I like to keep it fresh around here for Bad Decision Tuesdays: you just never know what decade you're going to end up in! Last week, for instance, we hovered somewhere around 1987 or 1988 while laughing at my beret; the week before that, we landed in 1993 to gawp at my too-short dress.
This week, I thought I'd I take you back just a few short years to February 2003, on what just happened to be my 23rd birthday. Now don't get me wrong, all in all this isn't too bad of a look: marvel, for instance, at how unharried I appear! (This was mostly because I was 90% unemployed at this point, having just moved to Charleston the month before to embark on a "career" that involved writing freelance articles about technology companies for $75 each and watching an awful lot of Elimidate.)
So no, the issue here isn't my hair or my clothing---both relatively unremarkable, as hair and clothing go. The issue here is my eyebrows.
Wait, can you even see them? Because I don't think I can even see them. Hang on, maybe if I squint a bit....oh, wait, yeah, there they are. Did I draw them on with a fine-nibbed pen? Sadly, it's entirely possible. It was 2003, man. Who knows? Either way, those are some of the most overly overplucked eyebrows I've ever seen in my life. Would you like a close-up?
My god, they're not even a millimeter thick!
Happily, I finally put down the tweezers and stepped away from the bathroom mirror a few years after this, gradually coming to realize that since I didn't have much in the way of eyebrows anyway, what I did have, I'd better keep. It's true that some people can totally carry that thin-eyebrow thing. It's also---sadly, heartbreakingly, awfully---true that those people are not me.
(PS: I thought you'd also get quite a kick out of a 26-year-old Sean rocking something akin to The Caesar. You know what? He still has that sweater, though. Actually, come to think of it, I still have that black top. Hey, looks like the magazines were right after all: basics really will last you a lifetime!)