A 31-year-old Danish woman who is undoubtedly defying social norms on beauty refuses to remove her mustache and is unconcerned about her unibrow. Meet Eldina Jaganjac, a Copenhagen-born teacher who has rejected society’s standards of beauty, especially those pertaining to men.
In March 2020, Eldina took a risk by allowing her facial hair to grow and embracing her 31-year-old natural appearance. She discovered a certain liberation in accepting herself exactly as she is, in defiance of the conventional beauty standards that encourage women to be sleek and hairless. Naturally, not everyone found this to be acceptable. Men were bold enough to remark that she appeared to have a “third head” staring at them. But Eldina finds that her facial hair serves as a great filter, preventing her from interacting with people she would prefer not to.
Eldina is convinced that her mustache and unibrow deter “conservative” suitors, allowing her to attract guys who value her personality above appearances.
She revealed, “I used to think that women’s fashion choices were limited to a few selections. I had a constant obsession with getting my eyebrows just right before I accepted my unibrow. If a man neglects to shave his beard, nobody seems to care. It’s simply accepted as normal.
Eldina went on, “Like many other women, I used to be so strict with myself.” If my eyebrows weren’t well-groomed, I wouldn’t leave the house, and if my legs weren’t flawlessly waxed, I wouldn’t go to the gym.
But things have since changed. Now, I’ve made the decision to pay more attention to my responsibilities and objectives and less to how I look. She stated matter-of-factly, “I’m not going to lose sleep over it, and even if I did, I just wouldn’t care.”
Eldina claims that initially, it didn’t feel right. She said with a hint of well-earned sarcasm, “But if people have nothing better to do than yell at strangers, then that’s their problem.”
My Stepdaughter Insisted I Reassign All Her Deceased Father’s Possessions into Her Name – I Complied, Yet She Was Unpleased
The emptiness of George’s departure permeates their residence, his presence enduring in the shirt Mariana grips nightly. However, it wasn’t his passing that devastated her… it was her stepdaughter Susan’s insistence on inheriting his wealth. When she reluctantly agreed, an unexpected twist left Susan enraged and Mariana strangely content.
Progressing past the death of a dear one is always challenging. At times, I still sense my husband George’s voice echoing in my mind. I awaken holding his cherished shirt, his fragrance still clinging to the material. Yet, as I mourned him, my stepdaughter’s actions… they utterly broke me…
I am Mariana, aged 57, wed to the kindest man, George, for 25 years. He had a daughter, Susan, aged 34, from an earlier marriage.
Our bond with Susan was once good. She addressed me as “Mom” and filled the gap in my heart from not bearing my own children. I never viewed her as “another’s” child. I cherished her as my own daughter, truly.
When Susan wed her chosen partner, George and I were thrilled. But then, everything deteriorated when George received a terminal cancer diagnosis.
Susan’s visits reduced from weekly to monthly, then ceased entirely. She seldom visited her father, occasionally phoning to inquire about his health.
One day, she posed a question that tore me apart. “How long does he have left?”
Clutching the phone tightly, my voice shook. “Susan, your father isn’t an item with an expiration date.”
“I just need to know, Mom. I’m swamped, you know that… I can’t come by often,” she responded.
“Swamped?” I repeated, my tone filled with disbelief. “Too swamped to visit your dying father?”
She exhaled deeply. “Look, I’ll attempt to come soon, okay?”
But that “soon” never materialized.
Then, the dreaded day arrived. The hospital informed me that George had passed away peacefully.
I was devastated, barely able to stand as the reality sank in. My beloved George, gone.
Shockingly, Susan didn’t attend his funeral. When I called her, she promptly excused herself.
“I’m expecting, Mom,” she stated, her tone strangely indifferent. “The doctors advised against lengthy travel due to some medical concerns.”
I swallowed hard, holding back tears. “But Susan, it’s your father’s funeral. Don’t you wish to bid him farewell one last time?”
“I can’t jeopardize my baby’s health,” she curtly replied. “You understand, right?”
I didn’t, not truly, but I nodded silently, forgetting she couldn’t see me. “Of course, dear. Take care.”
As I sat near my husband’s coffin, I couldn’t dismiss the notion that our relationship had irrevocably changed.
Six months post-George’s death, I was startled by a loud knock at my door. Opening it, I saw Susan and her husband Doug, along with a severe-looking man in a suit.
Susan entered without greeting. “Mom, we need your signature on some documents.”
Baffled, I blinked. “Which documents?”
Doug handed me a stack of papers, including a blank sheet. “Just sign these. They’re for transferring all the properties into our names.”
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