"Why flash when you can flutter," it says on the box. Why indeed? I don't actually own a car myself, which leaves me with two options for my Lashes4cars: to attach them on the brand new Fiesta I'm currently test-driving for my famous motoring column in Guardian Weekend magazine; or to put them on my girlfriend's car. I'm not sure how the Ford press office would react if one of their cars came back with headlamp lashes. Plus my girlfriend is away for the weekend. I take the easy option.
It's an old Polo. Well, let's see if we can't tart her up a bit for the new year. The lashes are a little wide, but they trim down easily with a sharp pair of scissors. When my own eyebrows get a bit bushy, this car's owner takes the scissors to me; now this feels a little bit like revenge. Ha.
"Fun and easy to install," it also says on the box. And they are. I then curl them using the curling tool provided (a piece of wooden dowelling), for added cuteness, and a woman walking past says I should be a stylist. Good, now they're curled, I can see my lashes above the bonnet as I drive along.
I don't think I'm treated any differently on the road. No one lets me in or out; chivalry appears to be well and truly dead in north-west London. No wolf-whistles either. I don't know, you make an effort, and for what? In Homebase carpark, a little boy notices, and points. His dad gives me a look that's about 25% amusement, 75% pity.
To be honest, I don't think I'm really in the right kind of car for these. Something cute, such as a Fiat 500, would be perfect. Or a car with pop-up headlights, such as a first-generation Mazda MX-5. Then I really could flutter. But in this, I'm really just mutton dressed as lamb. It's also possible I'm not quite the right kind of driver. I'm thinking – you know – gender, age, that kind of thing.
Will I have to live with them any longer, though? Bad news I'm afraid: my girlfriend, on her return, loves them.
