Naturally Tan Read online

  This was the first time I realized there were a lot of differences between the white kids and me, besides the colour of my skin. The white kids were able to take pride in their appearance in a way the South Asian kids were not. Attractiveness was not on anyone’s agenda in our community. Everything served a purpose only. No need for froufrou.

  When I was thirteen or fourteen, I really started to put my foot down, saying I needed to get my hair cut more regularly. Because let me tell you: my features were now growing out of all control, and this crew cut was doing me no favours. I still have sizable features, which I finally grew into, but as a kid, I had the biggest eyes and nose and mouth. Some of these things, to this day, I am still self-conscious about.

  My brothers had hit the age where they could get their hair cut more regularly, so I used that against my mum. Eventually, she gave in.

  That first “real” haircut was really short at the sides and about an inch long on top. The top part was brushed all the way forward, where it came to little gelled, separated spikes that fell suspended over my forehead. When white guys wore this style, their hair made a fringe that didn’t touch their forehead, because they had soft, fine, straight hair. But the only way I could figure out how to get my hair to stick up like that was to spray it and then hold it there with my fingers underneath. My mum, good woman that she is, would actually stand there and blow-dry it for me while I held my fingers there. It was a solid team effort to make me look presentable every morning. I didn’t have the face for it, but at the time, I liked it.

  Then I started to realize that I needed longer, bigger hair. So I started to do something that was so unwise. I began to sport what I call “the Utah haircut,” which is tried and true and still walking around the streets of Utah today.

  This is how it goes: The back is spiked up, in fluffy little spikes like a baby chick. The front is sort of swept down across your face. The overall effect looks like you somehow swam to wherever you were going, but then got electrocuted on the way, but the electrocution somehow only affected the back portion of your head. Very much sexy. Very much flattering. Very much should never happen again.

  I sported this very ill-advised cut for years, until someone finally had the balls to tell me it was an American lesbian haircut. At the time, I didn’t want to out myself—and I certainly didn’t want to out myself as a lesbian—so I changed it. And by “changed it,” I mean I decided to get rid of the electric shock portion going on in the back of my head and just make it look like I full-on swam from school to my job. My hair was always slightly shiny and slicked across my face, where it remained for seven or eight years.

  At some point while I was sporting this style, I decided to switch from gel to pomade and grow out my sideburns. And also straighten them. I had seen the look on a runway show (I wish I could remember which one) and thought it looked really cool and different. I had never seen it before in person … for good reason. I was actually wearing it this way—long, straightened sideburns—when I met my husband, Rob.

  My hair had always gotten a lot of attention, and I liked that, but it took me a while to understand that sometimes it was negative attention. When I first met Rob, I mistook his surprise at my straightened sideburns to mean he liked them. But of course, “Whoa, your sideburns!” is not synonymous with, “I like your sideburns.”

  Eventually, I realized that to balance the size of my features, I needed high hair. When I was twenty-five, I landed on the pomp, and it has stayed this way ever since. As it’s become increasingly grey, it’s gotten more interesting. I want to be age-appropriate, but not one of those people who clings desperately to his youth. When I got to my very late twenties and was wearing it “high and tight,” I thought, I can wear my hair this way into my fifties and sixties. It’s a classic style you would have seen fifty years ago. My version is higher than the classic version, but it still harkens back to it. Classic but still current.

  As someone who has gone through a hair evolution, I have a lot of feelings about hair. When it comes to hair, there are some trends that need to die.

  I know it’s teetering off, but that red wash people are wearing needs to stop. I don’t mean ginger-coloured hair—that colour is stunning. No, you know the one I’m talking about; it looks like a burgundy red, and no one’s hair is actually that colour. Nobody favours this colour. You can agree or disagree, and I don’t really care. What I know is that if God didn’t create a colour for somebody’s hair, then that colour will not do anything for your skin tone. Green or blue or bright red hair is not flattering. Yes, if you choose to dye your hair that colour for a style moment, so be it, and it can be cool. If this is your forever look, though, you might want to reconsider. And if your friends tell you they love it, they just don’t want to hurt your feelings. If you’re reading this with one of these colours in your hair, I’ve come too far to take my words back, so I’m going to have to push forward. Let it go.

  Another problem is bangs. Pretty much every female friend in my life texts me at some point and says, “Oh my gosh, Tan, I think I want bangs.” And I have told them, time and again, that I love bangs but you will regret them in a month when they start to grow out. This is true for everyone, so I’m going to say it once and for all. You will for sure regret them. Bangs always suck when they start growing out. I love bangs, but women, you must do your gay friends a favour. The decision to get bangs is yours. Don’t put that shit on us. If you want a shoulder to cry on when your hair is going through that awkward growing-out phase, I can’t be that person when I was the one who warned you. I love an “I told you so” more than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s my worst quality, for sure.

  They will look cute for a few weeks, but you will suffer for the next six months.

  Another pet peeve of mine is really long hair. Some women will tell me, “My husband finds this sexy.” You can have long hair, but when your hair is hitting your butt, it ceases to be sexy. You look like you just escaped from a cult. Or maybe you didn’t even escape the cult; you were sent away from it because even they didn’t want to look at that long hair anymore. So just cut it. Mid-back-length is great; any closer to your butt and you’ve gone too far, kid.

  No good has ever come of a man’s perm. If your hair is not naturally curly, but you want curls, just know that I’m sorry, but you shouldn’t have curls. Life isn’t fair, and you can’t have everything you want, and it looks like curls are one of those things.

  This brings me to gelled hair. I honestly don’t know if anything more needs to be said here, so I’m going to say it again, in caps: GELLED HAIR. If you don’t know what I mean by that, and you’re wearing gel in your hair, then your friends are terrible.

  Whether you are a man or a woman, there are many good hairstyles out there. If you are struggling with your hair, ask yourself, Am I doing all I can? If you do not have a blow-dryer, and you are wondering if you should, the answer is yes. Man or woman, if you want a certain hairstyle, you will have to blow-dry it into submission. No one can just shower, towel-dry, walk away, and expect their hair will miraculously become stylish. Hair does not self-style, unless you have perfectly straight or perfectly curly hair, which most of us do not. Those people are the lucky exceptions. We are not those people.

  Also, sir, nobody is going to accuse you of being homosexual just because you own a blow-dryer. It will make a huge difference to your appearance. And if they do ask if you’re gay after seeing your beautifully turned-out coif, smile and thank them, because someone assuming you are gay is usually their way of saying you are so darn stylish that you must have heightened powers. Own it, bitch; stop being so offended.

  While we’re on the topic of hair, I think more men should know more about grooming. I hate that men don’t really talk about it, and I’d love for it to be less taboo. If you want to look good, why not?

  I’m South Asian, and I have a unibrow, so I use tweezers to split that bad boy up and create twinners whose mission in life is to keep their distance. I starte
d plucking when I was probably fourteen or fifteen. I had seen my sisters doing it and didn’t think to try anything else. It hurts like a motherfucker the first few times, but you get used to it really quickly. I pluck lightly every few days, so it takes no longer than a minute or so. It’s quick, easy, and keeps my shape looking well maintained but natural.

  I used to pluck the underside of my brows, too, because I thought people couldn’t tell, but I stopped doing that in my twenties because I didn’t want to look like a drag queen anymore. No shade to drag queens. That Liza look just wasn’t working for me. Now my eyebrows are pretty much their natural shape. Jonathan Van Ness swears I pluck them to within an inch of their life, but I really do not. I love a full brow.

  When we started filming, a lot of the boys on the show wanted to change up their look to make it more showbiz-y. But I always want to look like me, so I choose not to participate in hair and makeup before a shoot.

  I hate wearing makeup. People will sometimes ask what makeup I’m wearing, and the answer is, “I’m not.” If I’ve had a rough night, I’ll put a bit of concealer under my eyes, or if I have a blemish, I’ll cover it up when filming, but other than that, I just don’t wear makeup. I think the boys look fantastic on the show, and makeup works for them, but for me, it just feels like I’m wearing a mask. Also, when I meet people, I want them to see me looking the same as I do on TV, so I like to keep it as natural as I can.

  I’m blessed with brown skin, and I don’t get blemishes very often. I also take very, very good care of my skin. I’m all about skin-care products, and I’m loyal to a couple of brands in particular that keep my face clean and moisturized.

  When I was younger, so many people told me, “Take care of your skin now,” and thank gosh I listened. I don’t go out in the sun, and I have a face mask I’ve been using for ten years that works wonders. I once saw an interview with the editor of Korean Vogue and she essentially said that while the magazine promotes many commercial products, what she really uses is this homemade mask. Ever since, I’ve used this thing a few times a week, and I swear by it.

  RECIPE: TAN’S HOMEMADE FACE MASK

  Half cup yogurt—I use FAGE 2% fat Greek yogurt

  Contents of one green tea bag (steep for one minute in hot water before emptying the leaves into the yogurt)

  1.  Mix well, then apply generously to a clean face. Leave on for 10 to 12 minutes, then scrape off. Wash face thoroughly with warm water to remove completely, then rinse with cold water to close pores. Follow up with your regular moisturizer.

  WINGS

  When I was eighteen, I moved to Manchester for a few years. My family was already moving there to be closer to my mum’s family, so I decided to join them. During that brief period of time, I had twenty-four different jobs, some of which I left within a single day.

  Here was the problem: I didn’t know where I was going in life, but I knew I wanted to make money, obvs. I also wanted power and seniority where it was completely deluded and absolutely not deserved. So I would apply for jobs, I would get them, and then when that didn’t work out the way I expected, I would leave.

  I was the OG millennial.

  I was a very good interviewee. I knew the right things to say, I always turned up in appropriate attire, and I was very peppy and positive. I always showed up in a lovely suit, a tie, and nice shoes. One time, a bunch of candidates were waiting to be called in for their interviews, and one of the other interviewees in the waiting room assumed I was the boss when I walked in. But I knew if I dressed extra, I would get the job. People took me seriously when I dressed seriously.

  There were a couple of jobs in particular that I left immediately. One job I left on my first lunch break. I had gotten a job selling spa treatments on the street. The job actually paid really, really well. I thought, I’m a people person! I can do this! Within an hour, I realized the person I was shadowing was a complete moron and that he was able to make a lot of his sales by being really flirtatious with women. I did not have that skill. Flirting with women was definitely not a thing I excelled at.

  I thought, Oh, shit. Oh, shit, Oh, shit. This is the kind of job for somebody who probably doesn’t have any other options. It didn’t seem like the kind of job a kid dreams of having one day, that’s for sure. If you have that job and you love it, good for you. It was not the job for me. So a few hours in, I said, “Can I take my lunch break early?” I knew that as soon as I could get away from this, I was going to get out. Then I grabbed my bag, and I never turned up again. I was very resolute about it. I stopped at the grocery store on the way home to get something sweet to treat myself, and then I went home to eat my feelings. The job sucked so hard; I didn’t feel remorse about that at all. They called me many, many times. I did not answer. I’m a terrible person and probably going to hell.

  I learned that I never wanted to be a salesperson on the street. I didn’t realize how uncomfortable it would be to have to stop randos and try to encourage them to get a spa treatment.

  The funny thing is, my main job on Queer Eye is to encourage people to take some time to take care of themselves. So now it’s come full circle. I got my job training in those few hours on that horrible job. I now tell everyone that they can improve the quality of their lives if they just take the time to pamper themselves a little.

  This pattern continued for my next ten or fifteen jobs. One was in a call center, one was at a retail store, one was at the front desk of a medical facility … They were fine jobs, but they weren’t career options for me. I should have realized this before I ever started those jobs. I should have saved my money and taken the time to figure out what it was I actually wanted to do as a career. But it started to become a sort of challenge, like, Let me see how many jobs I can get. See? Straight to hell.

  At one point, I got a job as a district manager for a large fashion retailer. I’d been a store manager before, and so I managed to bluff my way into this district manager position. I did it for a couple of weeks, but I loathed my boss so hard. He was the biggest bully and a bad manager, and I cannot abide bad management, especially from somebody I thought wasn’t very smart.

  One day, I was meant to be flying to Spain to help out with some stores that needed management assistance from the head office crew. But instead, I turned up at the airport and decided, I can’t stand it anymore. I’m out. Once again, I found myself in a place where I absolutely could not deal with authority. I went to another terminal and decided to purchase a flight to America because I needed a break. I texted my boss, “I’m not coming into work; I’m leaving for America.” He texted back, “Are you fucking kidding me? You have to be at work today.”

  The only regret I have about that one is that I didn’t email him, and CC his boss, to tell him that he was the reason I left. He was the reason people kept leaving the company. He was a bully and should never have been put in a position of authority. I should have sent that email so that the person after me wouldn’t have to suffer that A-hole.

  Anyway, that was the end of that.

  Here’s my defense: Early on in any job, I knew myself well enough to know that if I hated it then, I would always hate it. Once I’ve decided I don’t like something, it’s very difficult for me to turn it around. With every job I’d take, I really did think, Maybe I can do this! Maybe I’ll be happy here. And then I’d see the environment and culture wasn’t right for me and that I could never be there long-term. So why waste time that could be spent trying on another job for size?

  When I was twenty-one, I had another retail job for a good year or so, where I had two bosses who were (in my opinion) the most incompetent bullies I’d ever come across. We all worked at the company together, but they worked at the head office and would have to come to conduct store visits and training with me every couple of months. However, they saw their trips to our store as party trips, so they would come in hungover and wouldn’t do their job of training me properly yet would be the first ones to scold me if something wasn’t done cor
rectly. So I made a complaint to HR. “These people are meant to be training me, and they never show up on time. And if they do show up, they do the bare minimum,” I told them. My bosses found out I had made the complaint, and they made my life hell for the next few weeks.

  One day, one of them got into a heated argument with me, and I told her, “You are so stupid. You have always been so stupid, and I promise if you take me down, I will take you down with me. I will outsmart you, and you know it.” I was very calm. I didn’t raise my voice. I was very matter-of-fact about it, and that infuriated her. But I meant it. I wasn’t one to be trifled with.

  That day came sooner than I’d thought. It was the summertime and the air conditioning in the store was broken. In the UK, legally, if it’s above a certain temperature and you don’t have air conditioning, you have to close your business down because it’s a health concern. It was over thirty-three degrees Celsius (about ninety-one degrees Fahrenheit), and the store was overheating, and so I did what any sensible person would do and I closed down. I tried to call my boss to let her know, but she didn’t answer.

  The next day, I got a phone call from her. “You closed the store early. This is against company policy, and we’re going to have to let you go,” she said oh so gleefully. There, she had me. She finally had a reason to fire me, and she was relishing it.

  I told her I was following the law, but she didn’t care. She said I was fired. It was the only job I’ve ever been fired from. So I said to her, “Wonderful, if you’re firing me, can you please send me a letter explaining why?” She said she would.

  Of course, I knew what I was doing. I needed that letter in order to take legal action against her and the company. I had outsmarted her, as I once told her I would.