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Apparently, bleached eyebrows are back in fashion—and frankly, it’s one of the least flattering trends I can think of… unless you happen to be a naturally ethereal, porcelain-skinned blonde who lives on a Scandinavian fjord and eats cloudberries for breakfast. But hey, fashion is fashion, so here I am, parading my own best bleached-brow look.

Dark hair with this? No, thank you. Jenna Ortega can pull it off, but I’m not her, and I refuse to pair it with the matching “tired girl” aesthetic—it brings back too many heroin chic flashbacks from the early ’90s, and not in the good, editorial way.

Enter Moccino with their new Baby skin at Access. She comes in the light new Renaissance skintones. She has soft features, a dewy glow, plump lips, and brows so faint they could vanish in a stiff breeze. I gave my face a little Nuve contour to stop it from floating off the screen and topped it with Goreglam’s Milky eyeshadow for that ghost-but-make-it-glam effect.

Wardrobe-wise, Thalia Heckroth’s Brienne dress is the kind of piece you can wear to just about anything—from brunch with the girls to a late-night rooftop soirée—and still look like you’ve planned your outfit days in advance. The cut is sleek, the fabric drapes like a dream, and it’s the kind of understated elegance that works as a blank canvas for accessories.

For today’s look, I reimagined LaGyo’s Ciao Bella hair flower as a brooch for a subtle, unexpected twist. On my feet, Gos Boutique’s Michelle slingbacks strike that perfect balance between comfort and sophistication. I paired them with Lowen’s Bella bag for a touch of polished practicality, and topped it all off with David Heather’s Rosemund watch—delicate, refined, and the sort of timepiece that makes you feel like you’re five minutes early even when you’re running late.

After two days of maximalist chaos, I went back to minimalist (well, my version of it) but kept the Reborn body—she’s growing on me… and I don’t mean the Waifus.

And that’s my bleached-brow era debut. If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the mirror, trying to decide whether I look like a Renaissance angel or a startled ferret.

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