Hours of Makeup and Months of Preparation Went Into Creating This Look for Jamaica Carnival

Carnival in the Caribbean is beyond a mere experience; it’s a ritual. The festivities, which last up to a week on some islands, culminate with a final celebration involving a parade, also known as mas or Road March. Thousands of revelers dressed in feathers and jewels—including myself this year—dance down the road for hours upon hours. Playing mas requires months of planning. I started the prep for the 2020 Jamaica carnival at the end of 2019, but then the coronavirus pandemic took over. For masqueraders, the past two years caused a case of carnival tabanca—a deep sadness caused by the inability to “chip,” a kind of shuffle dance, down the streets with friends and family. When I learned that carnival would return in Jamaica this year, I answered the call to get in formation.

The Caribbean diaspora is somewhat divided on the rights and rituals of the carnival—some believe that getting drunk and dancing half-naked in the streets is sacrilegious and inappropriate, but participants view it as a way to dress-up and honor emancipation across the region. The formerly enslaved population created carnival that was rooted in African traditions, and that’s what is celebrated today. However, what’s indisputable is that the carnival costumes take center stage. It’s said that wearing one can give you superpowers, and those powers are activated when you march in the parade to the sound of soca music.

My first West Indian carnival was in Antigua when I was about 10 years old. My dad woke me up before dawn to watch the J’ouvert parade. My mother, who is Jamaican and immigrated to the United States in the late 1970s, raised me in suburban New Jersey in the mid-’90s, where carnivals involved funnel cake and getting dizzy on amusement rides like the Zipper. But, when the music I heard at family parties reverbed through my body in Antigua, it was a formative experience. I had never seen people dance through the streets at sunrise. Trucks sprayed water to cool down the revelers, and following suit, I took a jug of water and poured it on my head and “jumped-up,” which Jamaica Kincaid once defined in a 1974 article as being so excited that you can’t sit still, “and that happens all the time during Carnival.” On J’ouvert morning, you dance in paint, powder, water, mud, or even chocolate. As fun as it is to get dirty, it’s the antithesis of “pretty mas,” with its carefully constructed outfits, it’s what residents, the West Indian diaspora, and soca junkies spend months preparing for.

The origins of West Indian carnival can be traced back to 1833, in Trinidad and Tobago, when the emancipation bill was passed. The enslaved population reclaimed carnival by tapping into African traditions, contrary to the racist negues jardin, or blackface costumes that the French colonizers wore to imitate slavery. The traditional costumes worn by Trinidadians of African descent were handmade and inspired by folklore. Burrokeet is a costume made from bamboo and fabric that creates the illusion of a dancer riding a donkey; the Bookman is a devilish character who wears Tudor-style pants and a velvet and satin gown and carries a pen in one hand and a giant book in the other; and the Jab Molassie is another dark spirit. Today, these traditional costumes tend to take a secondary role to the revealing costumes decorated with jewels and feathers. Jamaica carnival started in 1989 with a band called the “Oakridge Boys,” and these days usually three bands touch road on Carnival Sunday with thousands of masqueraders dancing in their costumes behind the sound trucks.

Carnival chasers will start with Trinidad and Tobago carnival in February, play mas in Jamaica next—usually in April—and they’ll wash, rinse, and repeat as frequently as their paid-time-off balance allows. Revelers purchase costumes that are made-to-order four to six months in advance. Backline costumes cost at least $500 while frontline costumes with bigger, more ornate feather “backpacks” sell for about $2000. Stamina is a requirement, so it’s important to eat healthfully and work out months before the event. Some people (read: me) even recommend working out after a long night out to properly train for the countless all-inclusive parties and minimal sleep.

Technically, I had two years to prepare for Jamaica carnival, so I should be snatched, but the return was only announced a few months ago. In the weeks ahead of the festivities, I practiced yoga and went to Barry’s. I tried to minimize my carbohydrate intake, but it’s difficult to do because sushi and dollar slices are a staple in my diet. But, regardless of how I felt about my body, I reminded myself of one of the beautiful aims of carnival: flaunt your natural beauty and curves. Soca music and costumes encourage me and the other masqueraders to put aside their everyday anxieties, appreciate the blessings in life, and revel in their own greatness. The mantra is party more, worry less.

So, when it was revealed that Carnival would happen during the first week of July, I called my cousin Sade Swanston, who’s a veterinarian based between St. Maarten and Anguilla, and we booked our flights to Kingston. I signed up to “play mas”—meaning I joined a carnival troupe and danced in the parade—with a local band called Xodus, named for the 1977 album by Bob Marley and the Wailers and the sojourn that thousands of people make for Road March.

Every year, Carnival bands choose a theme, and then the section designers create costumes with respect to that theme. This year, the theme was “Enchanted,” and the troupe I played mas with was Krave. Tracy Boyce is the lead designer and co-owner with her husband, Avery Hackett, from Barbados. Together, they organized a theme called “Jinx” that reminded me of a jeweled fairy. I chose to jump-up in their section because their backline costume was the best option for my body type: I have a small torso and a fuller bust, and the bikini top provided the best support while allowing me to feel free to dance and chip all day. I’ve played mas before with bands called Myst and Tribe, in Antigua and Trinidad and Tobago respectively, and it’s in my ministry to wear a pair of tights. This year I tried a new brand called StocKing by a Jamaican entrepreneur named Kandi King. The fine, fishnet stockings she designed feature a V-cut that complements the shape of the bikini bottoms that provided a sleek look.

I picked up my costume and tights from the Pegasus Hotel, in Kingston, on the designated day for my section. When I got home, and tried it on, it felt like I was wearing gilded armor. The bikini top was mermaid blue with gold studs all over the bust. My favorite details were the turquoise crystals along the underwire. Pink, orange, and gold gems come to a point on the center bridge and cups. Also, I loved the minimalist wings, even though I still had to walk sideways like a crab to navigate through the crowd. Jamaica is an incubator for fashion and style, and I flew down a couple of weeks early to schedule appointments to seek out the best nail techs and make-up artists to help elevate my look.

A few days before Road March, I visited Kammy’s Posh Nails, on Hagley Park Road, for a Gel-X manicure. I opted for a purple and green ombre design decorated with gold foil. The night before my makeup appointment, I prepped my skin with an exfoliating and detoxifying mask by Clinique, followed by a hydrating rose sheet mask. On the day of Carnival, I rocked a wash ’n’ go, prepped with Pattern products. By 9 a.m., I headed to JahBoukie Glam Studio on Orange Street, in Kingston. Daniel Smith is the proprietor, and he told me he had been doing make-up professionally for about five years. I was transformed from an everyday journalist and writer to an empress.

When it comes to carnival makeup, more is more. Smith started by shaping my eyebrows. Then he built a dazzling look with blue and purple eyeshadows, topped with pink and blue glitter. He applied neon orange eyeliner that popped against the sparkle. What is Smith’s trick to help his artwork withstand hours of sweat and sun? Milk of Magnesia. After moisturizer and primer, he brushed on a light coat. Once it dried, he blended NARS foundations to match my skin tone and used highlighters to accentuate my bone structure. Two hours later, my look was finished. My cousin Sade helped me change into my costume; it’s nearly impossible to put on a carnival costume without help. The feather backpack, arm, and leg pieces are all tied onto your body. When I put my hand pieces on and looked in the mirror, I was taken aback. After waiting two years for carnival in Jamaica, I was a colorful warrior pixie ready for the road. Here are some photos of me getting ready for the day and then during the Road March when my superpowers were fully activated.