With Kat Goombs, your Gen X Tiktok beauty influencer booking flights to Slovakia for her Báthory treatment

THERE is no such thing, post-Delevigne, as ‘too much eyebrow’. Ideally they should take up around 85 per cent of a woman’s face. 

Like many of us peri-meni babes, I spent the whole of the nineties in a plucking frenzy. I blame Delores Cranberry, who of course it eventually killed.

And while I no longer act like Employee of the Month at a Bernard Matthews factory, my brows are tragically no longer as luxuriant as his. Indeed, sometimes they resemble the barren, lifeless patches his turkeys went free range on.

Microblading is the answer. But eyebrows are the caterpillars of the soul so when you’re having them permanently etched onto your face, you’ve got to find someone you trust. I recommend arch-angel Gabrielle at medical aesthetics lounge, Re‑Form UK.

Getting inked is addictive and like my girl Angelina Jolie, no sooner had the scabs sloughed off than I was back for another round in the stirrups. Also, there seems to be an issue with lunar cycles and waking up tired, covered in blood and feathers.

But Gaby knows what I need, and for a mere £26,000 in four convenient instalments she’d microbladed my whole body from the tip of my full-bodied forehead furrows to the base of my bombshell booty brows!

I howled in joy, ran out of there on all fours and, hirsute as a Kardashian, ran home to kill again. Side effects have been minimal: a touch of anaphylaxis around silver necklaces and the occasional morning where I’ve regurgitated a hand.

But I’ve never felt happier, hairier or hungrier for raw tripe. I feel decades younger and can catch the scent of prey from six miles away. I’m like a new woman.