Go Pluck Yourself

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I pluck my eyebrows. I’ve put a spare pair of tweezers in my purse because in each mirror, with a different set of lights, I find more stray hairs. I’m sure many tricks of photography and cinematic special effects have been discovered this way. It’s a magic trick, an optical illusion: it appears to be consistently ivory-beige, but in reality there are little strands of a dark brown hiding from human perception.

There’s no one mirror that uncovers all hairs, either. Even in the brightest of natural sunlight there are thin ones that appear invisible outdoors but look thick and dark in somebody else’s bathroom. The same goes for blemishes and acne scars that I thought my concealer concealed. White hairs always showed up this way until I gave up on dyeing and just let them grow, under the excuse that it gives my hair “character”.

Nobody notices these things, or if they are visible to other eyes nobody thinks they’re not supposed to be. It’s a matter of personal challenge, like finishing a giant year-end crossword or having eaten at a roadside diner in every American state. If I can make my face look well-done-up in several different lighting conditions it will bring a sense of personal accomplishment. Even if it’s just in the eyebrows. The skin probably can’t reach those heights until extensive laser procedures. But the eyebrows. Eyebrows, I will conquer you.

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