I hate my eyebrows. I have always hated my eyebrows. When Jennifer Aniston had wispy little arches on Friends, I hated my eyebrows. Now that every ad in Vogue features Cara Delevingne‘s giant caterpillars, I hate my eyebrows. As a major proponent for self-love, this is hard for me to write. I hate hating my eyebrows. But I do.

They’re thick. They’re dark. They’re unruly. They’re curly. Left to their own devices, it would take approximately 12 hours for them to join forces and become one. No amount of gel, hairspray, clear mascara, or willpower can keep them from doing whatever the hell they want. I’ve tried everything and everything has failed me. If that seems overly dramatic, here’s a brief timeline of my eyebrows throughout high school and college:

my eyebrows at 15Here you can see one of my eyebrows at 15 years old, obviously plotting its escape from my face. Notice how half of it is growing in a different direction from the other half? It can’t be tamed.

my eyebrows at 17

Here they are again at 17, still taking it upon themselves to morph into whatever insane shape they feel like being. Did somebody hit me in the face with a lawn mower? No. That’s just my eyebrows.

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At 19, things still weren’t looking up. Leftie thought it might be fun to become a straight line. Rightie was going through a teenage rebellious phase. Sick of getting plucked, they insisted upon growing thicker than ever before.

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At 21, not much had changed. Still huge, still maintaining that idgaf attitude.

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At 22, we still had a long way to go. Piling on the products made a minuscule difference, but they were still my eyebrows.

my eyebrows at 23

And here they are, recently, at 23. Several hours of makeup got them to stay that shape for exactly as long as it took to take the photo. The second the flash went off, all hell broke loose again.

There comes a time in every woman’s life where she has to take a long look in the mirror, roll her eyes, and just give up. I’ve tried to tame my eyebrows. It’s not gonna happen. No matter how many old issues of Glamour I’m collecting in a basket somewhere, no matter how many beauty bloggers I’m subscribe to, no matter how many celebrity red carpet pics I’ve studied, it’s time to accept that I’m never going to look perfect. My eyebrows suck, and that’s just how it is. Does it matter? No. Does it drive me up a wall anyway? Sigh.

Am I the only one whose eyebrows have minds of their own? Is there something on your face or body that makes you just as crazy? Ease my mind by letting me know I’m not alone.