You know how on the HGTV and Lifetime-type channels, in between Trading Spaces and whatever home show is hip and new now, they have “A Baby Story” and “An Adoption Story”? Well, I think they should have “A Hair Story.” They could do the long-term hair stories like Dooce did in her recent post, breaking out the yearbooks and the hairspray-induced insanity that was 1980s bangs. They could have hair interventions. Then they could do short-term hair stories like this one:
2006, a year in hair
January, 2006: Very Fast Andrew took this photo on the balcony when he and Jess were here and he skated very fast in Davos. (Yes, I know the plastic is still on the chair.) That hair. It’s long. Longest bangs I’ve ever had. And straight. Who knew?
April, 2006: I love this photo but if I remember correctly my hair is pushed up with sunglasses because it seemed to me like Cousin It atop my head… like any minute it might engulf my face, my entire being… Just goes to show you how reality and perception don’t always match up. Hmmm… I believe I was in some existential crisis because the good, Spanish hairdresser I’d found moved to Napoli. Crisis not entirely unfounded, as following photos reveal.
October, 2006: I believe this is post-repair. This is a whole new conditon in my hair story. It’s the condition after I go to the hairdresser in shame because I have cut my own hair thinking I don’t like how she does it anyway so why pay 100 francs. She then has to cut off more because I’ve got it all crooked and caddywhampus (my new favorite word, I have no idea how to spell it).
Today’s post is inspired because at 3:30 I will be doing a walk of shame unlike any other — I am glad my regular hairdresser is on vacation; this is like the third time I’ve done this this year. Please don’t let me have the hot man hairdresser and have to explain in Italian that I have butchered my own hair on purpose but I have a doctorate so I am not, in fact, a complete idiot.
I digress. January, 2007: Long and dry like a Sahara summer. It needed to be fixed. I thought I’d just do a little fixing. I don’t like going to the salon here. I don’t trust them and I can’t talk to them and… hmmm… I think maybe it’s not them, it’s me. (I can hear my Mother laughing now b/c I think I have done this since I was a small child… not the cutting it myself, but all the rest of it.)
What’s your hair story?