First I have to apologize to my male readers. This is an unashamedly girly post. It’s all about hair. You’re forgiven if you want to give it a miss.
Yesterday I cut off my long hair.
It seemed like a good idea at the time, but when I got home and completed the standard ‘check your hair from every conceivable angle in the mirror’ session, I wondered if someone had give me a lobotomy while I slept because I’d just made a HUGE motherfucking mistake.
Sorry about the language, but I’m having a crisis here! I’m not myself. On the weekend I had long, sexy hair and now …
I look like a practical, suburban mother. How did this happen?
First comes the baby. Then your wardrobe shrinks to joggers and comfortable clothing. You stop wearing make-up and get a sensible haircut and all is lost. You’re another mommy robot. The old you has been strangled and left to decompose in a cupboard somewhere along with your ‘fuck me’ heels, racy red underwear and guide to the Kama Sutra.
It’s not that the cut is ugly, or I have no hair left, it’s just that only last week some friends were talking about how long my hair had gotten (it was halfway down my back). Then mum commented on how the length was bringing out the waves and ringlets, which immediately led me to fantasize about being some kind of Venus in a half shell. But not walking around nude or anything; that wouldn’t be appropriate at all.
This is what my hair used to look like. It’s not my favorite shot and it doesn’t show you how long the back layers were, but I didn’t have many photos to choose from because I seem to wear my hair up or tucked under caps a lot of the time. Probably because I’m a boring suburban mother!
If you’re like my husband, you’re now asking, “Why did you cut it, if you were so happy with it?”
Because I am an impulsive fool.
A fool who’s embarrassed to admit that I had a major freak out about aging on the weekend.
It all started on Sunday morning when I was looking for a particular old photo that I wanted to scan in and use for a future travel post. When I didn’t find it in the expected location, I widened the search and ended up looking through lots of photos from over the past 6 years. One that got my attention was the shot below. This was taken on my wedding anniversary 4 years ago, and looking at it I was struck by how cute that post baby haircut was, and HOW YOUNG I LOOKED in spite of the total lack of sleep I was getting at the time.
It was the hair or botox.
After scurrying to the mirror I realized it was true. I looked more tired and weathered now than I did when I got a maximum of four hours sleep a night. My age is finally catching up with me. I’m past my prime. Slowly degrading.
While poking and stretching the skin around my eyes, neck and forehead, I briefly entertained the thought of having botox. Luckily this idiocy lasted only a few minutes, before I fixated on the hair. It was too dark. Too long. It was dragging my face down. I needed to wear more make-up, get some highlights. I needed a new face AND new hair.
I tried to pull myself together with a “You can’t look 25 forever” pep talk, but it didn’t stick. Monday morning came and I found myself standing out the front of the hairdressers. I admired the posters of gorgeous young models with fresh skin and shiny, flowing locks. Was dazzled by the rows of hair product promising me “sleek curls’ and “no frizz’ and ‘thick lustrous locks’. And next thing I knew, I was sitting in the comfy leather chair and pointing at a cute copper coloured flip and using words like “new look”, “something fresh”. You know, the stupid hair talk that inevitably leads to trouble.
At first it was all good. A little hair pick-me-up. A bit of pampering to start off my week. And when the hair fell in five inch tresses off my head and pooled around the chair, I knew it was a mistake, but it was too late to tell Ms Scissorhands that I’d changed my mind.
“You won’t even miss it”. “It’ll grow back” and other bullshit.
When she saw my shocked, tearful face at the end, the hairdreser assured me that it wasn’t as short as sit looked, there was still PLENTY of length at the back. I don’t know what back she was looking at, but the only things I could see plenty of were grey hairs! Apparently they multiply with every inch of hair that gets cut off.
Musicman says the hair looks bouncy and it’s good to have a change. I think he’s mad. Who needs change? I’m almost 37 years old, I’m gonna change soon enough and not in a good way.
I know I have issues and I’m being negative. And I’m going to age regardless of how I feel about it, and the best years of my life are still ahead of me and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah…
Maybe the solution is more tampering. I could get a new dye job to go with the cut. I’ve never had purple hair before. Purple hair would make me look young again, wouldn’t it?
And maybe a nose ring. I don’t have nearly enough piercings. And tattoos, I probably need more tattoos…