Every now and then I get an uncontrollable urge to make a change. Usually this is due to stress. Because hair is the most painless way to make a drastic change, it’s usually my hair (and of course, upon reflection, myself) that suffers after these impulses. My whims for change have resulted in: a perm that left me nearly bald, unnatural-looking black hair, maroon hair, blonde hair gone wrong (please see picture), ridiculous looking bangs, uneven self-trims and now, an emo/Farrah Fawcett ’70s style haircut. A few days ago, deciding that it was finally time for a cut, I headed to
the hairdresser and told her to give me something modern. I should have known things were going badly when she put half my hair in a bun and cut. and I was left with a strange, three-inch bowl cut on the top of my head with strands of various length coming out from the new mini-umbrella on my head.
When my grandmother saw me, her words were: “So, are you happy with the cut?” No compliments, no raving, nothing. And then: “Well, you needed a cut.” I knew that was bad. Then the guy I’m dating saw me and said: “You can wear that gray hat I like,” “It’s only hair, it’ll grow back,” and, my favorite, “I usually like when women’s hair is all the same length.” So from that commentary, I gather I’ve made a mistake.