The Moonlight Sewer and Her Starry Spools
My tired face tortured by mascara clumping was reflected on the subway glass at 11 o’clock in the night. A bony hand suddenly stretched out from the front row, and a pearly white diamond-shaped tool was twirling between the fingers, like holding a piece of solidified moonlight. “Try this?” The girl wearing a mask curved her eyes into a bridge, “I just stole the secret weapon from the Milan show.”
Treasure products
The double-headed brush in my makeup bag reminds me of my grandmother’s old sewing machine. The diamond-shaped brush head flows with the warmth of nylon thread, like a silver needle running through satin, combing the messy eyelashes into a fan-like order. Turning my wrist, the moment the stainless steel comb teeth pass over the brow peak, the cold touch awakens the sleeping hair flow, and they follow the 0.15mm precision track to weave a furry wild eyebrow.
I love the crisp sound when the protective case is opened and closed, which is full of ritual, just like opening an antique pocket watch. Last week, I was traveling in Hokkaido. In the wind and snow at minus 15 degrees Celsius, this little tool wrapped in white frost still neatly picked up the frozen mascara. When the flight attendant saw it, she took out her phone and asked me for the link.
My makeup artist friend said it was the Swiss Army Knife of the makeup world, but I think it’s more like a miniature art gallery that I carry with me – using the nylon tip to blend eyebrow powder in the morning is like ink painting, and using a steel comb to separate eyelashes at night is like fine brushwork. When the elevator mirror reflected the starlight on the tip of my eyelashes, I finally understood what the girl on the subway said: true refinement is hidden in tools that can breathe.
