I get so emotional thinking about my ideal outfits.
Like every time I picture my future self in a floor length white fur coat over a lingerie inspired little black dress and a leather harness I just get overwhelmed with feelings.
Unlike most women my age, getting my eyebrows done is a very recent thing for me. While all my friends in college lamented the fact that there was no truly great place in our area to get them waxed, I let my brows grow free and untamed. Every so often, I’d buy one of those pastel colored razors from the beauty supply store and at most shave the hairs in between that threatened to become a unibrow. On extremely special occasions, like if I was anticipating a young mans face being dangerously close to my own, I might also take off a little of the wispy hairs that grew beneath them. Otherwise it was au naturel, all the time.
Whenever I said I’d never had my eyebrows waxed, other women would look at me in horror. “It changes your face you know,” they said. “So you just let them keep growing?” I wanted to point out that they very rarely grew past my nose, so I wasn’t particularly concerned. “Are you just afraid of the pain?” they’d ask. “It doesn’t hurt at all, just one two! And it’s over.” I was offended by this last statement, because I was pretty sure I could take the pain of a little wax. I just didn’t want to.
ROLL UP THE PARTITION PLEASE