Thin Eyebrows, Low-Rise Jeans, & What It All Means
I, and many others, have picked up the tweezers, razors, and wax strips — and are opting for thinner, straighter, and sleeker brows.
I have spoken about the comeback of trends popular in the 00s with people around me, and there seems to be a unanimous feeling that, for better or for worse, Y2K is back, baby! No matter where you look, there are little throwbacks to the naughts everywhere in beauty and pop culture. One of the most interesting ones, to me at least, is the ever-thinning brow. In stark contrast to the thick, bushy brow that defined 2016 (insert James Charles' infamous block brow picture here), the current brow trend leans more natural, with soap brows taking center stage for a period of time and then the shift to thinner, straighter arches, which was much more reminiscent of the late 90s and early 00s. While it seems like a simple trend, thinner eyebrows indicate a return to more traditional representations of femininity and are part of the tidal wave of conservatism we're experiencing in the cultural realm.
It is undeniable that, specifically in the United States, we are experiencing a peak of conservatism. With the uptick in trad-wife content and a weird increase in celebrities' choices to align with alt-right talking points (I’m looking at you, Sydney Sweeney), sometimes it feels like we’ve gone through the looking glass. A striking shift from the relatively progressive 2010s, with pushes for diversity and inclusivity shaping the beauty and fashion spheres, those realms are now somehow moving backwards to more homogenous and regressive images. Interestingly, part of this cultural shift is reflected in the way women and femme-aligned individuals style their brows. Using my own story as an example: I began progressively thinning out my eyebrows, which are naturally fairly bushy, sometime earlier this year. This was to the dismay and horror of my mother, who survived the peak of the pencil brow. Aghast, she asked me if they were “back,” and I said something along the lines of, “It suits my face shape more,” or, “It looks sleeker.” Truly, my reasoning was swayed by videos headlining: “This is your sign to thin out your eyebrows!” or “Why thin eyebrows suit everyone!” I'm ashamed to admit I am so easily persuaded, but it's one of those things where once I picked up my tweezers, I couldn’t put them down. But one line of reasoning that didn't quite sit well with me was that “thinner eyebrows look more feminine.”
Video Courtesy: @elsadesiree on TikTok
This thought process made me feel a little queasy because it was reminiscent of the fear of body hair that defines the young girl of color growing up. A pivotal moment in childhood was when my best friend and I, at the time, were approached by a classmate and asked if our matching mustaches were real or fake. Ego bruised, I went home and shaved my upper lip for the first time. Body hair, bushy unibrows, and girlstaches/peach fuzz are natural, and writing these things off as a sign of being unkempt or less feminine is a slippery slope that I don’t think we can afford to fall on. It is no coincidence that in the day and age where gender affirming treatments and trans identities are under fire and scrutiny, strict lines are being drawn in the sand for how to present yourself in a feminine way.
It’s not just facial hair. We need to keep in mind that recession trends as a whole are in full swing. “Recession blonde” saw a revitalization recently, UGGs had a crazy return to the limelight, and the infamous low-rise jeans are virtually inescapable now. This author is wearing a pair as she is writing this. One could argue that these comebacks are just part of the 20-year cyclical nature of trends, but there is something to be said about the implications of these trends and what they require from women. Let’s narrow in on the low-rise jeans. Most popular in Kate Moss’s heyday (and I won’t waste my word count rehashing her infamous ED fuel), low-rise jeans were best paired with protruding hip bones and a super flat tummy. Along with the reintegration of the low-rise cut, those same beauty expectations have crept into the collective psyche over the past year or two. The online zeitgeist reflects a noticeable difference from the body positivity of the late 2010s. That era where Meghan Trainor's “All About That Bass” went triple platinum on my iPad is long gone, ignoring how she was turned into a punchline by many. The same era as Lizzo’s mainstream breakthrough showed that there was a space for plus-size women on the stage. Today, we are left with a rejection of any semblance of body positivity. The biggest litmus test of the culture change proves this shift most clearly: the way teenage girls talk. A few years back, insulting someone’s weight was a one-way ticket to being labeled a bitch. Today, “big-back” and “whale” are just some of the endearing pet names I have heard thrown around amongst female friends. Not to be the friend that’s too woke, but the lack of qualms about villainizing weight is reflective of the reductive thin-is-in mindset.
I also believe part of the shift can be attributed to the miracle drug Ozempic and its many counterparts. A hallmark of the 2000s was the quest for the miracle diet drug, one that could melt the fat right off your bones, and while we didn’t find it then, all it took was the discovery of this injection for all of those ideals to come flooding back. Dozens upon dozens of artists face the Ozempic allegations, and it follows that women and young girls would internalize what they see on their screens; if these idols don’t want to stay fat, why should we?
I don’t mean to sound naive, because I know that even at our most body-positive, fatphobia was pervasive and it never really went away. While the skinny comeback of today is not nearly as severe as the heroin chic entrenched 2000s (like why were they making us think Raven Symone was plus size in any way), it is still difficult to ignore. Praising thin, dainty physiques, even at the risk of the individual’s own health, solidifies the notion that women’s primary role is to be attractive and are thus part of a large return to traditional gender presentation that marks a large shift to conservatism.
Thin frames and little to no body hair (weirdly reminiscent of a prepubescent girl, but that’s another article, another day) are part of the traditional image of femininity that defines the most conservative parts of our history. Popularized in the post-WWII era, this image of a dainty, put-together yet low-maintenance woman became the dream girl. Keeping this in mind, all the trends in beauty and fashion of today, and how they lean towards this image, are unavoidable. The female body has always been commodified, and the beauty industry has been continuously scrutinized for inventing insecurities and selling the solutions right back to us. I think a prime example of this is the skincare trap. The industry thrives on the notion that with the right skincare routine, you can become naturally beautiful, and even stop the appearance of aging dead in its tracks. This allure has captivated most anyone who's tapped into the beauty culture, and children as young as 12 try to formulate routines that allow them to grasp onto their ever-fleeting youth. The Gen Alpha Sephora kid was a stereotype that sprouted from this reality, and as dismal as that seems, it is reflective of the culture of our time. Even the generations before us warned of the impact of these ideals: the almond moms, or Gen X women who diet to the point of disordered eating. What started as a funny stereotype further demonstrates women’s cry for help in surviving the demanding pressures of maintaining beauty and femininity. There is such a large stress put on learning how to do makeup, be in shape, and have a perfect hair routine; why is it any surprise that the younger generations would want to get ahead while they can? The requirements to be feminine are like a goal post that keeps getting pushed farther and farther away, and unless there is some serious waking up (I’m talking bra-burning levels of feminist pushback), I worry that the rising generations will have to unlearn the internalized insecurities that the teens of the 2000s are barely getting over themselves.
It follows that with the comeback of the 2000s trends, so does the comeback of 2000s worldviews. That era, the one of comedy specials and parody movies that were unafraid of making politically incorrect jokes, was especially not gentle to the female body. Lighthearted and all in good fun, jokes like that did a lot to normalize fatphobia, chauvinism, and transphobia in pervasive and subtle ways. Arguably, these jokes did more damage than outright bigotry, because they seeped into the minds of the audience. It was an era where jokes weren’t that deep, and calling out insensitivity put you at the risk of sounding like a snowflake. With the increase in expectations for how women present themselves, so along comes the attitude that diminishes any kind of sensitivity to simply “being too woke.”
How do we combat this? Really, all it takes is a second thought, an internalized question. We are sadly living in the age of “It’s not that deep,” and what feels like an all-time critical thinking low. But if we take the time to question the trends and styles being fed to us, we can actively push back the commodification of the female gender. When scouring through the thin brow-Tok, under a comment which boasted how thin eyebrows made the poster more feminine, someone retorted, “So hair makes you masculine?” and that sort of gave me hope.
Strike Out,
Orlando
Written by Rosita Mecherie
Edited by Liv Wagner & Sarah Franquelo
Rosita Mechérie is a Staff Writer for Strike Magazine Orlando and a freshman at the University of Central Florida, where she is majoring in Journalism and Film. Rosita is a self-proclaimed fangirl, an aspiring cinephile, and she could talk you to death about anything pop culture. She hopes to have a career in entertainment journalism and eventually write a novel or two. Reach her at rositamecherie@gmail.com or @rositamecherie on Instagram.
