The Case of the Monolid

“My monolid eyes are an essential part of my human experience and spiritual journey, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

A monolid is an eyelid shape that doesn't have a crease, while eyes that have creases are known as double eyelids.

“Why do you do your makeup like that?” a male friend asked me one day, referring particularly to my eye makeup. We have been friends for years, so it seemed out of the blue that it was the first time he was asking this question—or maybe it was just the first time he actually noticed (don’t you just love men and their keen observation skills?). 

 The way I do my makeup is something I discovered when I was 18 years old—a smoky eye technique that transforms my monolid Asian eyes with the illusion of the double eyelid. Creating this look daily for nearly two decades not only conditioned my hands to operate on autopilot, it also conditioned my eyes to believe that those eyes were my eyes—my face without the smoky faux double eyelid, even to this day, looks unfamiliar to me. When my friend asked me his question, it was the first time I woke up in awareness and started to reflect on why I adopted this particular makeup technique in the first place. 

 Unlike my mother, I inherited the monolid, aka my dad’s very Asian eyes. I remember my grandmother and aunts comparing my child eyes with my mom’s and asking her if her eyes were natural—meaning, did she get double eyelid surgery? “If only she inherited your eyes…” they would say. “It’s okay. She can get surgery when she’s older” is the phrase I heard often growing up. 

Compared to other cultures, Asian eyelids are generally thicker because they have more skin and fat, while the muscle that lifts the eyelids are generally smaller and weaker. Eyes that have a natural double-lid exhibit an upper eyelid fold while the eyes are open and imprinted with a fine horizontal crease when the eyes are closed. The double-lid is highly coveted in Asian beauty standards that the cosmetic surgery, often referred to as East Asian blepharoplasty, is a cultural norm. The procedures typically take less than an hour and some countries, like Thailand, have medical floors in malls where one could go in and out of a procedure during their lunch hour. 

It is not uncommon to hear of Asian mothers who surprise their teenage daughters with visits to the doctor’s office for an eyelid surgery—I have more than a handful of friends who can share their own accounts. The stories often follow this sequence: 1) mother tells daughter that they have somewhere to go; 2) both arrive at a doctor’s office; 3) surprise, you’re getting surgery!; and 4) teenager walks out of office with double eyelids. 

My mom never surprised me with obligatory surgery. When I asked her why, she told me she believes my face is more uniquely charming and beautiful with Asian eyes. “If you really want to do the surgery, I will support it, but I want you to make your own decision regarding your face,” she said. As grateful as I am for her bestowing me with the gift of choice, sometimes it’s easier when decisions are made for you.

I’ve struggled my entire life accepting and loving this face I was born into—a face with cheeks that look flat from a side profile, a nose bridge too short to support sunglasses without creating imprints on my cheeks, and eyes that, on countless occasions, cause people to question whether I’m awake or asleep—while they are open. I grew up in a small town with little diversity, therefore it lacked the range of aesthetics I could familiarly compare myself to—the prettiest girls always seemed to be blonde with big blue eyes, and I was so not that. “I am not that pretty,” is the thought I internalized and adopted into my belief system.

When I was 13, I discovered glittery eyelid stickers that create eyelid folds with the illusion of fun-colored makeup. I wasn’t allowed to wear real makeup until I was 18, so imagine my excitement, followed by intense disappointment, when I learned that my eyelids are designed too thick for them to work. Then, in junior year of high school, I learned that a friend created her own natural eyelid folds by gluing pieces of snap-on metal hair clips onto her eyes -- so of course, I had to try it. After many failed attempts to glue the metal pieces on and wearing them for a day, I abandoned the torture device in passionate belief that there had to be a better way. 

College became my haven for exploring, experimenting, and transforming my face, non-invasively and painlessly, with makeup. I spent hours in the bathroom each day creating different looks, until I discovered varying versions of the eye makeup technique that I still use today. It is a rare day that I walk out of the house without applying it. Subconsciously, I’ve grown so accustomed to seeing myself in the mirror with those eyes that my mind doesn’t recognize my bare face without it. 

Despite the oscillating considerations throughout my life to get surgery, I’ve only recently realized that my indecision actually was a committed decision to not take the plunge. My monolid eyes are an essential part of my human experience and spiritual journey, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I am determined to love me, this face, these eyes, just the way they are, no matter how long it takes, no matter how difficult the process can be.

There is a difference between seeing yourself as beautiful and knowing you are beautiful. Seeing is based on external factors—how you see yourself is the validation and feedback you receive from others—whereas knowing is detachment from the opinions of others, and to be in deep reverence, acceptance, and connection to who you are at a soul level. Your beauty, then, is the face of your truth. 

Learning to love myself, to feel worthy, and to feel pretty with unconditional acceptance, is an everyday challenge. Some days I’m full of self-love that radiates so expansively that the insecurities about my eyes are obsolete. On other days, not even my best attempt at makeup face feels pretty—can anyone else relate?  

 I take it a day at a time, actively working towards growing a little more—to love myself a little deeper, to accept myself with a little more compassion. And I’ll keep working at it, until the day I can look in the mirror and not just see myself, but also recognize this face with these small Asian eyes—the face I was given to live out this human experience—and to know, with absolute belief, that I am beautiful.