I’ve been using the same mascara since eighth grade. I copied a girl in my class who had the prettiest eyelashes I’d ever seen, and once I bought my own tube of the mystical lash shellac, I was hooked.
It was almost like a point of pride. “We’ve been together for about 9 years now,” I’d coo when someone asked what brand I used. I’ve never been so loyal to a product in my entire life (ask me what type of toothpaste I prefer and I’ll stare at you blankly), and frankly I saw no reason to fix what wasn’t broken.
Until, that is, this past summer. The beauty editor at my old job was re-organizing her closet. I forgot to put on mascara that morning and had to run out to an important press appointment. I’m fine not wearing makeup in public, but on this particular day I decided my naked face had rendered me unfit for the public eye. Death looked better than me.
And then, my magazine fairy godmother handed me her magic wand. “Do you want this,” she asked while handing me sample of Estée Lauder’s ‘Sumptuous Extreme’ mascara. It wasn’t my brand, but it was free, and I was in no position to turn down anything that could potentially help my face. One flawless swipe of the jet black ink and my lashes turned into long, separated spindles.
They’d never looked like this before, and the craziest part was that it also appeared totally natural. “Oh no, silly, I’m not related to Elizabeth Taylor,” I’d surely have to tell everyone I encountered. “These are my real lashes, swear,” I would also probably have to say.
Since making the official switch to my new miracle mascara, I’ve only had to use the “real lash” line once. I’ve not, however, corrected people when they mistake me for a young Elizabeth Taylor. I just bat my eyes instead.