The 7 Stages of Doing Winged Eyeliner (Grief Included)

Winged eyeliner: the sharpest of makeup skills and the cruelest of optical illusions. For some, it’s a quick flick of the wrist. For the rest of us, it’s a full-blown emotional journey—a rollercoaster through hope, regret, and deep, spiritual introspection. Like grief, winged eyeliner has its stages. And if you've ever attempted a cat-eye in a rush (or sober), you already know: it’s not just makeup—it’s a test of your will to live.

So, gather your felt tips, your liquids, your gels, and your tears. Let’s explore the 7 stages of doing winged eyeliner, with the grief included, because emotional damage is part of the look.

Stage 1: Optimism (a.k.a. The Ignorant Bliss)

It starts innocently.

You glance at your reflection and think: “I’m just going to throw on a quick wing today.” You believe in yourself. You’ve watched the tutorials. You’ve got a fresh liner in hand, your lighting is good, and your hand is relatively steady.

You may even mutter, “Today is the day.”

This is the stage where hope blooms. You envision a subtle, crisp flick that lifts your eye and gives you that mysterious, feline vibe. You picture people stopping you on the street to ask, “What eyeliner do you use?” You laugh gently. You are beauty. You are grace.

You are also woefully unprepared.

Stage 2: Denial (a.k.a. The First Swipe)

You draw the first line.

It’s… okay. A little wobbly. Maybe it’s a touch higher than you expected. But you tell yourself it’s fine. Nothing a little cleanup can’t fix. You start on the other eye.

That’s when you notice: this second line has somehow emerged from a completely different dimension. It’s shorter. Thicker. Angry-looking. Where the first one was trying to seduce, this one looks like it’s plotting your murder.

“It’s just the angle,” you whisper. “I’ll fix it.”

You won’t. But denial is strong here.

Stage 3: Anger (a.k.a. The War of Wings)

The more you try to fix one wing, the more the other one retaliates. You add a little to the left. Now the right is too short. You thicken the right. Now the left looks puny. You flick both tips upward to lift your eye.

Now you’re in Amy Winehouse territory. And not in the retro-chic way—more like crying-in-the-club levels of drama.

You feel the anger bubble up.

“WHY are my eyes NOT EVEN?”

You start blaming your genetics. Your parents. The lighting. The brush. The government. This can’t be your fault. You are trying your best. You’re sweating. You’re ten minutes late. You look like an unhinged raccoon.

It’s war now.

Stage 4: Bargaining (a.k.a. The “Maybe If I Just…” Phase)

In this stage, desperation breeds creativity.

You start trying to “reshape” the wing. Maybe a smoky liner will disguise the chaos. Maybe if you just smudge the edges a little, it’ll look intentionally messy. That’s a vibe, right? Grunge glam?

You grab concealer. Cotton swabs. Micellar water. You clean and redraw. Clean and redraw. You talk to yourself in the mirror.

“Okay, just one more time. This is the last fix. Then I’m done.”

You keep tweaking. You keep lying.

You now have five layers of eyeliner on. Your eyelid is burning slightly. You have used half a bottle of makeup remover. Your eye has started twitching.

But still, you bargain.

Stage 5: Depression (a.k.a. The Dark Night of the Soul)

You sit there. Staring into the mirror. One wing is pointed toward the heavens. The other has lost its will to live.

You feel empty.

Your entire look is ruined. You contemplate scrapping the whole thing and just going makeup-free. Or wearing sunglasses. Or simply never leaving the house again.

This is the most emotional part of the eyeliner journey. Here, you confront your limitations as a human being. You wonder how beauty gurus make it look so easy. You feel betrayed by your own face.

Mascara sits untouched. Lipstick? A dream.

You are not okay.

Stage 6: Acceptance (a.k.a. Close Enough)

You take a deep breath.

You sit back and squint.

You realize… it’s not perfect. It’s not symmetrical. But it’s passable. Kind of. If people look at you from a 30-degree angle and don’t make direct eye contact.

You throw on mascara and distract with bold lipstick. You tell yourself, “No one will notice.”

You are wrong. But it doesn’t matter anymore.

Because you've made peace. You've let go of perfection. You understand now: winged eyeliner is not a destination. It’s a journey. A spiritual test. A myth you chase but never capture.

You have suffered. And you have survived.

Stage 7: Triumph (a.k.a. The Accidental Perfection)

Sometimes—rarely, magically—you nail it.

The flick is sharp. The angle is right. Both wings match. The liner glides on like butter, and your hand is guided by the gods themselves.

You freeze. Afraid to move. Afraid to breathe.

You admire your work like a sculptor gazing upon a marble masterpiece. You take selfies. You make TikToks. You cancel your plans and make new ones that involve better lighting. You contemplate writing a memoir.

You walk down the street with confidence. Your eyeliner is so sharp it could slice bread. You’ve reached eyeliner enlightenment.

And deep down, you know: you’ll never be able to replicate this again.

Final Thoughts: Why We Keep Trying

So why do we keep doing this to ourselves?

Why do we continue to chase the mythical, symmetrical wing?

Because when it’s good—it’s really, really good. It changes your face. It gives you power. It lifts not just your eyes, but your entire mood. A good winged liner can turn a bad day around. It's battle paint. It's a love letter to your own resilience.

And maybe, just maybe, the grief is part of the process.

Because winged eyeliner isn’t just makeup. It’s an act of courage. It’s a gamble. It’s art. And like any great artistic pursuit, it requires patience, practice, and the willingness to fail spectacularly.

So next time you pick up that eyeliner, remember the stages. Accept them. Embrace them. Cry if you must—but keep going. One day, your wings will soar.

Until then, may your hand be steady, your lines be clean, and your cotton swabs be plentiful.

Bonus Tips for Surviving the Eyeliner Struggle

While you're navigating grief and eyeliner, here are a few practical tips that might help soften the blow:

Tape is your friend: Use a small piece of tape angled from the outer corner of your eye toward the end of your brow as a guide. It’s cheat-y. And we love it.
Start with the hard eye: If one eye always gives you trouble, do that one first. That way, the easier one can match the chaos accordingly.
Look down into a mirror: Instead of lifting your chin and stretching your lid, tilt your head slightly back and look down into a mirror. It gives you better access to the lash line and prevents distortion.
Use small strokes: You don’t have to draw the whole wing in one swipe. Sketch it like a pencil drawing, then connect and fill in.
Clean-up crew ready: Have micellar water, pointed cotton swabs, and concealer nearby. You’ll need them.
Don’t aim for twins—go for sisters: Sometimes, trying to make them identical is what ruins them. If they’re similar enough, it counts. Don’t let perfectionism steal your joy.

In Conclusion

Doing winged eyeliner is a deeply personal, wildly frustrating, occasionally euphoric experience. It’s less about achieving flawless symmetry and more about the emotional saga of trying, failing, fixing, and facing yourself.