My dad used to tell me, “If you ever meet someone with a facial tattoo, get away from them, and fast.” While such advice is hardly scientific, it’s served me well this far in life. And I think the same advice should apply to unibrows.
I hope this doesn’t seem like hyperbole, but there’s no way that everyone with a unibrow isn’t completely insane. Madness is usually defined as a lack of self-awareness that causes a person to come across as strange or disturbing to others, and to me that’s unibrows in a nutshell. By the by, have you ever noticed that objects with a “uni” prefix in their name are almost always terrible? Unicycle, unitard, unibrow—I could go on. One truly is the loneliest number that you’ll ever do.
To be fair, mental instability can be hard to detect when meeting new people, and so the unibrowed community deserves some credit for wearing their hearts on their sleeves and their psychosis under their foreheads.
In case you think I’m being a little hard on these weirdoes, let’s examine the basic thinking (or lack thereof) that goes into walking around with a fat, hairy caterpillar on the upper half of your face:
A person looks into the mirror and sees that they have a unibrow. They think, “That is OK. That is acceptable. That is how I want to look.” They’re fucking demented.
A person looks into the mirror and doesn’t see that they have a unibrow, despite the fact that they actually do. They think, “I look great. I look downright fuckable. There are no excessive patches of hair in the center of my brow.” They’re fucking demented.
They don’t own any mirrors; instead, the walls of their home are simply painted with the words, “I WILL KILL AGAIN” over and over from top to bottom. You got it: muy fucking loco. Look at it this way: Have you ever been talking to someone and noticed that their eyeline kept scanning upward toward your brow? It’s a creepy feeling, and I usually respond to it by asking if I’ve got something on my face. People with unibrows must get those looks all the time, and they don’t care.
Maybe they think it doesn’t matter, like when some female Tumblrite spends half her year and student loan building a perfect reconstruction of some anime character’s battle gear and then tops it all off by wearing her wire-framed glasses instead of springing for contact lenses. “It’s not like anybody’s looking at my face,” she must think. Yeah, why would they? That never happens when you’re meeting people.
If someone you love has a unibrow, then you’ve truly done them a disservice by allowing them to go through life this far looking like a talentless version of Frida Kahlo. You may assure yourself, “It’s too late to tell them now,” but that’s just fear—fear of confrontation, fear of exposing the truth. You must do the decent thing and hold a looking glass up to their poor, oblivious face before saying, “Look at yourself! Look at that disgusting thing! I feel like calling on Moses to part the shit out of that big hairy bastard! We’re getting you booked into a waxing salon immediately! Stop crying! You brought this on yourself!” They may struggle, they may protest, but in the long run they’ll thank you. By tearing away that inch-and-a-half of disgusting hair, you’ll be punching their ticket to civilized society. And hey, it’s not like they have a soul patch. Some people are just beyond help.