Browhaus Review

WEEKENDS spent in my early teens consisted of very little. Anything that prevented my brain from thinking after hard weekdays of attempting to master percentages, nail pronouns and attempting to locate Brazil on a world map (none of which I ever did quite conquer) would suffice. However, Sundays spent watching Channel Four catch-ups on the couch with my mother always managed to pull me back from the realms of the living dead, and zap me into the mindset of a brain surgeon, having to make tough, life-changing decisions. What caused this life-awakening shake up I hear you say?

The holy grail for all those fair-haired girls out there, who would quite like to wake up in the morning and for their face not to look like a piece of blank white paper with two eyeholes cut out.

Well, it’s an odd one really, but the shameful truth was, admittedly, the programme Shipwrecked. Real people living real lives on a not so remote desert island, being filmed by a twenty plus crew as they struggle to feed themselves and earn bonus prizes in the form of a Cadbury Dairy Milk was far more appealing to my thought-starved disposition. The real topic of debate between my mother and I (and possibly the only interaction that passed between us over the 48hr period) was, if we ourselves were on shipwrecked, what would be our one luxury item we were granted to take with us to the island? For boys, it’s easy, and almost a given – an acoustic guitar for those nights spent around campfires, serenading bikini-clad girls with Oasis’s ‘Wonderwall’ in attempt to reveal their sensitive sides after a hard day of being a lad and spearing fish. But for girls, my lord, where do you start?

Before even touching on aesthetic luxuries like nail varnish or sun-in or hairspray, you have to consider many other hygienic items that may be considered as luxuries (like tampons for example) regardless how much we argue that they are a basic human right. All this aside, you must wholesomely consider that you are being filmed 24 hours a day, and your sunburnt face is being sprawled across the nation’s TV sets every Sunday afternoon, so this is where the aesthetics completely override cleanliness or functionality in regards to luxury items, that is granted you are as image conscious as me and my mother. Being my mother’s daughter, I have inherited her pasty, white skin, blue eyes and blonde hair, which would fare well for us if we were in Germany circa 1940, but we’re not, so the argument is this: eyebrow pencil or mascara? Which sun-bleached part of my crispy face will be saved from public analysis?

So whist window shopping around the backstreets of Covent Garden for that one luxury item that my bank balance was going to be splurged on that month, a light in the dark became clear – BrowHaus. The holy grail for all those fair-haired girls out there, who would quite like to wake up in the morning and for their face not to look like a piece of blank white paper with two eyeholes cut out.

 Drawing inspiration from the ’40s German art movement, Bauhaus, Browhaus boasts of complete brow and lash resurrection, ranging from simple eyebrow threading (for those who tend to show no restraint when let loose with a pair of tweezers) to a complete brow enhancement. And In the lash department, they offer colour enhancement and eyelash extensions. Being a girl of simple pleasures, I opted for the brow and lash tint, along with a bit of threading. Being new to the land of highbrow brow maintance, I was initially overwhelmed with choice – the different colour intensities, shapes, lengths. Yet, when I eventually did choose, the service was seamless, taking no longer than twenty minutes, which gave me just enough time to have a bit of a nap. This just shows the skill of my beautician, Priya. She made the treatment so relaxing, enjoyable and pain free, that it might as well have been whale music.

And when I awoke, my brows were not only neat and tidy, but such a lovely, rich, dark brown colour, that even Audrey Hepburn would have been envious. My lashs batted away upon inspection in a mirror, in a blue-black colour, which was supposed to match the intensity of my darkest mascara. Now all I need is that desert island…