There are certain fashion and beauty trends that leave me scratching my head so vigorously, I’m worried I’ll give myself whiplash. And at the top of that list, vying for the coveted "Most Perplexing" award, are certain iterations of fake hair and… well, let’s call them "statement" eyelashes. My brain genuinely just doesn't compute. It's not judgment (yes, it is), it’s pure, unadulterated, polite bewilderment. And judgment. Not gonna lie.
Let’s start with the hair. Now, I get it – bad hair days happen, hair loss is a thing, and sometimes you just want a new look. Trust me: as a Buff Boy, there is much emphasis on my hair. Do the other guys judge me for it? Yup. Do I judge them on theirs? Just ask Gabe.
But then there are the wigs. And I’m not talking about the 'I-can’t-believe-that’s-not-her-real-hair' kind. I'm talking about the 'I-can-believe-that’s-not-her-real-hair-from-three-blocks-away' kind.
There's a mall I walk through at least twice per week, a shortcut to the post office where we pick up our mail. Every time I walk through, there she is: a lovely older woman, sitting serenely, sporting what can only be described as a black helmet of synthetic despair. (Think Sia but even more fake looking.) It doesn't even attempt to look like natural hair. Every fiber of my being struggles to resist the urge to approach her, tap her gently on the shoulder, and ask, "Excuse me, with all due respect, how do you think that looks?" It's a silent plea for clarity, a desperate search for understanding in a world of polyester strands.
And then, oh, then we move onto the eyelashes. Specifically, the ones that seem to defy gravity, logic, and possibly the laws of physics. We’re talking about those foot-long, avant-garde dust-catchers that look like they could single-handedly sweep a small, dusty attic. What, pray tell, is the point? I stare at them, transfixed, trying to decipher the message they’re sending. Is it 'I love extra volume'? Or 'I’m preparing for takeoff'? Or perhaps, 'I enjoy the sensation of having two tiny feather dusters framing my vision'?
Eyelashes, to my rather unscientific observation, are arguably the most universally standard feature on the human face. They’re just… eyelashes. They serve a purpose (keep dust out!), they come in various shades of brown/black, and generally, they’re just there. It's not like noses or lips, where there's a myriad of shapes and sizes. Eyelashes are eyelashes. Basic. Default settings. Yet, somehow, these high-maintenance extensions have become a 'thing' for a part of the body that requires precisely zero maintenance.
And here’s where my male brain (which, let me assure you, is generally quite fond of women in all their forms) really gets stuck. We hear all the time that women feel pressured to 'enhance' themselves because of societal expectations, often pinned on men. But I know a lot of men. A lot of men. And I can tell you, with absolute certainty, not one – not a single, solitary penis owner – has ever looked at a woman and thought, "Hmm, her natural eyelashes just aren't doing it for me." Or "If only those lashes were three times longer, my life would be complete." No. We don't notice. We don't care. We just see eyes. And eyelashes.
It's like someone decided, "You know that body part that asks nothing of us? The one that just exists perfectly fine on its own? Let’s make it high-maintenance! Let’s spend time, money and intricate effort to transform this perfectly functional, low-key feature into… a statement!" It feels like a self-imposed beauty Everest, a mountain climbed for reasons that remain utterly opaque to me. Is it for other women? Is it a secret society initiation ritual? A subtle homage to fictional cartoon characters with impossibly long lashes? The mystery deepens with every flutter.
Call me old-fashioned, call me clueless, but I’m still searching for the 'why.' Until then, I’ll be over here, appreciating the simple beauty of my natural hair and the unassuming charm of… well, just eyelashes. Because sometimes, less isn't just more; it's just right. And a lot less confusing.
And, really, quit blaming dudes for stuff.