I was on a zoom meeting with just one other person, and she was wearing makeup. Not cool. All the other women in our team have stopped wearing makeup or styling their hair entirely. But in the meeting was this one woman in her little screen panel all dolled up, while I was in the panel next to her, and I didn’t look like the same species. My face was doughy and pink, lips colorless, hair insane, no eyelashes. Worst of all, I only appeared to have the part of the eyebrow that slants up from the nose. My descending eyebrows were too washed out to be seen.
I spent half an hour staring at all the differences in our faces, until I excused myself to “visit the restroom,” where I did nothing but quickly draw on the descending half of my eyebrows.
When I came back she said, “You go to the bathroom really fast.”
So I had to tell her that I was threatened by her eyebrows and I couldn’t take it anymore.
She said, “Mine are microbladed. It’s a semi-permanent tattoo. It lasts about a year. I got it done and then the pandemic struck.”
My mourning the two pair of work pants I bought the night before our office shut down is nothing compared to spending $500 on microbladed eyebrows. What about the people who bought perfume no one can smell, or shoes no one can see? Worse, what about people who spent money liposuctioning their thighs and now they’re never seen standing up? It’s just a little extra bit of sadness courtesy of the virus.