2nd-Day Black Eyeliner
I mean maybe it's fine.
Welcome to Cheaper Than Therapy, a healing newsletter for 80s babies by Shani Silver. This newsletter does not publish free content, but if you’d like to read it you can subscribe here. Thank you for enjoying the work of independent writers.
What’s the last thing you outgrew? Did you even notice it happened, or did you just stop doing a specific behavior at some unremarkable point in time? I typically don’t notice the things I’ve outgrown, or was supposed to outgrow, unless I feel the itchy shame of being “too old” for a particular activity. You’ve met the feeling before. You know what perfume it wears. It’s the emotional equivalent of trying on your old prom dress. Even if it fits…it doesn’t.
My move to New Orleans was partly for the costumes, I can admit that. I came here knowing I’d have many, many more reasons to escape into sartorial fantasy than I’d ever had before. I currently own more sequin caftans than well-fitting jeans, if that shines light on the situation for you. Recently, the morning after a parade—normal—I woke up with a slight suggestion of a Costco Prosecco hangover and even after I washed my face in the sink, I could still see the stubborn remains of black eyeliner shading the real estate beneath my lower lash. It was the sort of thing you’d see in the mirror in your twenties—the early ones. At first I felt bad about myself, a 41-year-old still waking up to post-party face. But then…wait…fucking why?