That's right, my friends. Josephine Tey, the non-prolific but generally adorable 1950s English mystery writer, wrote somewhere that eyebrows are the 'keynote' of the face. And Linda Evangelista, a famous runway model with a rather odd long pointy nose, was recorded by my Waterstone's annual diary of 2004 (I think) as saying that 'No one is born with perfect eyebrows'. This is profoundly true. A relative sent me pictures of family that went back through the years in shocking detail, and most of the shock lay in my own eyebrow shape: the younger I get in the photos, the more pointy and brackety and just plain hairy my eyebrows appear. This was after puberty began, when it was in full gear but I had not yet realized what eyebrows ought to look like. I started plucking them when I was about 15 (too much at first, of course), to make them resemble the PERFECT eyebrows I had as a little girl. Which is pretty much what they've resembled ever since. In short, I was born with perfect eyebrows, and I had them up until puberty when they went wild and had to be cut back. Maybe that's what Ms Evangelista meant. But it wouldn't have sounded as pithy.
In any case, I have never had nor sought nor admired what I call the feathered or indeed the forked eyebrow. I like a smooth arc, not too pointy, not too straight. Not too hairy, not too painted-looking (yes, I'm looking at YOU, Elizabeth Taylor, even if I do admire the thickness, darkness, and shape).
But the straight-across thick 'n feathered Brooke Shields/Mariel Hemingway look never really appealed to me. Whoever is grooming Madonna's brows is similarly trying to paint the lily when it wants to be left alone.