My parents blessed me with long eyelashes but, somewhere along the line between the awkward pre-teen stage and young adulthood, the universe cursed me and said sure, you can have long lashes, but not ones that curl. My eyelashes are naturally straight with absolutely no fluidity. Not even the highest rated of eyelash curlers can change their stubborn ways and, trust me, I've tried. So I've been pondering the idea of a lash lift for years now and finally, now that I'm somewhat of a beauty editor, decided it was the right time.
As someone who has experienced the fall out of chemically damaged hair, doing anything to any of the hairs on my body makes me a little nervous. I did recently step out of my comfort zone, though, by bleaching my eyebrows: did I completely destroy my brows? Still to be determined. I've also learned that these things aren't so serious, it's only hair, you only live once, etc. My lash lift fears were the exact same as my bleached brow fear: that every single hair would fall out. There are risks with every cosmetic procedure so there are countless horror stories online that deterred me from going through with the lift. Until now, that is.
What Is A Keratin Lash Lift
Prior to actually getting one, I always thought of a lash lift as the professional curling of the eyelashes. And I wasn't wrong. A keratin lash lift is essentially an eyelash perm, shaping, lifting, and curling the eyelashes for about two months. Silicone pads shape the lashes, a keratin solution is applied to the lashes, and then one has to sit with it on for about 45 minutes. The result is defined and curled lashes.
Before
My Keratin Lash Lift Experience
I selected SILKK Esthetics in Bushwick, Brooklyn because it's well reviewed (and a five minute walk from my home). I went into this experience blindly, with genuinely no concept of how a lash lift works or is done, and right before I had to head to Sabrina Carpenter at Madison Square Garden. When I was told that I would have to lie down with my eye closed for an hour with nothing but my own thoughts, I admittedly got a little nervous. Again, what was I expecting? I, in true Capricorn manner, chose to kill two birds with one stone and have my polygel nail extensions removed while my lashes were being lifted. Efficiency is everything for my earth sign soul. First, my lashes were cleaned and then medical tape and patches were placed around my eyes.
Now it was time to place my lashes in a silicone lash pad. The poking around and hands in the general area of eyeballs admittedly had me feeling a little wary. The keratin solution was applied, a timer was set, and I was told to simply relax (easier said than done).
Something about being told to keep my eyes closed for an hour was anxiety inducing. As I impatiently lied there, I thought about all of the things I could be doing instead: catching up on work, getting to Madison Square Garden early enough to catch both opening acts, or actually sleeping, for example. Every now and then the above ground J-train would roar past, shaking the room a bit. The nail drill, both the sound and the feeling, felt more overstimulating with my eyes closed. I was trying my best to take mental notes of what I was feeling for this story that you're currently reading and I wanted to look at my phone so desperately. Timers would go off, more solution would be applied, so on and so forth. At the end, a biotin serum was applied for my lashes for the sake of encouraging growth. A mirror was handed to me and I was genuinely stunned: I knew that I had long eyelashes, but I had never seen them like that. And by "like that" I mean actually curled. It felt miraculous.
After
The medical tape was removed from my face, the areas around my eyes were cleaned, I was told not to get my face (eyelashes in particular, of course) wet for at least 24 hours, and I was sent on my way. I went to the Sabrina Carpenter concert, sang along to "Please Please Please," and danced the night away. When I got home, I made a huge mistake. I was so proud of myself for walking myself to my bathroom sink, dispensing cleansing oil into my palm, and removing my makeup instead of succumbing to the urge to just crawl into bed and pay whatever the price might be in the morning—truly, I felt like an icon. I guess somewhere between "Nobody's Son" and the struggle to get an uber out of Madison Square Garden, I completely forgot that I got a lash lift right before the concert? Or the single piece of advice I was given post-lift had fully escaped me? Either way, some of the remaining solution was certainly wiped off. This is the state of my lashes the following day:
I'll leave you with this piece of advice: get a lash lift if you have an hour to spare to be alone with your thoughts, but don't immediately proceed to have too much fun at a Sabrina Carpenter concert that you forget the literal one post-lash lift rule.
