We all go through hair events. Mine aren't usually spectacularly interesting. Like the time I went red (and I looked like I'd fallen in a bucket of dirt) or the time I got a perm (and looked like a wet dog). But when it happens, it genuinely feels like the most important thing in your life at the time. So I'm writing a whole blog about my current hair event: Purple.
A fundraiser at school was called "Teacher Torture," where if the kids raised X amount of money, teachers would do something unpleasant. Like the social-studies teacher would wax his legs, our media instructor would get eggs thrown at him, our principal would engage in a rap battle, and I would dye my hair purple. The others were more like actual torture (like the math teacher having to come out in full drag) but mine was like throwing me in the briar patch. "Oh...Please! Not PURPLE HAIR!"Secretly very excited. At one point I was nervous they wouldn't raise the money, and I'd have to donate myself to reach the goal because I'd already bought the hair dye.
I really loved it.
Went to prom as a chaperone, sporting my own prom dress from 10 years ago. The floor-length, pleated black and-blue silk never going out of fashion. And I felt like a Fairy Vampire Queen.
The picture doesn't do it justice--but with the hair, and the gown, and the face, it was fierce. I felt like the feisty, mystical heroine of a teen fantasy novel.
Then I decided the purple was too quirky to have the same boring haircut. I needed a change. And like the random, spontaneous being I sometimes am, I decided to cut it myself.
No, I have never cut my own hair. No, I have not cut anyone's else's (besides buzzing a kid's afro at a basketball game in high school, and a boyfriends' in college who thereafter banned me from ever cutting hair again). But I've watched someone cut my hair at least 50 times... How hard could it be?
It was a bizarre impulse I can't quite describe. Strangely empowering. I felt like a 6-year-old who was searching for control and finding it in destruction... Just slicing through a chunk of hair. 4 inches, gone. A totally, completely irreversible act. Chop chop slice chop slice chop chop chop.
I even layered it--like I'd seen the pros do every time.
Then I blow dried it, and styled it, and felt pretty darn good about myself.
Bam! Haircut! Layers! I just saved myself $50. Shear Brilliance (see what I did there??)
My brother's dog was staying with me. And he looked up at me with pleading eyes that unmistakably said, "I wish I could change up my style that way. I want something fresh, and a little funky. But subtle." How could anyone not respond to such a reasonable and specific request? So I dyed his ears purple. and then we matched.
Fast forward a few days-- I washed my hair, and let it dry normally, and discovered one side pretty drastically longer than the other. Also, the awesome layers I was so proud of, looked more like a 3-tiered, Dr. Seuss cake. So it wasn't quite as victorious a venture as I'd thought.
But you know what? Unlike other hair fiascos, it does not feel like the most important thing in my life right now.
Which is liberating.
A fundraiser at school was called "Teacher Torture," where if the kids raised X amount of money, teachers would do something unpleasant. Like the social-studies teacher would wax his legs, our media instructor would get eggs thrown at him, our principal would engage in a rap battle, and I would dye my hair purple. The others were more like actual torture (like the math teacher having to come out in full drag) but mine was like throwing me in the briar patch. "Oh...Please! Not PURPLE HAIR!"Secretly very excited. At one point I was nervous they wouldn't raise the money, and I'd have to donate myself to reach the goal because I'd already bought the hair dye.
Went to prom as a chaperone, sporting my own prom dress from 10 years ago. The floor-length, pleated black and-blue silk never going out of fashion. And I felt like a Fairy Vampire Queen.The picture doesn't do it justice--but with the hair, and the gown, and the face, it was fierce. I felt like the feisty, mystical heroine of a teen fantasy novel.
Then I decided the purple was too quirky to have the same boring haircut. I needed a change. And like the random, spontaneous being I sometimes am, I decided to cut it myself.
No, I have never cut my own hair. No, I have not cut anyone's else's (besides buzzing a kid's afro at a basketball game in high school, and a boyfriends' in college who thereafter banned me from ever cutting hair again). But I've watched someone cut my hair at least 50 times... How hard could it be?
It was a bizarre impulse I can't quite describe. Strangely empowering. I felt like a 6-year-old who was searching for control and finding it in destruction... Just slicing through a chunk of hair. 4 inches, gone. A totally, completely irreversible act. Chop chop slice chop slice chop chop chop.
I even layered it--like I'd seen the pros do every time.
Then I blow dried it, and styled it, and felt pretty darn good about myself.
Bam! Haircut! Layers! I just saved myself $50. Shear Brilliance (see what I did there??)
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| Not bad for a 1st time hair-cut, right? |
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| He clearly is thrilled about his new 'do. |
But you know what? Unlike other hair fiascos, it does not feel like the most important thing in my life right now.Which is liberating.
