Oh, eyebrow. When I was married, and for long years preceding, you were two. The great divide began in high school, as I admired my friend Rachel's brows. They were thin, arched, and ever-so-far apart. Mine were thick, straight, and gently grazed one another, right over the bridge of my nose. That I had an eyebrow problem had never occurred to me, but, upon the realization that other girls my age were not sporting a single brow, I was wracked with anxiety. How was I supposed to garner the all-important attention of boys with such an obvious beauty deficiency? So, I worked quickly to correct my newly-discovered facial quandary. With the help of a pair of tweezers, I achieved the coveted eyebrow segregation. Being clumsy and lazy in nature, I never did quite perfect the art of plucking, but, as the years went by, I slowly honed my skills. No one ever complimented me on my arches, but, if I made sure to maintain them consistently, nobody ever used my name and the dirty word "unibrow" in the same sentence, either.
My ex-husband was in the camp of those who think that a woman should have two distinct brows, even though he, himself, had only one (This was even true of him when he shaved the offending hairs, creating not two brows, as I can only assume was his goal, but merely one that was full and bushy on both sides and short and angry in the center.). Throughout the course of our marriage, I had dutifully plucked away, but, at about the time when we separated our bank accounts, the old beauty ritual had begun to wear on me. I had been mutilating my own forehead for years in order to find a mate, but now, my unpleasant marriage was causing me to ponder the conundrum of what the hell, exactly, a mate had ever done for me.
At the same time, in the world of academia, I had learned that a girl could have conjoined brows without being forced into solitary confinement by the rest of society. My revered exhibitor of this revolutionary notion was Frida Kahlo, whose eyebrow was a trademark aspect of her beauty and individuality. I decided that I was in a unique position to channel her free spirit by mimicking her iconic unspoiled brow - after all, what man had the right to tell me how to groom my facial hair? And so, it came to pass that I divorced my tweezers with my husband.
When I announced my intention to retaliate against fashion, I was warned by some: it might be hard to find a job, a boyfriend, or to talk my way out of speeding tickets. It was unsightly; I looked unkempt. What was I now, a lesbian? It was natural for me to want to poetically retaliate against my controlling ex-husband, but, come on! This was the real world, and a woman had to look good to get ahead, whether I liked it or not! Oh, well. My tweezers slowly worked their way to the bottom of my makeup bag, and my eyebrows regrew to their virgin state.
At the same time, in the world of academia, I had learned that a girl could have conjoined brows without being forced into solitary confinement by the rest of society. My revered exhibitor of this revolutionary notion was Frida Kahlo, whose eyebrow was a trademark aspect of her beauty and individuality. I decided that I was in a unique position to channel her free spirit by mimicking her iconic unspoiled brow - after all, what man had the right to tell me how to groom my facial hair? And so, it came to pass that I divorced my tweezers with my husband.
When I announced my intention to retaliate against fashion, I was warned by some: it might be hard to find a job, a boyfriend, or to talk my way out of speeding tickets. It was unsightly; I looked unkempt. What was I now, a lesbian? It was natural for me to want to poetically retaliate against my controlling ex-husband, but, come on! This was the real world, and a woman had to look good to get ahead, whether I liked it or not! Oh, well. My tweezers slowly worked their way to the bottom of my makeup bag, and my eyebrows regrew to their virgin state.
Since my fateful decision to "let myself go", I have caved, a time or two, to the pressure to be a nice, hairless American girl. Once, before a job interview, and once, before a big date, I winced as I removed the renegade hairs that make my eyebrow singular, instead of plural. But, for a long time since, my eyebrow has remained intact. I know now that there is no job I cannot do from beneath the fine hairs that shield my eyes, collecting dirt and other tiny particles that I am pretty sure my old friend, Rachel, is still trying to blink away. Likewise, I have also made myself comfortable with the deduction that any man who is interested in my other outstanding physical qualities will also have to accept my coupled eyebrows, socially unacceptable for my gender though they may be.
Those who thought that my au naturel eyebrow would instantly convert me into some sort of radical, self-styled she-man were as wrong as the ones who thought that I would start receiving speeding tickets (Zero tickets in over a year have actually led me to believe that my united brow is a good luck charm - either that, or I'm driving slower these days... and I'm pretty sure it's the former.). I still wear makeup, dresses, and the occasional thong. I have yet to burn my bra. But, even if I do decide that the bra has to go, there's not a damn thing that they can say to stop me.
In my opinion, my eyebrow and I never made much of a threesome, but the two of us make a great team. I suppose it's possible that a few men have been turned off by the hairs between my eyes, but, regardless, I'm still pretty sure that Frida Kahlo had the right idea. Now, if only I could grow a mustache.
In my opinion, my eyebrow and I never made much of a threesome, but the two of us make a great team. I suppose it's possible that a few men have been turned off by the hairs between my eyes, but, regardless, I'm still pretty sure that Frida Kahlo had the right idea. Now, if only I could grow a mustache.
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