the eyebrow arch nemesis
I love that men are apparently attracted to me, despite my atrocious eyebrows.
It just goes to show that fashion experts and the makeup industry don’t always count on the sheer force of phermones and the male libido. They’d like us to believe that we have to have the perfect skin, the perfect nose, the slenderest figure and the most fashionable wardrobe. And you should smell intoxicating and also have minty fresh breath. Oh, and also perfect eyebrows, that should go from the inner corner of your eye to the other outer corner, and be perfectly shaped, and arch just so.
Screw you. Mine won’t do that.
Look, I’ve tried; I’ve tweezed, and plucked, and individually yanked out eyebrow hairs for years. Well, the yanking part is usually when I’ve gotten nervous about something, and I’m on the phone and distracted and suddenly feel a “stray” eyebrow hair, so I manically start sending my brows to the nudist colony. But hey, I’m OCD – it comes with the territory sometimes.
I’ve had a perpetual struggle with my eyebrows. At age seventeen, I clocked myself a good one and forever altered the existence of the perfect brow. I had a fabulous loft back then, and climbed a little ladder morning and night to reach my Princess and the Pea type bed. LOVED IT! However, one morning – far too early for a teenager – my alarm went off and startled me awake. I didn’t usually get up THIS early, so my body wasn’t accustomed to the shocking beeps of the annoying alarm I kept on a ledge under my loft. I also didn’t usually leave my closet door open at night (monsters, you know), but I did that night, and when I went to turn off my alarm – WHAM! – right into the top edge of the closet door. That smack woke me up for sure. It also gave me a Rocky Balboa split eye with the blood to match, PLUS a shiner that actually would have matched my cheerleading outfit really well, since our colors were purple and gold. But this was basketball season and we were wearing the dreaded white uniforms (WHITE? on a pasty white chick in the middle of winter? who comes up with these ideas??)
Anyway, since then my right eyebrow has been an arch nemesis. ha ha. The small scar I have in the eyebrow might not be noticeable if it weren’t for the fact that the hairs around the scar all seem to have lost direction. They’ve been drunk for years, all going the wrong way and giving my brow a sort of Einsteinian hairdo. Taming them is impossible, and making them look presentable takes effort, will and sometimes imagination.
And yet, despite my wonky, devil-may-care eyebrows, men still seem to find me attractive and sexy. I suppose the double D’s might help, and the big blue eyes and pouty lips. But I’m just pointing out here, eyebrows are not the answer. Those skinny snakes from the 20’s and 30’s that were penciled in razor thin. The full wild eighties brows, sans tweezers. Straight eyebrows, curved, arched, bent, waxed, trimmed or colored. It doesn’t matter. I’d like to postulate that there are very few women who could entice a man with her eyebrows alone. Mata Hari, maybe. And probably Sophia Loren. Though Loren could certainly lure a man with simply the exotic smell of her belly button lint, if that’s what she chose to use. Vixen, that one. But there is more to sex appeal than the perfect brow. And while I don’t know what the magic answer is to feeling beautiful daily and getting the man you want, I do know that it involves more than a tiny pair of pliers.
Posted on December 14, 2010, in biographical, thoughts and reflections and tagged basketball, beauty, beauty experts, boobies, D cup, double D's, drunk, eighties, Einstein, eyebrow, fashion, fashion industry, fresh breath, humor, libido, Mata Hari, OCD, perfection, phermones, pliers, pouty lips, princess and the pea, random thoughts, Rocky, Rocky Balboa, Sophia Loren, tetryhphilliac, tweezers. Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.