Real life photo of me smiling through the pain^^
I made the grave mistake of cutting my locks in the middle of my Abercrombie and Fitch denim skirt phase. Hind-sight is 20/20 but anyone with half a brain knows that no major decision should be made when you all but worship that stupid little moose logo. Since coming home with the early 2000’s signature side swept bangs, and practically a bowl cut, I’ve been trying to grow it back out. Believe me when I say I’ve tried everything from strange oils to prenatal vitamins. And hey I was making some progress until I met she-who-shall-not-be-named (a hair dresser who is probably related to satan).
For those of you who haven’t noticed, Holly the 20-year-old has left the building and an unhot version of Stacy’s mom has entered stage right, red hot. The version of Stacy’s mom that is probably on her third cup of coffee and has something stuck in her teeth. Welcome over-caffeinated Stacy’s mom with the librarian bob, wish I could say I was glad to have ya. Some of it is probably my fault for not having a routine hair stylist in Iowa City, or anywhere for that matter. Maybe I’m an unclear communicator, but here I am 3 cycles of hair dye and two haircuts later with a style that is nowhere near what I expected. I will say that some salvation came my way during fix #3 in the form of a stylist back in my hometown- so I at least feel less like a colonial woman now. Bless your soul, Tiffany.
All of that being said, I can’t pinpoint a time in my life where I felt less like myself than I do right now. I’ve committed myself to a life of ponytail nubs and baseball-cap-wearing to try and hide the degree of friedness (which is high af). To be honest, I hate myself for getting so tied up in something as superficial as a haircut. But dude, you’re lying to yourself if you said someone’s hair isn’t among the first things you notice. Kind of gross how big of a role physical appearance plays, but unfortunately that’s kind of the way it goes at this stage of life. How I feel is typically a bit of a direct link to how I present myself on the outside and that works the opposite way as well.
Somewhere along the line I’ve let myself fall into a place where something as small as a botched haircut can result in a mini identity crisis- a personality flaw that needs stopped in its tracks. So I’m teaching myself to embrace the bedhead, care less about what everyone may think of it and move the hell on. It is hair. It freaking grows back. Get over it. Change is good and, hey, as I’ve said before, I think the biggest improvements as a person come from your most uncomfortable experiences. Obviously this is just a blip on the scale of uncomfortable or unfortunate happenings (and I tend to be a little bit overdramatic) but that doesn’t mean I can’t learn something from it. Even if it’s just to never go back to she-who-shall-not-be-named.