I remember when it all started: I was ten years old, sitting on my great-grandmother’s lap, eating strawberries covered in sugar. She looked at me with delight and said, “We have the exact same eyebrows!”
Hers were big, white, wiry, and out-of-control. I was mortified at the comparison. The next day, I asked my mum if she could take me to the salon to get them waxed. “Not a chance," she said. So, I had to take matters into my own hands: I found our family's only pair of tweezers (in a first-aid kit) and went to town. My eyebrows never grew back.
Fast-forward to when I was in college and working for the Lancôme beauty counter in Sarasota, Florida. We brought in professional makeup artists for many of our quarterly training sessions. At one event, a makeup artist singled out my brows as an example what not to do when creating a custom look — she referred to them as “Ronald McDonald” arches.
Her words stuck with me, but when I tried to grow my brows out, I had very little success. Instead, I became an expert at penciling them in. Once I graduated, though, I wanted a more permanent solution. By then, I felt completely naked without my penciled brows, which made life very difficult. I tried brow-growth serums, Rogaine, hair pills — anything I could think of. Nothing worked. I finally decided that getting a brow transplant was the solution for me. Read on to see what this process was really like.