I remember when I first learned of false eyelashes—I was watching a long-gone MTV show. I can’t remember the name of the show, the host, or even the premise, but I do remember that a girl was given a makeover. Her makeup artist applied false eyelashes, to which the amused (male) host replied: “it’s like a weave for your eyes!”
I vaguely remember reading a few years ago (in The New York Times, no less) that Jennifer Lopez prefers mink lashes. And I can acutely recall a cashier at the Rite Aid near my parents’ house who was a fan of fluttery lashes that were about as subtle as an anvil.
I didn’t dare try false eyelashes until a few times in college—and last week.
Falsies are available on a spectrum of price points (from $5 to you-have-got-to-be-kidding $400), different levels of intensity (Bambi to La Cage Aux Folles), and there are even feather ones (Nicki Minaj needs lashes, too).
I chose a practical set by Eyelure.
After patting my lids with a mahogany eyeshadow, I swiped my lashes with two coats of BADgal mascara. Using the lash kit, I drew a thin layer of glue along the edge of the falsies. I waited for the glue to become tacky (about 45 seconds) before inching the lashes closer to my eyelids.
Placement is the hardest part of the entire ordeal. If you’re off by just a millimeter up, down, left, or right, you end up looking quite foolish. I had to (really quickly!) adjust the lashes a few times so they could fit around my eye.
Eventually I affixed the lashes to a respectable location. At first I thought I looked ridiculous, but after an hour they grew on me. It turns out false eyelashes are a great boost to the ego. I mean, don’t I look fabulous?