(I don’t even want to Google this to see if it’s a thing or not, because I want to write about a thought without my dreams being crushed by the reality of inevitable imitation.)
My brows are bushier than a squirrel’s tail. I used to have a unibrow– though light– and I look like a little cavegirl in old pictures, covered in dirt with the bones of deceased enemies in my pigtails. Were cavemen often homicidal? I don’t know, I went to Catholic school for nine years.
In middle school I attended a sleepover (shocking statement) for a friend’s birthday, and being a group of girls from St. Hubert’s we had to bring the party to church in the morning. We stopped at Starbucks on the way there, where I was mocked for ordering hot chocolate instead of coffee. I still remember this because the unwarranted and irrational shame creeps back in when I buy other drinks at coffee establishments. I don’t understand coffee. Just give me rum! Anyway, we got to church on that morning and took our seats… or pews. I distinctly recall being stationed behind a family compromised of two grown kids who may have been back from college, and the two aging parents that made them be there.
I’d say it was a wonderful sermon and a delightful hour of prayer, but I wasn’t paying attention. There was something far more alarming in my presence.
The dad directly in front of me. I am not exaggerating when I say that his eyebrows reached out past the side of his head. The entire mass was spent cringing and staring at these beasts, and I wanted so terribly to yank them off of his face. Come the exchange of peace and handshakes, he turned around. It was like a jungle of vines that seemed to be growing in every direction.
This was disturbing to me. Around the same time, I learned about the little mites that live in our eyebrows and other follicles. This one drove me crazy. Certainly there are LOADS of them that fit on my caterpillar brows! My face is a mite magnet! An anthropod oasis! After too much time spent fruitlessly scratching at my furry forehead, obsessed with some bizarre idea that I could and should rid my face of the mites, I decided something had to be done.
This was the day I plucked my brows the very first time. It was eye opening. Literally, because the hair was so long it obstructed my vision. For the next few years, the unruly beasts were shapely and tame. You could say my eyebrow game was strong.
Today, as I write this, I can truthfully say I haven’t touched the things in months. Maybe this is because of my bangs that cover them almost entirely. Maybe I’m just letting myself go. I did wear sweatpants yesterday. However, my interest in eyebrows as depleted while the societal interest has grown.
I love a good eyebrow, they’re very sassy and attractive. But everyone seems obsessed lately with crafting the perfect line of hair. I’m only concerned with crafting the perfect line of coke! It’s so infuriating when there’s Cheeto dust everywhere… I said, in my sweatpants.
(No, I don’t actually do coke. Cheetos however…)
Back to face hair. Eyebrows are praised today more than winged eyeliner and thigh tattoos combined. But what about those people with… gasp, no eyebrows! They exist! Or at least tiny, nearly transparent brows that are so scarce you could count each follicle. These are not, according to the trend, “on point”. Should these people be pressured into drawing the perfect angle of artificial hair above their eyes in order to be fierce? It’s all a facade.
I’m not one to be outraged. This isn’t a social problem, or whatever. I think it’s great that people are interested in beauty and makeup, do anything that makes you happy. Unless you’re a murderer. Or a homicidal caveman. Draw on your face all you want! I love juggalos! But maybe we shouldn’t be glorifying the brows so much. I mean, just like you could be genetically heavier, you could be genetically eyebrow-less. And yearn to be skinnier like you yearn for big, beautiful brows. Everybody just chill out. The time you spend critiquing yours or others’ eyebrows could be spent… I don’t know, maybe complimenting their personality or ideas!
Not everybody has to end up like me. There might actually be ice cream crusted in my giant eyebrows as I type. But I think the obsession over this strip of hair is a little excessive, and I don’t think anyone needs brow perfection to be fierce.