Madeline applies mascara and blinks. Leaning in to the mirror, her expressionless face upturned slightly, she checks her eyes for symmetry. Next to her a woman sits with her face close to the mirror, examining a zit at the corner of her mouth; she pouts at her reflection, sighs, then turns to another woman next to her and says something Madeline can’t quite hear.

The room has a clinical aspect, with white walls, lit by fluorescent tubes—hard, medical light. A bench runs along one wall at about desk height. Above that a single strip of mirror runs the length of the bench at head height, when sitting. There are perhaps a dozen women applying make-up, brushing their hair or painting their nails. Other women are changing out of elegant evening dresses into jeans and T-shirts.