True story of eyebrows transplant

I remember when it all started: I was ten years old, sitting on my great-grandmother's lap, eating strawberries covered in sugar. He looked at me with delight and said, "We have exactly the same eyebrows!"

Hers was large, white, wavy and out of control. I had fallen in comparison. The next day, I asked my mother if she could take me to the salon to get me waxed eyebrow hair transplant. "Not a chance," he said. So, I had to take matters into my own hands: I found my family's only pair of tweezers (in a first aid kit) and went to town. My eyebrows never grew back.

Fast forward when I was in college and working for Lancôme Beauty Counter in Sarasota, Florida. We brought in professional makeup artists for our many quarterly training sessions. At one event, a makeup artist singled out my barking as an example of what not to do when creating a custom look - he referred to them as "Ronald Macdonald" arches.

His words stuck with me, but when I tried to grow my brows, I had very little success. Instead, I became an expert at penciling them. Once I graduated, however, I wanted a more permanent solution. By then, I felt completely naked without my pencil barking, making life very difficult. I tried brow-growth serum, rogaine, hair pills - anything I could think of. Nothing worked. I finally decided that getting a brow transplant was the solution for me. Read on to see what exactly this process was.