Since I started blogging back in November, I have revealed all kinds of things about myself I imagine most people would prefer to keep secret. My readers have already learned that I have a thing for men who are physically/emotionally/otherwise unavailable to me, that I occasionally watch porn, and that I have a complete disregard for money and blow it all on Phish concerts. I’m not perfect but I have always tried to be as honest and true to my character as possible with this blog.
Having said all that, I’m incredibly reluctant to discuss this next topic with you. Perhaps even more so than the others, which should say something. Oh well, (deep breath)… Here goes nothing.
I have a borderline obsessive relationship with my eyebrows. I didn’t realize this until recently when I had my makeup done for a vintage 50s-style pinup photo shoot. The idea came to me one day because I was feeling good, confident, and sexy and I knew of some girlfriends who could benefit from something like this as well. The day of the shoot, the makeup artist took my face in her hands, gave me a once-over, and asked what was going on with my brows. She pointed her makeup wand to where she said they were supposed to start (in line with the eyeball) and then tapped a point just above and in the middle of my left eye (I believe she was raising her own during this brief intervention). Okay, I get it. Clearly I have issues with a tweezer.
Truth be told, I never realized it had been a problem or that I had been walking around looking like a freak show these last few months. Why hadn’t anyone told me?
My obsession with the tweezer started when I dated Jackson and he made a comment about my eyebrows one day. So I plucked a little at first to keep them neat and tidy. But in the months following our breakup, I continued tweezing more and more. It made me feel comfortable to have a smooth, hair-free browline and I began to do it nearly every day. On days when I didn’t, I obsessed over errant hairs and wondered if people noticed them.
I’ve decided to let nature take its course and restore my brows to their natural arc. So now I get to experience the most awkward hair growth phase in history. Please promise you won’t look at me funny if I happen to shield my face while we engage in conversation. And in case anyone happens to be intimately familiar with this very odd scenario, how long until I start to look like a human being again? The urge to pluck is killing me.
Have you ever done anything drastic like this before without realizing it?