NYC Beauty Ritual: Eyelash Extensions

As written for pop culture site Crushable.com 
Confession: I am beyond obsessed with whatever it is that makes Hollywood’s movers and shakers look, well, nothing like the rest of us. I’m addicted to Life & Style and Allure — if Heidi Montag’s had it nipped and Madonna’s had it tucked, I probably read it first. Rachel Bilson swears by $1,300 jars of La Mer? Why, I love Rachel. Rachel has great skin. Off I go to the nearest Bergdorf and Bloomie’s to feign interest in making a massive purchase, scoring a few samples in the process.

So it should come as no shocker that my most recent fascination came in the form of eyelash extensions. Paris Hilton, Molly Sims, Ashley Tisdale and Danielle Jonas (yes, the eldest JoBro’s wifey) all swear by ’em. So when I randomly won a Twitter contest hosted by @WEtv (don’t hate — I dig their Golden Girls re-runs) for a free Xtreme Lashes application, I. Was. Psyched. I never win anything, let alone a fancy schmancy $300 procedure! Luckily, I live in NYC and immediately requested Xtreme lash stylist to the stars, Cheri Wroblewski of Lash Boutique. If I’m going to spend two hours having someone poke and prod at my eyelids, I want the best.

As requested, I arrived at Cheri’s adorable midtown lash studio at 9am on a Thursday, sans eye makeup. Professional and sweet as ever, Cheri took one look at me, stated that I have gorgeous “cat eyes” (hey, I’ll take it) and said she had the perfect lash look in mind. Apparently, the “looks” can range anywhere from natural to dramatic to OMG-my-lashes-touch-my-forehead. I lay down amidst a cluster of itty-bitty jars of synthetic lashes, and Cheri placed a pair of soothing anti-wrinkle pads underneath my eyes. I closed my eyelids and instantly relaxed. Self-proclaimed ambidextrous, she quickly worked with both hands and two teeny pairs of tweezers — isolating one of my lashes with one hand and placing a single lash extension on the base with the other, using a hi-tech medical adhesive. It was literally an eyelash extension. I was in awe. Throughout the next hour, I barely felt a thing. Sure, there was the occasional tug, but nothing crazy. No irritation whatsoever. When she was finished, I sat up, looked in a mirror and squealed like your little sister at a Justin Bieber concert. I’m not exaggerating when I say that my face was completely transformed, and I wasn’t even wearing makeup (obviously a daily ritual for me, see first ’graph). Cheri the Miracle Worker had meticulously applied nearly 200 individual eyelashes in just over an hour! I thanked her, left a generous tip and skipped five blocks to work, batting my lashes at anyone who dared glance my way. 

The New York Haircut

In a town where a decent haircut can cost you upwards of $70, it was inevitable. Cleverly called D.d.U. Model Project* (aka Dumble & Dumble University*), they make it their mission to lure you in with fancy paper cups of water and a hip meatpacking-district location. That, along with the trendy marketing, the rave reviews from acquaintances and the fact that it was free — OK, maybe just the fact that it was free — and I was hooked. They assessed my hair type, told me I was suitable for a haircut (praise Jesus!), and booked me for a Long Layers Razor Cut. Just one thing. Everyone who knows me, knows that I can't make a decision to save my life. A week before my appointment, I decided I wanted a change and switched to a Razor Bob Cut. I was under the impression that the cut would be funky and cool, not Hillary Clinton. My mistake. Have you ever heard of a cool bob? Am moron. Nonetheless, I assumed they would work with me, my hair type and my lifestyle (I have a creative job and don't wear pantsuits to work).

I was doomed from the moment I sat down. There I am, with about 19 other girls sitting in little barber stools. The students stylists shuffle in and make small talk with their victims clients. I'm alone. Palms are starting to sweat. Am feeling like the odd man out in 6th grade gym class. Finally, a petite woman wearing a giant rhinestone belt buckle walks over and introduces herself as Jody*. I have a thing for firm handshakes; hers was weak. Strike one...