Time for a Change
I think I need a haircut. No, that’s not true. I know I need a haircut; I think I might be ready to get one. Seeing as how my last foray into the world of hairdressing was over 18 months ago, and ended with my bestfriend randomly hacking off bits of hair in a desperate attempt at some sort of fix, this newfound willingness to return to the scene of the crime is a big deal. Or a pretty strong indicator of how much I hate my hair right now.
I have nice enough hair. It’s very healthy and very thick, with the kind of waves that come from years of being too long and too heavy to follow its natural inclination towards curl. What I don’t have is an actual hairstyle–unless you call “tucked behind the ears/sloppy ponytail” a hairstyle. Which, for some, really is a cute look. But me? It looks like I just gave in, pushed it behind my ears, and then stole one of Diva Girls innumerable ponies to keep the whole mess out of my way. Which I totally did. Because I am hairstyle impaired.
Back in high school while other girls were mastering the mysterious arts of the curling iron, hairspray, and the dread blowdryer/brush combo, I was simply mystified. I imagined these girls to be akin to some sort of many armed Hindu beauty goddess, wielding a whirling arsenal of product, brushes, and appliances to create fabulous hairstyles. Hard as I tried, my bangs never achieved that high, graceful fall over the forehead; the closest I ever got was “poofy,” which may or may not have been a step up from my usual look, best described as “heavy and flat.” Other girls had flips, mushrooms, long bangs, feathered locks, and spiral perms; I had waist length hair that generally ended up pulled into a ponytail, or, if I was feeling fancy, a french braid. I didn’t even own a hairdryer, much less know how to use one in conjunction with a round brush.
Needless to say, my formative hairstyling years left me woefully unprepared for a lifetime of haircare. I mean, I can wash my hair ok. But anything beyond that is essentially beyond me. And, sadly, you just can’t go with the long, blunt cut look forever. Well, I suppose you can, but I wouldn’t recommend it. I’ve gotten somewhat more adventurous from my first foray into the realm of the actual hairstyle–a shoulder length bob that I’m not sure even really qualifies. I’ve even bought a hairdryer, and had some success in using it. I’ve experimented with bangs and layers to varying degrees of success, but somehow I always end up back in a ponytail.
After the “70s lesbian punk rock shag” debacle of 2005, I was more than happy to retreat to my safety zone. I was comfortable in my headbands and ponys, and it’s not like I was trying to impress the other moms at playgroup. Now that I’m working agian, however, I’ve started to feel a little selfconcious utter lack of a hairstyle. Finding myself once again surrounded by groups of teenage girls who clearly understand the mysteries of mousse, I am inspired to venture back into the land of the coiffed and at least make an attempt at worshiping at the alter of that many armed hairgoddess.