Posted by mousewrites on June 8, 2008
Any hair service that uses shears (or a combination of shears and clippers) on hair that is above the ear. $21
Today is D-day… for my hair.
Let me talk about my hair for a second. I love my hair. It’s one of the only things about me that I really think is pretty; it’s red, and long (well, long-ish) and has a pretty wave. People complement my hair sometimes. As a child, I had amazing hair. It was bright red, ringlets, and super cute. See the picture? I’m pretty sure that’s not my beer there, because I’m focused on the cake. Mmm, stolen frosting…
As I’ve gotten older, my hair has turned more brown, and the curls have been pulled into waves that frizz when I brush them. My hair isn’t spectacular, but, as a Big Girl, I think that sometimes people pick up on my hair in contrast, in the way one might comment on an idiot savant’s drawing ability. Wow, your hair is beautiful (for a fat girl).
Ok, no, that’s not really what people are saying. I’m being snarky. 🙂
But, while I acknowledge that my hair is pretty, it’s kinda like a kudzu vine growing on the house that is my head. No matter how pretty it is, it takes work to make it do anything. I don’t really care that much about my hair; it’s just there. I’ve tried, with little success, to make myself Do Something with it. I was never indoctrinated into the Mysteries of Womanhood (tomboy in a frock, I am) and so I don’t know how to style it, and every single day I just scrape it back into a ponytail to get it off my neck and call it good.
Oh, occasionally I’ll do something with it. And by ‘I’ll do something with it’ I mean I’ll let one of my friends at it. Braids, or curls (witch hazel is 100% better at holding curls than any product), or I’ll put it in pigtails or something. But for the most part, it gets brushed out, thrown in a ponytail, and that’s it. Once I went out on a limb and dyed the bottom purple! Ooooo, you’re on the cutting edge of nothing now! That’s it purple in the picture. It’s about down to the small of my back there, and I cropped out the fuzzies on the side (it’s about half a foot wider because of the poofyness than the picture shows.)
I’m sick of it. I’ve been sick of it for YEARS. Sometimes I eyeball the scissors as I do some craft project and think ‘I could just lop the damn ponytail off!’ but I’ve always stopped myself. Over the last year or so I’ve trimmed it shorter, and shorter (it’s about to where the purple stops, at this point), but I’ve never gone all the way.
Not today. I’m going to Bishops BarberShop and they’re going to cut the majority of my hair off.
Chance that I’ll hate it? About 35%. I likely will cry when the cut it.
My reasons for cutting my hair are below, along with the reasons I shouldn’t. This list is just in case I read this in about 5 hours while sobbing uncontrollably about my poor hair.
- Easier to take care of! It’s true, it’ll be short enough that washing and air drying should take a fraction of the time. And I’ll save on shampoo, conditioner, AND water, so it’s good for the environment, yo.
- More opportunities to put clips and bands and other things in my hair.
- Off of my neck! It’ll be short enough to get this damn weight off my neck.
- I think it will be darling. I really do.
- It will make me happy.
- I’ll be taking a risk. I don’t take risks, almost ever. If something MIGHT go badly, I don’t do it. I just don’t. I’m a chickenshit. I’ve missed a lot of opportunities because I wasn’t willing to take a risk. This is a real, honest to god risk, because it may look like crap, and I’ll have to deal with that. On the other hand, it’s IS only hair (have to keep telling myself that), and if I really don’t like it, it’ll grow out. And I can experiment with what length I like best!
- It should look super healthy; no split ends, no frizzes, nothing.
- Stephen isn’t happy about it. I’ve been bugging him for years, but he hasn’t budged on the fact that he likes my hair long. In fact, all of the menfolk I’ve talked to say ‘I like long hair on a woman’. I understand that, I do, but the thought of keeping it long for one more day makes me want to cry my eyes out.
- It MAY LOOK AWFUL. It might. I could end up with a red afro like little orphan Annie. I could look like an old woman. I could look so mannish that everyone who already thinks I’m a lesbian will be sure of it. A) I have a husband, and B) just because I don’t wear makeup, I’m not a lesbian. My life is much stranger than that, anyway.
- It could take a lot of time to make look good in the mornings, thus completely negating the easy to take care of point, above. This is a big risk, but I’m going to take it.
- I am starting a new job soon (more on that soon, I promise) and I’m going to have to do it with hair I may not be confidant about. However, I do make hats, so I can live.
- No more pigtails. This is sad; I like pigtails. But we all make sacrifices.
All in all, I am taking a huge risk. I’m 65% sure it’ll turn out fine, and 98.9% sure I’m going to go through with it. If not, I’ll call myself a chickenshit forever.
I’ll update with pictures and perhaps video of the operation this evening. Unless I’m sobbing into my pillow, that is.