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Me, Myself and My Eyebrows

Me. Disaster?

Me. Disaster?

I recently walked into a nail salon with my friend Mary, and was told that our eyebrows were “a disaster.” Let me tell you what a disaster is: Titanic. The Influenza. Hindenburg. (If I’d been born in the early-20th century, I’d be dating myself…but…) Eyebrows are never “a disaster.” It really confuses me why people make such sweeping statements about physical appearance. I can tell you from experience that I never once questioned the state of my eyebrows until I was subtly asked by a hair stylist if I wanted to “add some shape.” I was in sixth grade.

So maybe that’s the first time I really thought about my appearance as a thing other people could judge? I don’t know. That’s a bit deeper than I want to delve right now, but it is a little absurd how much I’ve been programmed to immediately question my face, my body, my choices, upon one suggestion or comment.image_thumb[5]

'Too much?'

‘Too much?’

Ultimately, I did get my eyebrows done. I was influenced by the clanging bells of the word “disaster.” But in the future, I’d really like to reject this concept. I started yesterday when I rejected a lip wax. TO BE CLEAR, I have blonde hair, and like, no upper lip hair. This is nuts. The last thing I want is for my little sister, a seventh grader, to enter a salon or a store and be told she needs anything changed about her. We get enough of that. Don’t you agree?

**Upon reading this to my mom, she wants me to clarify that, to her, my eyebrows were always perfect. Moms are good.

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