Oh hello there, human!

Who am I? Just your friendly neighborhood green lacewing—but back in my rebellious youth, they called me an aphid wolf. Stick around for a tale of transformation: from insatiable beast to beauty.

You might catch a glimpse of me weakly fluttering through from your plants like a tiny, green fairy. My four wings? Delicate masterpieces—laced with fine veins and a hint of iridescence, like I shop exclusively at Nature’s Boutique. My body? Soft and bright green. My eyes? Golden metallic and compound, because why settle for one when you can have thousands? I’ve even got super-hearing organs that let me drop like a leaf in a windstorm when I hear a bat’s echolocation. Survival is flair, darling.

Sure, I’m a twilight twinkler in your garden, but I’m not just here to look fabulous. As an adult, I dine mostly on nectar and pollen—but I also snack on mites and aphids, depending on my species. Yum, Nature’s gummy candies.

Now, if you spot me as a larva, don’t be alarmed. I look like a tiny, hump-backed alligator with a serious attitude. In this stage, I’m a full-blown carnivore. One of us can devour 100 to 600 aphids in a couple of weeks and rates of up to 100 aphids per day have been recorded. We even wear our leftovers like fashion accessories—aphid debris stuck to our spines for camouflage. Haute couture meets horror movie.

After a couple of weeks of feasting, I spin myself a cozy, cottony cocoon and emerge two weeks later as the elegant adult you see before you.

Got aphids? Look for our eggs on the same plants—tiny, pale green or grey, perched on slender stalks under leaves. Once we hatch, it’s game on. We swing our heads side to side like buggy metal detectors until we bump into prey. Our love for soft-bodied pests earned us nicknames like aphid lion and aphid wolf. Aww. Ferocious and adorable