A Girl from Pluto Ep. 6

     

This series will contain posts styled as a memoir with memories that I feel like sharing. I first wrote these articles in 2017 when I was suffering from burnout. I may post one or two a month. I hope you enjoy these intimate glimpses into the life of...

Episode 6

Bro...Those Brows

Since I’m on a roll talking about the times I’ve been bullied, here’s another.

(I almost didn't share this one because it especially embarrasses me, but here goes...)

Eyebrows are funny things, aren’t they?

My sister plucked my eyebrows for the first time when I was little because my eyebrows were always wide, not very ladylike, you could say. But she plucked my eyebrows too short, not knowing that you should only pluck from the bottom, not the top and definitely not the front, unless, of course, you have a unibrow, which I never had. Because of this mistake, I ended up having trouble with my eyebrows my entire childhood. I had to learn to tweeze, because once you start plucking you can’t, or shouldn’t, stop. And that’s how my eyebrows ended up getting shorter. And shorter. And even skinnier. My eight grade school pictures are horrendous because of my skinny, short eyebrows.

I hated my eyebrows because they weren’t normal. I did not use brow pencils, knowing that would only make it worse. Pretty much, when I didn’t have thick bangs, which wasn’t in style anymore, I had to hope no one would notice.

But they did notice. They wondered why my brows were so short. I’d shrug. Or I’d blame it on my sister, which wasn’t fair.

At one point, because I hated plucking and I had to tweeze so no one could see the little bristles where I should have an eyebrow, I started to use a shaver between my brows Not a good idea. The skin in front of my eyebrows would turn a pale shade of green, almost like a man’s jaw and cheeks can turn after shaving. I tried to cover this with makeup, but it was still visible. Eventually, someone asked about it. A boy, of course. He asked why it was green and even poked me between my brows. I shrugged, said I didn’t know, and looked away so he’d leave me alone. He claimed he wasn’t picking on me, and he generally was a nice person, but he had pointed out something I knew and disliked, so I ignored him.

Years later, not having to worry about school or looking cool, I cut my bangs and let my eyebrows grow in underneath their hair shield. They were not pretty. If the wind blew my bangs to the side as I walked through a parking lot, I’d duck and quickly sweep my bangs back, even held them in place.

It took many years for my eyebrows to look normal. They’re not perfect, but I no longer hide them. Except, my glasses now conceal them a bit.

If I ever have a daughter, I’ll make sure she doesn’t touch her eyebrows. I’ll tell her this story. If need be, her brows can be touched up but never plucked or reshaped from their natural form. Natural is better. Bold is beautiful. Embrace the brows you’ve got!