Oscar Blitz 2025 – Makeup and Hairstyling (VIDEO)

I like to keep things simple. It’s not that I can’t do complicated stuff, it’s just that I choose not to, at least in my free time. My actual work is detailed and heavily complex at times, and thankfully I love it, because it makes it so I barely notice just how hard it can be. When I had more stressful jobs, this was even more pronounced. So as I’ve gotten older, I’ve sought out ease wherever possible. I prefer foods that don’t take a ton of time to cook. I have a love affair with naps that I cherish more and more with each passing day. Even this lovely hobby of mine was born out of the basic joy of going to the movies and talking about them with others, and I’ve always approached everything I do here as nice and smooth. If it ever stops being enjoyable, I’ll stop doing it. I don’t get paid for any of this, so I have no obligations other than what I make for myself.

I wasn’t always like this. As a kid, I yearned for every challenge I could get, whether it was a tough video game or an all-encompassing school project. When you’re bullied constantly and told that you’re worthless on a near daily basis, you go above and beyond to prove the world wrong. Outside of the physical beatings, the biggest cries I had back then were the times I failed to live up to the high standards I set for myself. For instance, I studied my ass off every year for the spelling bee, only to choke at the moment of truth. Sixth grade, my final attempt, was particularly devastating, as some of my tormenters were serving as judges in my homeroom preliminary, and they intentionally let slide a mistake I made only to wait until it was down to me and one other kid before going back to eliminate me. Thankfully, the teacher realized what was going on even before I created a literal puddle of tears on my desk (which I then napped on due to pure emotional exhaustion), and decided to hold a do-over the next day from the point where I was knocked out (I later won for my class and finished second in the school-wide bee; disappointing, but good enough).

But this drive also led to my few legitimate triumphs. In middle school, for example, my choir did a silly Spanish song about farm animals for Multicultural Week (I think it’s called “Vengan a Ver Mi Granja”). We would literally sing a Sesame Street-esque refrain, then a soloist would go up to the microphone and sing a line about a specific animal, followed by its barnyard sound, then another refrain to complete the cycle. It was kind of lame, but pretty much everything you do at that age is. There were 10 “solos,” and I was the last to go up. The teacher gave us all toys representing our creatures to hold up while we performed, and one by one we all did our bit. The first nine basically just went up and came back as quickly as possible, but for me, since it was my one moment in the spotlight for this year in chorus, I decided to go for the gusto. I practiced outside of school, listening to a recording that the director lent me, so I could get as close to the proper pronunciations and accent as possible, even though I barely understood what I was singing. When my time came, I marched to the mic holding a plushie of Donald Duck, and with every ounce of my being, belted out “El patito hace aci” and the most convincing quacking sound I could make. Like all the others, I did my line twice, each time eliciting uproarious laughter from the audience of bored parents, and as I walked back to my place on the risers, applause broke out. There were no programs for that performance. The crowd didn’t know the song was finally over. What they saw was one kid out of 10 committed to the bit, and they rewarded me with the praise that my peers never did. When we watched a video of it in class the next week, even the teacher, who had to be neutral and diplomatic about “team efforts,” had to concede that I won this one, much to everyone else’s chagrin.

These are just the oddest examples I can give, but my point is that in my younger days, I would go all out and try to make things harder on myself. Often it was my only means of standing out in a positive way, and given my socioeconomic background, my mom kind of hammered into my sister and I from the moment we could understand the concept that we had to work extra hard to get into a good college in order to have a shot at improving our lot in life. So it became part of my identity. I’d read Shakespeare on my free time. When I was in a play, I’d memorize not just my own lines but everyone else’s for whatever scenes I was in, just in case I needed to find a way to cue them when they forgot. For my first high school research paper, I chose to study and question the very concept of “modern drama,” leading the library assistant to openly wonder why I never took the easy way out, as most of the others were looking up things like whales or tobacco or AIDS, topics that had no real thesis but plenty of resources for kids to comb through and figure out what they wanted to say.

What does any of this have to do with Makeup and Hairstyling? I’m getting to it, trust me. I mentioned this when discussing the category in last year’s Blitz that I had a rat tail for seven years, a kindness initially allowed by my mother after a very dark year where I went to the ultimate emotional edge, but one that quickly became a needless burden. I knew I could get rid of it whenever I wanted, but after the first attempt by others to forcibly remove it (a weeklong “day camp” for “troubled kids” after sixth grade), it became another challenge to conquer. This stupid growth of hair was mine to do with on my terms, no one else’s. So I kept it going, even though it likely contributed to my lack of a social life. Once I finally cut it, at the predetermined time of high school graduation, I finally realized that a lot of my difficulties were self-imposed for no good reason other than personal pride. Who was I doing this for? Sure, it proved a point, and I kept my word to mom, but beyond that, who actually benefitted from this? Because I sure wasn’t.

From that point on, something just sort of switched on in my head, and I became more focused on chilling the fuck out. I’m far from perfect, and I’ve had to seek out therapy on multiple occasions to sort of get myself together and handle my anxieties and other issues, but I stopped intentionally throwing up my own hurdles. In that same preamble from last year (literally one year and one day ago), I also mentioned a couple other experiments I did with my hair in my first year of college (shaving bald, then styling with gel once it grew back), but even that was too much of a hassle, and it only confirmed that I was wasting my own time. I started growing a goatee in junior year, mostly so I wouldn’t get carded when I bought lottery tickets or beer back home. I kept it for several more years, just because it was easy maintenance that fit into my routine. When I got rid of it, I earned the nickname of “Babyface” from one of the Production Assistants I worked with, forging a genuine friendship that I always wondered if it had the potential to be something more.

What mattered for my life going forward was that I had a reason to do something with my appearance. I had clear results that showed I looked better without facial hair. Even when I dated my next girlfriend, she preferred me clean shaven because it meant cuddling without irritation. So there’s a point to it now, something I can verify that makes the extra effort worth it. It’s not an obstacle, but a contribution to the chill factor. And honestly, even I think it looks better now that those hairs have started turning grey. It’s now harder to let it grow out than it is to keep things smooth and trim. That’s what it means to keep shit simple to me, and why I’m eternally flummoxed by the amount of effort that goes into the effects we see when discussing this category. I bow to those who spend their lives making this craft look easy.

One last example as an epilogue to all this. I mentioned this a few days ago, but last fall I filmed a TV pilot for a major streamer, where I was on-camera talent. Again, I can’t really say what the show’s about, but I think it’s safe to mention that I was part of a quartet of participants. When it came time to shoot, we went to the makeup trailer to make ourselves pretty. I opted to go last, as I didn’t really care about all that. The other three each took about 10 minutes to get their hair and cosmetics as camera ready as possible. I was done in two. My hair was short and needed no product to prevent it moving, and sheen was our enemy given the way stage lights can reflect. The artist applied a small amount of foundation, and just a touch of eyeliner, and that was it. Lemon squeezy. Keep that in mind for your Valentine’s dates, and spare a thought for those of us who can’t be bothered. I’m a basic bitch and I like it that way!

This year’s nominees for Makeup and Hairstyling are… in the video below!

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I know it’s odd that I took up all this space to talk about how great it is to be an HMU minimalist, only to go into as much detail as possible in the video, but that’s just how into this shit I am. I have no expertise in this area, and I never will, but like every other discipline I can’t master, I remain in awe of those who can do it, and I’ll always be appreciative of their labors.

My Rankings:
Are in the video.

Who do you think should win? Vote now in the poll below!

Up next, the Blitz is on break for two days, but that doesn’t mean we stop! The Short Film categories were released to the public today, and I’ve already cleared the Documentaries off my list. I’ll watch the other two tomorrow. I also plan to wrap up 2024 film coverage with the final backlog reviews for Animation and Documentary Feature, as well as an apology for an International submission I forgot. Then on Monday, we’re back once again with one of those ultra fun contests that I’ll be taking in. It’s Live Action Short!

Join the conversation in the comments below! How much work do you put into your hair and/or makeup routine? Have you ever made a defiant statement with your personal style? How exactly does one birth a tit from an eye socket? Let me know! And remember, you can follow me on Twitter (fuck “X”) as well as Bluesky, and subscribe to my YouTube channel for even more content, and check out the entire BTRP Media Network at btrpmedia.com!