My first wing was a sad, limp noodle of a stroke. I had been tricked—tricked, I tell you!—by the Big Eyeliner lobby into believing that drawing a cat eye was as simple as a flick of the wrist. In my mind, my wings were like hands on a steering wheel—perfectly positioned at 10 and 2. In reality, one was an hour early; the other was an hour late.
After dozens of failed attempts, I turned to Internet hacks like Scotch tape, a bobby pin, floss, a business card, and then various stamps and stencils that had hit the market. Mastering the cat eye on my tricky monolids became an obsession. I pored over photos and videos of people wearing the perfect wings as I attempted to reverse-engineer a razor-sharp Adele…
