I’ve been having some shitty ass hair days lately.
Clearly illustrated in Exhibit A — aka the photo taken yesterday.
I’m the one down there on the left. In case you are all hopped up on Jameson’s and can’t tell.
Thank god the type of hair day you are having doesn’t determine your mood 100% of the time. Because I would have been a grump the entire Columbus Day weekend.
Anyway, doesn’t my hair look all flat and bored? Or boring.
Point is… when I was a little girl, my hair was always neat. And clean. And perfect. And never a concern.
Years later, I’m tired of even the 30 minute blow drying sessions with my hair stylist who I think recently quit me because I missed an appointment or two.
I gave up on blow drying my own hair years ago and realized I need to pay a professional so I can leave my house with hair worth having.
My hair outside of work is styled the same way year after year. Straight down, middle part.
I think I fear hair change of any kind — even the simplest change. I already know I’m terrified to color my hair. And since I made the mistake of cutting it a few inches too much a couple of weeks ago, even another hair cut may not be in my near future.
The whole idea of Hair Thursday would be wasted on me because I’d be given a look and would never pull the trigger on it.So I’m left with hair I want to put up, pull back and never let down because I ask myself “What the F— Happened” every time I look in the mirror.
After seeing the Chris Rock documentary, Good Hair, I realize I don’t take my hair seriously — at all! — like some women. (And that’s not just because I would never consider wearing a hair weave or putting one on layaway because it cost a few thousand dollars.)
I’m laid back when it comes to these multi-shade of brown (with some white mixed in!) strands on top of my head. And I don’t care if someone touches my hair. Except for that woman who came up to me, touched my hair and then asked me if my hair was really mine but that’s a whole different thing I suppose. Oh wait, and the stylist at CBS who put his hands through my hair and said “OMG its real, what are you?” They annoyed me just a tad.
I don’t think having a different hair length would make me more interested in my hair. I don’t have a face for short hair. Or the courage to sport a hairdo that isn’t at least shoulder length.
Although chopping away a few inches would mean probably I’d have less time consuming hair care and hair style thoughts.
But then there would also go blog filler for days when I shouldn’t blog about the other things on my mind. J
Next stop… Going to court, a school interview, the Reebok cupcake walk with Jill Zarin and an event (forgot what!) at the Empire Hotel tomorrow. Skipping the premiere of Where the Wild Things Are to make sure I’m home in time for the changing of the guards.