Somewhere, Angela Chase is sobbing into the sleeve of her flannel shirt. Oh Claire Danes, honey, no. When I heard that you had signed on to shill for that creepy eyelash growing prescription medication, I was appalled. Latisse? The stuff that “may cause increased brown pigmentation of the colored part of the eye, which is most likely permanent?” What’s wrong with mascara? What’s wrong with normal lashes? Anything sounds better than a drug that will make your entire eye turn brow. Are longer lashes really worth “eyelid skin darkening, which may be reversible?” You were already so beautiful it hurt to look at you. Now you want everyone to get weird bushy eyelashes. This is not what you stand for. This is not what Angela would do. STOP RUINING MY CHILDHOOD!OK, sorry, I had a moment. Actress is not the character. Actress is not the character. Actress is not the character. But still, when an actress you identify so deeply with something meaningful in your life (and, oh my fucking God, “My So-Called Life” was meaningful, even if it only unjustly ran that one season), it hurts your soul when years later that person’s actions seem in diametric opposition to everything that you once held dear. But hey, everyone’s got to eat – right?
“Sometimes it seems like we’re all living in some kind of prison. And the crime is how much we hate ourselves. It’s good to get really dressed up once in a while. And admit the truth – that when you really look closely, people are so strange and so complicated that they’re actually... beautiful. Possibly even me.”
That’s with or without long eyelashes, Angela. With or without.
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