When we began putting together our zombie apocalypse survival guide, I suggested that some photos of a zombie roaming through the city’s streets could be a nice visual accompaniment. When my editor asked me if I would be willing to become Time Out Chicago’s resident flesh-eater, I naively volunteered my face, not really knowing what the process would entail.
The folks at Kryolan, a professional make-up company that sponsors the SyFy special effects artist competition Face Off, kindly offered to give me my zombie makeover. An email exchange with a Kryolan representative confirmed my worst fear about the process: I would have to get rid of my beard before I could be transformed. I’m attached to my facial hair and my co-workers can attest that I look pretty strange without it, but I dutifully shaved the offending whiskers and showed up for my early morning appointment at Kryolan with nary a hint of stubble on my chin.
Ulrike Bege, the district manager of Chicago’s Kryolan store, talked me through the process before I got in the chair and began my transformation. It all started with a coat of moisturizer, in the hope that my skin would be left silky smooth after the removal of the makeup. I’m not the kind of guy who can get a tan, so my face already possesses a somewhat deathly pallor, but Ulrike put something on my face that made it look bereft of blood flow. Next came the bruises, in shades of purple, red and green, heavily concentrated around my eyes so that they appeared sunken and lifeless.
I chatted with Ulrike throughout the process and discovered that Halloween is her favorite time of year to be a make-up artist. “We spend all year making people beautiful,” she told me as she painted thin blue veins on my neck and forehead, “It’s fun to have the opportunity to make someone ugly.” It helps that Ulrike is truly talented at the art of zombification—she even teaches an annual zombie makeup class at the Kryolan store.
When Ulrike got out a piece of wax and some spirit glue, I knew things were getting serious. She shaped the wax into a bite mark and placed it on my forehead, securing it with the glue before applying some make-up that made it blend in with my skin. The next part of the process was my least favorite—Ulrike told me to close my eyes as she covered my lids with a thick coat of eye shadow. What came next was even more uncomfortable, requiring me to keep my eyes open as she applied some red eyeliner on each lid to make me appear sickly. Ladies, I’m not sure how you haven’t poked out your eyes.
The final steps of my descent into the undead were the ones that ultimately made me appear truly horrifying. Some brown enamel on my teeth made it look like I hadn’t brushed in several weeks (though I like to think that as a zombie, I might still have the decency to floss with some of my victims’ hair.) When Ulrike pulled out a container labeled “Fresh Scratch” I had a pretty good idea of what was coming next. The gooey, red stuff was applied to my “bite” and around my mouth, giving me the appearance of a zombie who had just eaten a really great, albeit disgusting, lunch.
My walking dead look complete, I ventured out into the world to face the frightened stares of mothers with strollers and confused passersby as we began our zombie photoshoot. Perhaps the best reaction I received was from a man on an El platform who seemed genuinely concerned that I had just been jumped and beat up. At first, I felt a little embarrassed about walking around with a face caked in fake blood and an oozing wound on my temple, but I slowly embraced the surreal quality of the experience. How often do you get to seeing a “real” zombie ambling through the Loop? Just be glad that I hate the taste of brains.