Beauty Virgin: I Spent 3 Weeks with Eyelash Extensions
After living an eyelash-obsessed life for, oh I don't know, as long as I can remember, I decided to look into eyelash extensions. I read hundreds of reviews (on Yelp and by other beauty editors in the industry) nightly. On more nights than I'd like to admit, I found myself wide-eyed at 4 a.m. in a deep Google-hole of epic proportions.
It's interesting to think that the tiny hairs that happen to grow out of my eyelids make such a difference in my appearance, my confidence, and subsequently, my daily life. I love the idea of flirtatiously batting an eyelash. I relish the thought of a well-manicured side eye. Twiggy's mod lashes make me feel faint. Does this make me sound nuts? Perhaps. But I'm a beauty editor, you guys. Wouldn't you rather I care too much than not at all?
So, after weeks of preparing and weighing my options, I decided to bite the bullet. Or glue the lash. To be honest, I have pretty long lashes to begin with. But a girl's allowed a little extra oomph now and again. Lashes and lips, baby. That's my motto.
I called in the talents of Wink Brow Bar, a magical place where lashes and eyebrows are their specialty. On the morning of my appointment I was admittedly nervous. I had read a few horror stories about the procedure. But, I walked in and was immediately put at ease. I was scheduled to get a lash tint (which takes about 15 minutes) and then the full monty of lash extensions (which can take up to 90 minutes to apply). Part of the reason I was so hyped on the extensions was to finally conceal my blonde eyelashes, and the lash tint proved imperative.
The vibes at Wink were calm and all around really lovely. Once I sat down, the technician applied the dye. Fifteen minutes later, I had inky black lashes and was totally feeling it. I then moved downstairs for the extensions (it was a bed that brought back Brazilian wax memories so my serene chakra was out the window). Not to mention, I had to have my eyes taped shut. Yeah, it felt (and looked, as evidence by the picture below) really freaky.
Luckily, the technician kept warm pressure on my forehead the entire time to keep me still and soothed. The procedure didn't feel like anything. It didn't hurt, it wasn't uncomfortable, nothing. All I had to do is lie down with my eyes closed for an hour and a half—which I've been known to do for fun.
Once finished, I had fluttery, customized lashes that lined my lids in the most gorgeous way. I was also surprised at how natural they looked—with just bit of added thickness (and no gross smudges). I snapped a few selfies and went back to work.
For the next few days, I felt amazing. I don't wear makeup to work so my coworkers were enthralled with my dark, full lashes. I would wake up, brush them out, and be on my way. They warn you not to wear mascara and to avoid getting them wet as much as possible, so I was really precious about it. I stopped wearing eye makeup all together as to not mess with the glue or the look of my new lashes. Washing my face became a meticulous procedure. So much so, though, that at the end of three weeks I was tired of it.
The lashes still looked as good as ever (they're meant to last up to six weeks) but I yearned for the days when I could wipe my makeup off, ferociously lather my face, and smear as many thick coatings of eye cream on as humanly possible. I didn't want to have to be careful anymore, I just wanted to feel clean. So, I ended up taking the extensions off. And man, did that feel great.
I looked in the mirror yesterday (my first day post-lashes) and though I still have a twinge of nostalgia for the look of my extensions, I'll take my regular-sized lashes any day. Is this is a lesson in accepting ourselves for how we naturally look? Perhaps. But I'll try anything once. And I definitely got some good selfies out of it.