So I’ve got some vices.
And yeah, wine, but no. I don’t get my nails done, I havn’t gotten my hair done since like, 2013, and lucky thrift store finds comprise the main space in my closet. I’ve been on a money-diet.
As a long-time makeup fanatic, it’s safe to say my kit is stacked. Seriously, it’s stacked. Bronzer-obsesser and longtime lipstick lover – it’s just who I am, but I don’t do mascara.
And it’s not because I don’t see the aesthetic value in bambi-esque lashes, it’s because I’d prefer to sleep for 5 extra minutes in the morning. And because in the summer, sometimes, I like being able to do a backflip into the pool when the mood strikes without ending up looking like the Joker in The Dark Knight.
I get lash extensions.
And they’re fabulous. And it doesn’t hurt, and no I’m not high-maintanance.
This is me after six weeks without a fill (not bad?):
For 45 minutes, every month, at less than $50, I have individual, synthetic hairs bonded on each of my lashes. Tedious? Maybe, but it’s about the same price as good mascara, and I’d rather be doing something more productive than applying mascara, like making coffee.
When I had LASIK eye surgery done a few months ago, I had to go sans lashes. I fretted a bit about the possibility of having to sport baby lashes after being addicted to such boldness for two years, but all was good. They were slightly sparse at first, but within two weeks they were back to their normal level of lushness.
Here’s a good example of a virgin lash vs. lash extension:
Mind blowing, almost.