It's almost always true that there's something more than the surface level. That is, "just because" is almost never an appropriate answer for the question "Why?" This is true of self-perception, likes, dislikes, tendencies, other people and what they do. Even the simplest things have the potential to yield something more if you press on them a little. For instance:

As fall rolls around (much to my disappointment, summer-lover that I am), I am getting to pull out my darker lip colors. I got to wear one of my reds (Redwood Forest) for the first time in a while. I thought that it was nice that I kind of finally, sort of, on some days like my face, and my lips are one of my best features. I have not always liked my face, but I have always liked my lips. I've worn a lot of different colors for a lot of different reasons.

Bright, fire truck red that is probably still somewhere in my closet— my friend gave it to me when I was younger. Maybe thirteen? She had said it wasn't the right shade for her and that it might look better on me. It just so happens that I had been looking for a good red. I'd picked up an affinity for the pin-up styles of the fifties. A bit overweight and struggling with my appearance, I liked to convince myself that women were curvier back then, and they were still considered sexy and beautiful, and I was just like them. I was fifties pretty, not modern pretty. So I needed red fifties lips. When I put the color on, it did make me feel prettier, for a short while, until my gaze dropped below my lips. I still wore the color, because maybe people would look at my lips instead of the rest of me.

Weird, metallic pink— I distinctly remember losing it on a mission trip. It had fallen under the seat after I put it on and I could not retrieve it. The boy I liked (I had put it on to impress him) tried to help me, but neither of us was successful. I still have no idea where that color is, and I still have no idea why I thought it looked good on me. It made me feel good? It was unique? It was the color I wore because I didn't know who I was. It was probably good that I lost it. Nothing from this scene ended very well anyway.

Aveda Winterberry— My mama said it was a perfect color for me. Bright purple pink with blue undertones. It flatters my olive skin and my well-shaped lips. I remember looking in the mirror (I wore a green striped sweater) and smiling because that was the first time in a long time that I actually felt beautiful. I had been working hard to try to make myself beautiful (in my own eyes) for a long time, but this helped me actually see that all my hard work was paying off. I still mourn the fact that it was a limited edition color and that I can no longer purchase it.

Rouge in Love— My love and I had been dating for nine months, and he invited me to Plebe-Parent weekend, which was a big weekend event before Spring Break and it involved a special uniform for him and evening wear for me. I knew how I would do my makeup. I would have red lips, but because I liked them and because I wanted to stand out, not because I wanted to hide. Alas, the red I had in my possession wasn't quite the right shade and it rubbed off on everything. I went to the mall and tracked down the perfect shade of red. It wasn't supposed to rub off on anything. I kissed the back of my hand to check, because, technically speaking, I'm not supposed to touch him while he's in uniform.

Lip color seems a pretty simple thing, but there's more to it than that. It's all in rewinding and remembering and gathering and synthesizing. You can choose anything, and it's almost always true that there's more to it than that.