"Hair style is the final tip-off whether or not a woman really knows herself."
-Hubert de Givenchy
-Hubert de Givenchy
As far back as I can remember I have always adored short hair. Ok, not, Twiggy circa 1967 short, but, more like Katie Holmes circa 2007 short. Yes. I love that bob. And, I love Katie. Actually, I love Katie pre- and post- the Cruise. And, that hair. Ah, so chic. My mother. Not-so-much. My mother. She likes long hair. Long and nicely trimmed. Which is how my hair was, until it wasn't.
In the fourth grade I finally convinced her to let me decide how short to chop my hair. Well, I think she may have tired of the begging-pleading-foot stomping-door slamming-whining and crying. She gave me a hand, and, I took her arm. When my favorite hair stylist, Luizete, asked me without my mom noticing how I wanted to cut my hair, I simply pointed to my chin. Not a word was said. I couldn't risk my lovely mother overhearing. So, there I was. Sitting in front of the massive mirror awaiting the moment I had so badly yearned for. And, in one snap it was done. My mom turned around and her eyes widened. It was too late. She was stunned. I actually thought she might shed a tear. She didn't. After about 15 minutes she got over it, almost. And, she realized that it wasn't that bad. Don't get me wrong. She still had a preference for my long golden locks, but, every now and again I would have a fit and my hair would be gone. Most of the time, my dad was the one to take me.
And, this is where my fascination with cutting my hair came to be. And, every couple of months I have this urge to just chop off all of my hair. The urge. Well, it comes out of nowhere. It just comes like a wind storm and for days, weeks, months I simply cannot put it to rest. Should I? Shouldn't I?
And, it's about that time again. Ugh. That anxiety filling time, where, I simply-cannot-stand-my-hair. What is a girl to do? Long hair. Short hair. Layers. No layers. All I know is that I need a change. And, no, I will not. I repeat. Will not, dye my hair.
Decisions. Decisions. Decisions
What do you think?
Here is what I am thinking.
In the fourth grade I finally convinced her to let me decide how short to chop my hair. Well, I think she may have tired of the begging-pleading-foot stomping-door slamming-whining and crying. She gave me a hand, and, I took her arm. When my favorite hair stylist, Luizete, asked me without my mom noticing how I wanted to cut my hair, I simply pointed to my chin. Not a word was said. I couldn't risk my lovely mother overhearing. So, there I was. Sitting in front of the massive mirror awaiting the moment I had so badly yearned for. And, in one snap it was done. My mom turned around and her eyes widened. It was too late. She was stunned. I actually thought she might shed a tear. She didn't. After about 15 minutes she got over it, almost. And, she realized that it wasn't that bad. Don't get me wrong. She still had a preference for my long golden locks, but, every now and again I would have a fit and my hair would be gone. Most of the time, my dad was the one to take me.
And, this is where my fascination with cutting my hair came to be. And, every couple of months I have this urge to just chop off all of my hair. The urge. Well, it comes out of nowhere. It just comes like a wind storm and for days, weeks, months I simply cannot put it to rest. Should I? Shouldn't I?
And, it's about that time again. Ugh. That anxiety filling time, where, I simply-cannot-stand-my-hair. What is a girl to do? Long hair. Short hair. Layers. No layers. All I know is that I need a change. And, no, I will not. I repeat. Will not, dye my hair.
Decisions. Decisions. Decisions
What do you think?
Here is what I am thinking.
Bob with bangs?
Just a plain bob?
Or, just layers?
Hmmm, let us see what the weekend shall bring.
xoxo
Hmmm, let us see what the weekend shall bring.
xoxo
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