Few things make the heart race more than mascara. Drenched in gobs of black, eyelashes provide inner strength and resilience. I write about makeup and The Dolls are effusive with commentary. And, yes, unlike my stuffed bra, they’re real.
So imagine my surprise when trolling buzzfeed I spy Too Faced Cosmetics article, “13 Things Anyone Obsessed With Mascara Will Understand.” Turns out it’s an ad for Better Than Sex Mascara, but their points are valid.
It is the only makeup you need. Well, mostly. In a pinch. Like it’s Sunday or a girl is doing the walk of shame. Well, maybe not that one ‘cuz she’s probably sporting last night’s smokey eye to the tune of, “Is that a tranny or a real girl wearing spike heels and two black holes as eyes at 8 a.m.?” Not that I know a damn thing about cruising the walk of shame at my age but still, that might be how it is. Pfft.
It is the first makeup you tried and it blew your middle school mind. Can I get a hallelujah? Truer words. This is not fake news, Donald. This is the real deal. Who doesn’t remember the first time the contents of the magic tube coated your lashes with the mystical goo that would carry you to the next level of beauty and beyond? To this day, if you’re honest, you admit there’s a rush as lashes grow and widen with each coat. You don’t? You’re a liar.
You feel naked without it. Some of us would not know. Without it comes only with sleep and darkness. No mascara? No opening a knock at the door, taking out the garbage or excursions of any sort. In high school I went to a party sans mascara and a boy said, “Wow I didn’t even recognize you.” After I punched him in the face and never spoke to him again, mascara became a mainstay. And he missed out when I really hit my makeup stride and added foundation. There was no living with me then.
When someone asks if your lashes are fake–it’s a compliment. No lie. The answer is the same as when someone asks if diamonds are real. “Would I wear fakes?” Whether I would is not the point–basically do you want to insult me or not? Am I really the sort of enemy you want to make? Of course, they’re real. They are the culmination of forty years of practice. Mascara and words are the only things at which I excel.
If someone says they look clumpy–wait, whaaaa? I have no idea what that would be like. But I think the answer might be much like the boy in high school–a punch in the face and a “you are dead to me” stare.
You see someone else’s amazing lashes and compliment them. Always. And if I’m trumped I own it, fawning on about the other girl’s talent. That paired with sidling up to check if they’re fake.
I don’t know anything about Too Faced Better Than Sex Mascara. They say it’s good. I stick to my drug store brand that serves me so well. I don’t need another thing. Except foundation and pearls and shoes and a sheath dress and my hair done.
Oh hell, it’s a complete overhaul every morning. The truth hurts.
The Duchess Diaries 