Makeup is no longer associated with women only, and more and more men are embracing it. In fact, by accentuating facial features and hiding blemishes, makeup can actually make men look more masculine. And it’s not just for actors, as men of all ages and backgrounds are starting to see the benefits of wearing makeup.
It increases attractiveness in men.
© adamlambert / Instagram, © adamlambert / Instagram
More and more men are starting to wear makeup, and a recent study aimed to find out if it can positively affect men’s appearance. A makeup artist applied subtle makeup on a group of men, the participants were then photographed, and the images were rated based on attractiveness. The results showed that the male faces were rated as more attractive when wearing makeup compared to when not wearing makeup.
It makes men look more masculine.
While a beard can change any man’s face, making it more masculine, makeup can do the job almost as well. Researchers have found that makeup increases lower facial contrast, making a face look more masculine.
Makeup can enhance the facial structure.
Any woman knows that masterfully applied makeup can change your look, but men can also benefit from concealers and facial powders. Makeup affects how we perceive men’s bone structure and makes male faces more attractive.
Bonus: Dwayne Johnson on wearing makeup
© therock / Instagram, © therock / Instagram
Just like regular people, celebrities often wear makeup on set or during photoshoots. Dwayne Johnson, one of the most muscular actors in Hollywood, proudly shared on his Instagram account how his little daughters transformed him using makeup. “I haven’t seen myself in the mirror yet, but if I look as cool as I feel right now, then I’m winning, baby,” the father-of-three wrote.
She inquired, “What’s the price for the eggs?” The elderly seller responded, “0.25 cents per egg
The old egg seller, his eyes weary and hands trembIing, continued to sell his eggs at a loss. Each day, he watched the sun rise over the same cracked pavement, hoping for a miracle. But the world was indifferent. His small shop, once bustling with life, now echoed emptiness.
The townspeople hurried past him, their footsteps muffled by their own worries. They no longer stopped to chat or inquire about the weather. The old man’s heart sank as he counted the remaining eggs in his baskets. Six left. Just six. The same number that the woman had purchased weeks ago.
He remembered her vividly—the woman with the determined eyes and the crisp dollar bill. She had bargained with him, driving a hard bargain for those six eggs. “$1.25 or I will leave,” she had said, her voice firm. He had agreed, even though it was less than his asking price. Desperation had cIouded his judgment.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. The old seller kept his promise, selling those six eggs for $1.25 each time. He watched the seasons change—the leaves turning from green to gold, then falling to the ground like forgotten dreams. His fingers traced the grooves on the wooden crate, worn smooth by years of use.
One bitter morning, he woke to find frost cIinging to the windowpane. The chill seeped through the cracks, settling in his bones. He brewed a weak cup of tea, the steam rising like memories. As he sat on the same wooden crate, he realized that he could no longer afford to keep his small shop open.
The townspeople had moved on, their lives intertwined with busier streets and brighter lights. The old man packed up his remaining eggs, their fragile shells cradled in his weathered hands. He whispered a silent farewell to the empty shop, its walls bearing witness to countless stories—the laughter of children, the haggling of customers, and the quiet moments when he had counted his blessings.
Outside, the world was gray—a canvas waiting for a final stroke. He walked the familiar path, the weight of those six eggs heavier than ever. The sun peeked through the clouds, casting long shadows on the pavement. He reached the edge of town, where the road met the horizon.
And there, under the vast expanse of sky, he made his decision. With tears in his eyes, he gently placed the eggs on the ground. One by one, he cracked them open, releasing their golden yoIks. The wind carried their essence away, a bittersweet offering to the universe.
The old egg seller stood there, his heart as fragile as the shells he had broken. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face. And in that quiet moment, he whispered a prayer—for the woman who had bargained with him, for the townspeople who had forgotten, and for himself.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, he turned away from the empty road. His footsteps faded, leaving behind a trail of memories. And somewhere, in the vastness of the universe, six golden yolks danced—a silent requiem for a forgotten dream.
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