One does not simply write, just as one does not simply arrive at greatness. We emerge into it with both a mixture of wariness and boldness, not unlike an Italian roundabout. And, thus, I find myself arriving at a topic of focus that I never considered could wholly consume four years of my life.
The eyebrow.
How I arrived here is not important; as I once told my mother: life is a continuum, so don’t meddle with it too much. If I want a cookie, don’t intervene. Who knows what the cookie will lead to. She says diabetes, I say revelation. Perhaps we are both wrong. That is the point.
But the eyebrow. Yes, the eyebrow. Those uniquely curious bands of hair that most of us find lingering an inch above our eyes. There is much to say. Much to assess. But let me be clear, I will focus on the left eyebrow. That is, the eyebrow above one’s left eye.
I was watching an episode of Homes Under the Hammer when I was overcome by an urgent need to take stock of the eyebrow. They call that a Foucauldian Transgression. For days and months and years I laboured, seeking to understand it. Now, I come to you with my insights.
The eyebrow is more than it appears. It seems unnecessary, does it not? We do not require hair above the eye, do we? Which begs the question, why is it there?
A fair question.
Well, dear reader, it is there because it is decorative. And the decorative is, in and of itself, unnecessary. And because it is unnecessary, it becomes necessary. We forget that the sun is rotting. And we forget that, though we rely on it for life, we cannot stare directly at it. Much like the eyebrow. One tends to notice an absent eyebrow and feels oppressed by unnatural unease when one faces an absent eyebrow. But would you think to stare at it on a Monday afternoon? I think not.
But if you did – if you were compelled to stare at the eyebrow in direct contravention of your senses – you might actually feel lost. Hopelessly lost. Because in the eyebrow’s vagueness we sense too much opportunity; a universe of gloriously unnecessary opportunity, and we wonder where to begin.
Thus, we both rely on it and ignore it. Which leads me to my key insight: If we can be blessed with an eyebrow, it is a sign from the divine that we should not expect life to be all function. We have bowels for things like that. Rather, we should embrace the unnecessary and tumble into it with the ebullient and unsteady footing of a toddler.
Allow me a brief moment to quote my good friend Georges Bataille (who is currently tied to my bedpost, but nonetheless approved this attribution):
“It is impossible to get worked up other than as a pig who rummages in manure and mud uprooting everything with his snout – and whose repugnant voracity is unstoppable.”
Thank you, Georges. But how, I hear you mutter; how should one action the revelatory scientific insights that I commendably bring forth?
It is simple.
Preen the eyebrow.
Then, and only then, might you experience an elevation of self. And if you don’t, try taking a nap.
And so, I declare the eyebrow an augury. Consult it as you would the works of Chomsky, Baudelaire, Lennon, Plath, and Bruce Forsyth. Treat it as you would a fortune cookie. That is, with tentative hope. And as you stare at those little hairs, think of the parts. Then, think of the sum of the parts. Then, have a cheeseburger and refuse to feel guilty. I believe that this will serve you well. It has served me well. I am well. I am very well. I am very, very well.
