The Evolution of the Brows

Aside from needles and scalpels, there aren’t many ways that you can radically alter the face that God gave you. You can contour the crap out of your mug with makeup, but who has time for that? I mean, if you’re not a Kardashian or a YouTuber.

But shaping and grooming your eyebrows? That can work serious magic. Good eyebrows can take you from an iffy 4 to a solid 7.

I’m obsessed with eyebrows. Well, mostly with my own eyebrows. I have this annoying obsessive compulsive thing where I smooth my eyebrows out ALL THE TIME. My hairs will never stay in place, even with mass amounts of brow gel, and I’m always paranoid that they are all messed up looking. When my husband wants to piss me off, he holds me down and gives me eyebrow noogies. I am tweaking out right now just thinking about it.

I wasn’t always this way. I used to have some BROWS. Like…BROWZZZZZZ. 

1461609_10100106792429041_365884653_nThis is my 8th grade school picture — the last school picture ever taken of my brows in their natural state. It looks like a slug dragged its body over my face and pooped right above my eyes.

Later in 8th grade, I started experimenting with brow plucking. I followed the instructions in my Seventeen magazine that told me to pluck when I got out of the shower (so it was easier to pull the hairs out and wouldn’t hurt as bad) and not take off TOO much hair.

1466072_10100106806291261_1736294292_nOkay, there was a bit of a learning curve. This picture is from early in 9th grade and I obviously had not quite figured it out yet. What? One brow isn’t supposed to be thicker than the other? Luckily I had a sweet faux fur from the smelly theater costume room to detract from my brow tragedy. And my general existence because dear God, we all know potential suitors were not knocking down my door at that time.

1462975_10100106802049761_1414658104_nThis is one year later at the beginning of 10th grade. In addition to discovering Weight Watchers, I also started to get the hang of the eyebrow thing. I mean, they’re still kind of too thin and archy, but it was 1998 and that was the cool thing to do.

Also, this is the whitest picture ever taken. Just some white kids chillin’ next to a tree while wearing khakis from the Gap…totally normal.

10429495_10100365864296941_7534982319463307964_nThis is a picture of the dumbest thing I ever did to my poor eyebrows. It was my freshman year of college in 2001, I was living in New York City, and apparently, I wanted a really sweet white trash eyebrow ring. I got this in lower Manhattan a week before 9/11. I’m not saying this eyebrow ring caused 9/11, but I also wouldn’t be surprised if it did.

My body knew the brow ring was lame because it decided to reject it and push it out of my face only 3 months later. The skin thinned out so much that the ball at the end of the bar was resting on my eye lid. The ball was stuck and I couldn’t unscrew it, so my dad got some tool out to chop it off when I was home on Christmas break. As he pressed down, the bar broke through my tiny thin layer of skin. Now I have a stupid scar on my pristine brows.

11227894_10100454811935161_1954358036014172591_oI’m pretty cool with my brows nowadays. There are some things I would change, but I don’t have much of a choice because they truly do not grow beyond the confines of that exact brow shape anymore. I rarely have to pluck anything because if hair DOES grow in where it doesn’t belong, it’s just really fine and blonde. I have trained my brows to stop growing. I WIN.

I hate the new trend in eyebrows — you know, the one where girls are legit drawing them and filling them in. 488854002266603520

You’re not fooling me. Those are not real eyebrows. I’m sorry you cannot grow sweet brows like me, but you need to accept your fate and stop doing color-by-numbers on your face. A little bit of brow pencil or brow powder to add a TOUCH of color — OK, I feel that. But what if your husband wants to give you eyebrow noogies and gets brown all over his fingers? What if it starts to rain and your eyebrows start to bleed poop? I just can’t accept this method of eyebrowing. It’s like everyone got annoyed with trying to shape them properly and just went “Fuck it! I’m getting a Sharpie and coloring them in!”

That’s OK, I can wait this one out. Maybe I’ll go get my other eyebrow pierced in the meantime. I think they’re making a comeback.

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32

Today at 4:58PM I will officially be 32 years old.

The idea of my 32nd birthday has always given me the heebie jeebies because my mom was 32 when she had me. When I learned that fact, 32 became the age — the age you become an adult and make babies and do yard work on the weekends for fun. I have avoided turning 32…until now.

It turns out there is something to my theory about 32. I read a story titled, “32 — the age at which we turn in to our parents.” Granted, it is based on very un-scientific research via a poll on some super British website called Netmums…but still. It’s on the Internet and that makes it true.

I also read about this 32-year-old woman who went to sleep and woke up thinking she was 15 again. It sounds like a bad romantic comedy, but this is for real. She had stress-triggered dissociative amnesia and didn’t recognize her kid, her lower voice, and the crazy ass technology in her house. At first I thought I’d want to this to happen to me, but then I realized being 15 again would be awful. The crap I worried about when I was 15 was so stupid, I didn’t know how to drive yet, and no one had told me about how great hair straighteners could be.

did discover Britney Spears when I was 15 though…so there’s that.

I guess what I’m saying is that I’ll give 32 a fair shot. I’m not doing any yard work, though. And if I have to push a baby out, I’m going to be really mad.