Eyebrows. And Thinking Too Much.


My eyebrows are more naturally askew than a mismatched pair of argyle— and striped socks. The right one grows smoothly and the left one looks like this:

Eyebrow design challenges aside, irregular brows present difficulties in day-to-day life. The problem is looking like an unkempt freak. In order to hang properly, like fresh-cut bangs, eyebrows need training.

I first tamed my unruly brows in 7th grade. I wasn’t allowed to pluck or wax them (or shave my legs either—yeah, I was that awkward girl), but Mom presented a can of hairspray and a brow comb. I thought she was seriously delusional until she pointed me to the makeup mirror and forced me to try her method. I looked awesome. I looked like this:

Fantasies aside, within a week, the wayward brows found themselves tamed.

I remembered middle school this morning as I applied my makeup. Rather than reaching for a defining pencil, I grasped a can of TIGI Hardhead Hairspray and a brow comb. A tiny spritz saturated the wand with plenty of product to comb both brows. In that moment, I missed the 90s: Yaga shirts, the Real Word Boston, the first Counting Crows album, and drinking sodas before carbs counted. I thought about friendships.

Some people will forever exist in the 90s. Some friendships only endure through Facebook. A strange paradox arises from the realization that change and regeneration excludes or accepts those around us… and although people come and go, my beauty practices remain the same.

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