in gender diversity intersect here.) The gaze through which she views her brown muses is for sure just slightly more “othering” than how she viewed the white ones for product inspo. This glaring subjectification vs objectification dynamic is where her being masc4femme REALLY intrigued me. As she grew older and more resentful of how society puts an expiry date on women, it led to her increased bitterness towards DEI, an aggressively millennial venture—even though she had been so progressive in her own generation. This echoes how feminism, a movement never free of internalised tensions, sidelined women of her mother’s generation as well by making stay-at-home wives and mothers less respectable, forcing them to try to exert relevance through criticism and emotionally manipulating younger folks. In addition, Max criticized how business was soaked in masculine shows of power such as blatant intimidation. Max’s first conquest as a young college student seeking legitimacy and maturity was a brown woman many years her senior. Caroline ended the relationship when she realised Max’s age and that she had completely unintentionally groomed Max, just a little bit. In many ways, Caroline remained “the one that got away” and Max’s only long-term relationship. There was a deep and dark narrative satisfaction when Max, in her thirties, herself purposefully pursued a much younger brown woman, continuing a complex dynamic involving *both* the masculine and feminine cycle of abuse of power she herself had experienced in the industry. (The involvement of an impeccably bright Asian American brown baddie was somehow the cherry on top. I am surrounded by so many iterations of Amanda in real life.)
I realised as I read the epilogue that all the energy I had used to grasp at the threads of meaning woven through the book were all going to be beautifully confessed and explained. (Very validating for me as a reader—like finally learning whodunnit.) The ending was so, so good. There were so many sentences throughout the book that were deliciously meta, or simply highly quotable. I don’t usually take notes while reading but for this novel, I had to. Sheer feels so essential to any sapphic reading list that I am appalled it didn’t exist until today. It’s an incredibly culturally relevant read in the late 2020s, and I am running, not walking, to pick up Vanessa’s debut novel, Ellipses, which appears to be a rhyming story from the PoV of the bisexual, brown, and highly anxious Asian American abusee.
Thank you to Netgalley, Dutton and the author for an e-ARC!