Unforgettable Eyebrows: Robust is a Must
For those who grew up in the 80s, fashion magazines were a readily available, entirely reliable, absolutely bonified source for all things beauty. In my teens, I spent hours attempting to mimic the 'Cindy to Cinderella’ techniques detailed in their pages. In magazines like Seventeen, Teen Beat, and Vogue, I found critical advice from articles with titles such as, “Unforgettable eyebrows are robust but pleasantly unobtrusive.”
Throughout my twenties, I tried to follow the magazine’s advice but eventually, I was forced to accept that unforgettable eyebrows were simply not in the cards for me. Thanks to genetics, my eyebrows were never big, bushy, or fabulous in a Brook Shields Hollywood sort of way. Mine were more the average blue-collar, boring brown eyebrows. At least they were dependable, showing up every day for years and doing their indispensable job of framing my face and telegraphing my expressions. I swept a brow brush over them once a year, and occasionally, I plucked a few rogue hairs that had attempted to migrate from one brow to the other (I can only assume they got tired and homesteaded in the middle of my nose).
That was pretty much the extent of my brow nurturing until recently when my husband and I stayed in a luxury hotel with a glamorous bathroom. It had heated floor tiles, an in-mirror television, a shower the size of a car wash, and a vanity with a giant, wall-mounted, LED-lit magnifying mirror. I was especially excited about the mirror, and my imagination began to run wild. I fantasized that this was exactly the kind of mirror that magically transforms celebrities in their dressing rooms into flawless stars. That night, before getting dressed to go out, I excitedly flipped on the light, ready to conduct my own beauty transformation. Glancing down, I was immediately shocked by the reflection staring back at me. I dropped the mirror and instinctively jumped back as if I’d seen a ghost (or at least the ghost's great-grandmother).
Using a mirror that lit up and magnified every cell in my face a thousand times its natural size, did not result in the cathartic experience I had anticipated. Reflected in the mirror before me was not the face I had been viewing with apparently failing vision in my dimly lit bathroom at home for years. The face looking back at me appeared much older. This new face sported undereye bags, a few brown patches that resembled the skin of a banana well past its prime, a nest of nose hair, and, worst of all, eyebrows that could easily be mistaken for two sad little Charlie Brown Christmas trees.
“What the heck happened to my eyebrows?” I blurted out to my husband.
He glanced at me from the doorway. “What?” He said calmly. “They look like they always do.”
Dear Lord, could he possibly be right?
I had heard rumors that once you reach your mid-forties, a few of your eyebrow hairs might have the potential to rebel and even go on strike. But was it possible that by age fifty, whole quadrants of your eyebrows can unionize and actually boycott your face altogether? Were these deserters now somewhere on a beach sipping something strong on a permanent vacation? Obviously, they had either revolted or retired. Either way, they didn’t consult me in the process.
“I just don’t understand,” I worried out loud. “I'm sure my eyebrows were here yesterday. Where could they have gone?” Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of a few brow hairs that, while not still technically on my brow had not completely gone AWOL with the others.
“Never mind; I found them,” I told my husband. “They’ve migrated to my chin.”
Back at home, it didn’t take long for me to accept that my eyebrow arch was most likely gone forever. I decided to take immediate action. I consulted with an expert, the makeup stocker at the local CVS, who told me that I would now need to use a brow pencil to cover the potholes in what was left of my eyebrows. She also felt strongly that a chin hair transplant would likely have a very low success rate, despite my hopes in the suggestion.
Following her advice, I chose two brow pencils in shades as close as I could find to the remnants of hair that remained above my eyes. However, I was forced to switch to non-permanent pencils once I discovered I was no Picasso when it came to eyebrow self-portraits. After much practice, my efforts still produced only a vague resemblance to my once great community of brow hair, but I figured it would have to do. I vowed to never leave home again without pencil coverage.
Unfortunately, this honeymoon relationship with my new eyebrow pencils proved short-lived.
My husband and I had scheduled a Zoom meeting with an editor early one morning. I had been performing my usual morning routine of making coffee, shuffling around in my ratty slippers, losing my coffee, unloading our dishwasher, finding my coffee, feeding our dog, and reheating my coffee. Somehow both of us had lost track of time, and my husband announced that we needed to be on the call right then. I quickly found my coffee again, and we both sat down in front of our computer monitor.
We joined the call and could immediately see our faces on the screen. I was not thrilled that I hadn’t had time to apply any makeup. My morning brows were on full naked display, resembling two thin caterpillars with bad cases of leprosy. Our editor had not yet joined the call. Staring at my brows, I surmised I could be comfortable without my other makeup, but my eyebrow pencil was a must. Jumping up, I yelled at my husband that I would be right back. Since my brow pencil was my new best friend, I had stashed duplicates everywhere: my makeup drawer, the car, my purse, and even the downstairs bathroom.
“Hurry!” my husband yelled. He believed in always being prompt.
With my slippers on, I hit the bathroom tile and slid across the room faster than Tom Cruise in Risky Business. I fumbled in the drawer under the sink, and locating my eyebrow pencil, I applied it quickly and bolted back to the office. By the time I returned, our editor had joined the call and was chatting with my husband. Our editor's face now appeared on our screen and ours on his. I slid into my seat beside my husband, relieved that I had accomplished my mission in such a small amount of time.
In hindsight, I remember a strange look crossing our editor’s face when I sat down beside my husband, but I concluded that it must have been something he ate. I also remember that at one point, my husband looked over at me and his face adopted the same confused look.
Thirty minutes later, the call ended, and my husband turned to look at me. “What the heck is wrong with your eyebrows?”
“Hey! You know they’re not robust,” I snapped back at him.
“No, why are they bright red?” he asked.
“Red?” I gasped, running to the nearest mirror and flipping on the light to look for myself. What greeted me was the face of a clown. In my hurry in the dim morning light, I had somehow confused my red lip liner and my brown brow pencil. In my defense, other than the color at the very tip, they looked exactly the same.
I was horrified. I had been showcased on a Zoom call for nearly thirty minutes looking less like Lady Diana and more like Lady Gaga. “Kill me now,” I cried.
When I finally calmed down, my husband stopped laughing long enough to speak. He pulled me into a hug. “Consider the silver lining here,” he grinned. “You always wanted ‘unforgettable brows.’ Now, these are absolutely unforgettable.”
Edited by Rebekah Crozier
Contact info: avery282@gmail.com