A Hair Story

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.

June 2006: First date with Stefan. We are on Canary Wharf in London. Hair didn’t look good, but in that tight little wraparound H&M dress who cares about the hair?!

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?

{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }

  1. ok, I understand that I as a guy don’t have much to say about your hair 😉 but I had an idea: since Milan is not too far away from where you are (and Ancona, Como with all the celebrities, etc.) … you could book yourself a pleasant Saturday every month and go to any of those places, enjoy a cappuccino or two, and have a proper hairdresser take care of your hair … how is that?

  2. I like the hair evolution post…

    women have such interesting hair, or at least, can do such interesting & societally approved things with it..

    my own hair story is not about what’s on my head, in the past month I suddenly discovered a big patch of white in the center of my chest…

    I’ve been under a lot of physical & health stress since xmas, and have felt tired & worn out..

    its like a glinting, snowy exclamation/message to me.. every time I look in the mirror.. things are changing

    but I won’t blog about that… no one wants to see chest hair… even if it is a message/metaphor

  3. Yes, Mother is howling recalling that around 2 you developed your first “drama queen” behavior which was screeeaming when I washed your hair. I had to resort to taking you to Joseph at my expensive salon and pay, yes pay, him for you to sit in a booster chair and have your hair shampooed. But you were oh so cute sitting there that it was worth the $$$. I never looked back and here you are today!
    I like it straight but so envy you those curls!
    Mom

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