The day I turned in my master’s thesis, I woke up early. I curled my hair and applied a generous coat of makeup — even making time for contouring and setting spray. I posed for pictures with a school friend; we beamed, holding our freshly printed and bound 100-page documents. Sometimes, I look back at the photos to inspect the scene: I appear comfortable, leaning against the ivy-covered wall at my university, which I chose for its prestige. I’m flashing my pearliest smile and showing off my perfectly polished fingernails, which matched the color of my dress.
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