Tuesday, 3 June 2014

hair extraordinaire.. a journey

I'm currently working on a project about hair and it's reminding me to tell ya'll the story about my hair. yessssss, I have finally made peace with my hair and I am ready to share my story. 

It was the summer of 2013 and I had broken up with my hairdresser. By broken up I actually mean that I silently never went back.. there's a small chance I may be averse to confrontation.. and then I found Guinevere. Oh sweet Guinevere. My hair was just passed my shoulders, burnt and varying shades of yellow gold. I love yellow gold, LOVE it. Around my neck, around my fingers and wrists but not so much as a hair colour. 

So Guiny told me like it is, that we were going to have to chop it, but mermaid length and shiny hair was the goal which would be in reach within a year. So we chopped. And we chopped every month after that because I preferred the sleek bob to the potential stripper barbie hair that I was initially hellbent on having -- guys, I even tried to do the extensions vaaib. Tsk tsk. 

So it was with heavy heart in February when I left the salon with a slightly yellow tinge to the usual ash white blonde I had grown accustomed to. I was assured it was the lighting. 
Yeah. Okay.
I checked in every fucking lighting source available, sunlight, tungsten, fluorescent, cold, warm. It was fucking yellow. And I couldn't deal. 
Barely a week since my last bleach bath, I forced the ladies to fix it. Who came first, the chicken or the egg kind of question, but the result was frizzed, totally fucked and dead hair. My beautiful white blond hair, dead. Wintour's matted knots that I pull out of her fur were more lively than my limp hair on my head. 
And that wasn't the worst of it. 
Yeah. Perhaps it's not as harrowing a story as the floods in Serbia but this was a devastating event in my small life. 
I could sort of deal with the limp dead hair. Sort of. 
But coupled with broken pieces? My world was shattered. 
Especially if I saw the photographs taken of me. I considered sharing the ones taken of me on a shoot in March but I want to forget that time. And even more so when I recall the make up artist piping up "OH SHAME. What's going on with this dead hair, shame!"
(Needless to say I haven't hired her again).

And then that which I had been avoiding became so suddenly clear. No amount of treatment is going to bring back the hair that broke off. Nor is it going to revive the pathetic strands that still remain. 
I was going to have to chop it.
Chop it short like a boy. 
Chop it short like a buzz cut.
And all I could think of was the time my mother cut my hair like a boy. Like a buzz cut. When I was four. I'm not sure if I actually have that memory or if I made it up from seeing the ID photos of my four year old self sporting a very short and spikey do. But I remember hating it. I've never wanted short hair, apparently even as a four year old, so this was not going to be easy. 

But there I was. I was ready. Bring it. Bring on those scissors.
Guiny and the girls tried to comfort me.
With red wine. 
Much red wine. 
Guiny doesn't mess around friends. She starts in the front. Boom. 
Like a stab to my gut. 
Oh gawd, why didn't she start at the back?
Red wine.
Red wine.
It's all gone. 
Everyone around me is ecstatic. 
Except me.
I am numb. And I've a party to get to.
Everyone around me is ecstatic. And I just want to get drunk. I cant deal.
I come home to @markstry and as the words "you look beautiful" are out his mouth, I am collapsed in body-wrenching sobs. 

That was the first night. I didn't care that everyone was so encouraging, that everyone thought it suited me. It wasn't my choice, I wasn't trying something new, I wasn't brave. I was distraught. It didn't help that @markstry always said I wasn't allowed to cut my hair short like a boy.

Gawd, I am so dramatic. 

Guinevere did a spectacular job on the colour and most importantly the cut. Despite my initial melodramatic reaction to my haircut, my hair on the other hand was LOVING life. It felt so alive and healthy, it stuck to the style without much persuasion from my part. It is literally the easiest hairstyle in the world, and all the while giving me a more elegant and grown up vaaib.

It's been two months now. Two months since the cut, and two months since my hair has seen bleach. And I'm hating on my hair now for it being too long. I'm going to the salon on Friday and I'm wondering if I'm still sticking to growing it out..


ha! like I would ever leave you without showing you the hair cut