It sounds ridiculous, but I’ve always hated my bushy eyebrows.Â They’re several shades darker than the hair on my head, they’re curly, they’re thick, they’re unwilling to grow in a reasonable direction. If I had been young during the heyday of Brooke Shields, I might have embraced my wild features. Unfortunately, I was a teenagerÂ in the age of Jennifer Aniston‘s pin-straight hair and barely-there brows. I idolized Drew Barrymore and her wispy blonde lines. I glared at my teenage self in the mirror, armed with tweezers and a picture of Lauren Conrad, and I poked and snipped and pulled until I was too sore to go on. Some people are born into a position of brow privilege, and others must suffer a fate without delicate arches. This is my cross to bear.
Just months ago, I took you through a timeline of my ever-evolving caterpillar brows, and I wrote in that piece that Cara Delevingne‘s popularity was salt in my wounds. At the time, seeing her look sexy and natural and flawless with her half-inch eyebrows made me hate mine even more. I don’t know what’s changed in the time since I wrote that original post (maybe seeing her goof around with other celebrities made her seem more real to me?), but I wanted to take some time today to give Cara some credit. As she’s grown more and more popular, the public’s brows have grown more and more thick. Women who would have aced the are-your-brows-thinner-than-a-pencil test just months ago are now letting theirs grow out. People are using pencils and powders and dyes to get the Cara look… which means people are using pencils and powders and dyes to get the me look. A headline for Cara is a headline for brows like mine. Every time she makes out with a hot actress in public or wears white to her sister’s wedding, people seem to get more interested in thickening their arches.
I really, really wish I were mature enough that I didn’t need to get my validation from supermodels, but I guess I’m not. Cara Delevingne has made my biggest insecurity into a hot commodity, and I can’t pretend I don’t love it. I guess what I’m trying to say is… thank you, Cara’s eyebrows. Thank you for turning my messiest features into sex symbols. Thank you for confirming my suspicion that Karl Lagerfeld would like me. Thank you for representing all the ladies out there whose brows have minds of their own, and thank you for allowing me to wear my bushy badges of honor with confidence. Every time I try in vain to glue mine in place with clear mascara, I’ll remember that you made it okay to let my freaky hairy flags fly.
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