A couple of years ago while working for a non-profit, I was responsible for interviewing talented and skilled people to teach the students in our programs. I interviewed all sorts of people but none made quite the impact as we will call her Lucy Lopan.
This woman walks in, mid-twenties, wearing the kind of perfume that engulfs a space and lingers long after she has left the room. Her long hair was perfectly flowing in large waves of black that matched her outfit. She had the kind of makeup on that covers every single pore and enough layers of eye shadow, blush and lipstick that an hour long power wash would not scrape the surface. She was pretty…the kind of girl that you see working up and down the aisles of Sephora.
The interview was conducted by me and I had a —-oh wait— how could I forget the most important part. She had fake lashes- the kind that look like they could be natural but are long enough to be noticeably unnatural. Okay- so my coworker and I interview this woman. Lucy Lopan leaves her card with her perfect photoshopped pic and walks out. For the next ten minutes my coworker goes on and on about her. And I let a thought slip out of my mouth- the kind of thought that you know should only be shared with your closest, bestest girl friends-not with your coworker man-child. “I’ve always wanted to be one of those girls…”
The moment it came out of my mouth I cringed. Loud obnoxious laughter followed. Embarrassing, loud obnoxious laughter. Challenge accepted.
For the next two weeks, I pulled out the big guns. I’ve always had a love for makeup and have spent way to much money at Laura Mercier counter at Saks…and the Nars counters…and Kiehl’s because what’s the point of all that color is your skin is grody. I digress.
Now I’ve always worn a full face of makeup but never to the max…not like those girls. So I pulled it all out: bronzers, highlighters, tight-line, eyeliners. I must have added like ten new products to my already expanse make up routine. And then I topped it all off with a nice pair of eyelashes. Yes, for two weeks this became my ritual. Oh and I invested in this amazing volumizer. I had the face and the hair…I became one of those girls.
How did I feel? I loved the look but the work was too much and let’s face it- I worked for a non-proft working with inner city youth-the look was a bit much. And the lashes everyday? The truth is I have pretty nice lashes as it is. I did struggle every morning to put them on, however, the last day I wore them, I put them on like a boss.
Every thing was going great till casual Friday. I can not remember what I wore, but I remember feel great about the way I turned out. A group of us went out for lunch to a local cafe, mind you two weeks have gone by and I am basking (not just cause of the bronzer) in my new look. The coworker from the interview puts his hand to my face as I am about to take a bite of my sandwich, “Are you still wearing the fake lashes?” All eyes on me.
I sit there in silence for what felt like thirty minutes, even though it was probably only a few seconds, “Yeah, and?” I was horrified and a bit surprised that everyone seemed to have grown accustomed the new me. Then everyone started asking questions about the lashes- “Do they hurt?” “How long does it take?” Blah, blah, blah.
That was the topic for the rest of lunch. And that was the end of that.
I still have an unopened pack of lashes in my makeup drawer and stare at it fondly from time to time. I dream of taking them out on the town, maybe shopping for toiletries at Target or dinner at Whole Foods. Sometimes I imagine that we are running through a waterfall and run out drenched they intact. But it must remain a dream, at least for now. Maybe I’ll bust them out on our wedding anniversary. Or maybe they make an appearance at Sunday brunch. All I know is that I must not let that girl die- she had fun shellac face and all.
Love Junkie. 