Saturday, June 12, 2010

Arch Enemy

For many years, my eyebrows looked a hell of a lot like Kate's here....and less. When I was nineteen in a fit of being young and overly gothic, I started plucking and then shaving off my eyebrows and drawing them back on. The first year or so was probably painful to look at, but then my best friend and I started trading tips and tricks and learned through some serious trial and error the art of drawing on one's eyebrows. I became quite good at it and racked up an equal amount of brow admirers and detractors. Some loved them, some love to hate them and never let me forget it. I promised myself that when I turned 22 I would grow them back. 22 came and went, but I did grow little mini-brows and started just drawing the arches back on. I even got the mini-brows waxed and did a fine job of upkeep on them. And now, officially as of last week and  five difficult years later I am proud to say I finally, truly, have one hundred percent real, beautifully arched eyebrows and I am here to tell all the browless bitches out there that it is not actually impossible like I previously thought it was.
When I was younger my brows were huge. People gave me waxing gift certificates for Christmas for god's sake. Whenever I need to drive home the point to people who didn't know me in those days, I point to the faded scar from where my idiotic sixteen year old self decided a ring should go. The scar is a good half inch below where my eyebrows sit today if that is any indication to you how big they were. So I went from one extreme to the next, having pencil thin brows that when washed off made me look like an alien from Planet Gotharella Abomination. Everyone asked why I didn't get them tattooed and I always answered because I didn't want any needles or ink on my face and I definitely didn't want to do this forever. So I tried growing them back for YEARS. They would always come back even though everyone said they wouldn't, but they would poke out in every direction and just getting used to the idea of having hair above my eyes when it had been absent for so long was maddening.
So for those of you with the unique predicament of growing eyebrows, I offer you these tips:

1.) Accept that you are going to look crazy for approximately one month or more.
2.) Accept that you shouldn't do this on your own. I highly recommend finding a skilled waxer to ease you through the shaping of the unruly porcupine manifesting on your face.
3.) Listen to said waxer. Your perception of real brows when you haven't seen them in years is pretty warped. They know best.
4.) BROW GEL and BROW POWDER are your new best friends. The gel will tame the poki-ness and powder will fill in any sparse areas. I still pencil my brows because I like them to look really sharp and defined and I blend with powder and an angled brush.

So, long story short... finding the elusive dramatic arch in your real brows is not as impossible as you may think as long as your hair will still grow, though it will take a couple months or more. Plus, it's just nice to not have to do your makeup when you need to run to the store for fear of looking like an alien asylum-inmate escapee.....

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

It's Just a Shot Away

Pamela Des Barres (pictured left, center) is famous, if she, VH1 and the internet are to be believed. Not to be a cynic here, but I am of the opinion that individuals who base said infamy almost solely on simply being in the company of folk who are, you know, *actually* famous is kind of mind numbingly pathetic.  I won't act all high and mighty and go so far as to claim I didn't enjoy I'm With the Band, Ms. Des Barres ode to her sexual exploits with Jim Morrison, Keith Moon, Jimmy Page, Mick Jagger, Waylon Jennings et al.  I could most certainly relate to her unabashed honesty about sex, music and mania....I even thank her for it because it brought several incarnations of a smile to my face. I actually think the concept of 'groupies' in the true, 1960-70s sense of the term is equal parts fascinating and sad.  Who doesn't get at least mildly curious as to what these legendary, unnatainable people are really like behind closed doors? The truth is kind of sickening, but we as a culture breed this kind of interest, the kind of obsession that drives tabloid magazines and TV shows. We look down on it and we can't get enough of it. We live in a society that makes Pamela Des Barres famous. Now let's get the facts straight shall we? Miss P. as is she known, states in her book that she believes she is the embodiment of female liberation as it was at the time because she was doing 'exactly what she wanted,' which was crossing off some very famous monikers from her sexual wish list. High fives to that, sister. I actually find it maddening the pseudo-logic behind women's liberation somehow equalling the destruction of femininity and labeling it oppressive, and basically saying that to be a strong, successful woman you essentially have to be, well, a man. But that's another subject, think about it. Back to the subject at hand, call yourself a feminist or whatever the hell you want all day long, but being a slut doesn't make you famous. (or I guess it does in this demented society, but I digress) Now, I have no problem with sexual freedom. If you want it I say do it and enjoy it, whatever makes you happy. I decided after reading this book that what I do have a problem with somehow basing an entire career on talking about your relationships with people who actually achieved something to be famous. If someone can write some of the most classic songs and create some of music's most lasting works, and then someone else can simply roll around in bed with that person, how do BOTH people come to acquire the 'fame' label??? It's even worse these days between reality shows where any idiot with a fake tan and a bad attitude can have their 15 minutes. The whole thing depresses me. Throughout I'm With the Band, Miss P. tries in vain to realize creative pursuits of her own and the furthest she gets is a few bit parts in movies and a short lived stint in a 'groupie group' called the GTOs under Frank Zappa's wing. She seems more than content to milk the cash cow that is writing about and appearing on VH1 countdowns about her heyday screwing rock royalty. I suppose that while I can completely understand the sentiments and love of the experiences, I fail to comprehend being totally defined by them.