People are generally surprised when I claim to be a tiny amount Persian because I’m pale and always have a soy latte in hand. At which point I show them my faint handlebar mustache. But really, the only bodily characteristic that confirms the presence of a small amount of Persian blood is the speed and veracity at which my facial hair grows. Unfortunately, I am not a man so my facial hair inspires slight revulsion instead of deep respect and fear. You would think I would have a favored method for removing it by now as a 23 year old, but this is not true. I have no loyalty to hair removal procedures because so far, they have all resulted in mediocre eyebrows and pain.
I wish I could just allow the monolithic caterpillars on my face to continue to grow into a majestic unibrow butterfly. I wish I just could accept Frida Kahlo as my style icon and move on. And, to be honest, there are days when I enjoy my hairy wolf face. Like when the sunlight streams into my room, dappled by swaying trees, and hits my mustache, soul patch, and unibrow juuust right so as to produce a very attractive effect. And I think to myself, “Wow, I should really just be highlighting these features instead of getting them ripped out of my face every few weeks!” Alas, the sun is not so kind most days so instead, I find ways to rid myself of this extra hair. And don’t worry, I don’t waste my waxed/plucked facial hair; I donate it to the Justin Bieber Facial Hair Relief Fund. I urge you to do the same.
Annnyway, after months of leaving my facial hair alone besides the occasional use of tweezers, I decided it was time to turn to the professionals again. I went to a threading salon where I was promised a pain-free experience that was better than waxing. Yeah, no. There is not such thing as painless hair removal. I sat in the chair as the nice lady methodically used friction to remove my face hairs and I proceeded to sweat everywhere because of the pain. I’m sure my eyes were watering too but I can’t remember because I have mostly blocked out the memory.
After the threading session, I had shaped eyebrows, a sweaty dress, and an unwavering desire to never get my eyebrows threaded again.
However, a few weeks later, I realized my eyebrows were out of control. I was a human sheepdog. I couldn’t see right and my parents were getting worried. I decided to go back to the waxing salon where I also previously had told myself I would never return.
This was a mistake because, for the second time, I had actual skin ripped off instead of hair.
I thought that maybe it was just a fluke or something when this happened the first time. Nope. I’m just sensitive to wax and get lightning scars but not in a cool Harry Potter way or in a way that would discern me as a truly committed SD Chargers fan – no, just an unsightly scar. I religiously put vitamin E on it in the hopes that it would help heal it with its magical science powers. It did heal the outside scar, but the emotional scars have yet to heal.
I hope we can all learn something from my terrible grooming mishaps: just accept the lady stache.