The Haircut Mourning Period

Losing something that is an integral part of your identity is obviously going to be a major and heart rending experience. This is why after a full week after my haircut I am still staring off into space in the shower and closing my eyes dramatically in a crowd of people while Norah Jones croons sadly in the background...(movies people. movies make me think this way.)

The summer before eighth grade I read way too many Seventeen magazine articles about what makes the boys swoon. My mother, the sage woman she is, wouldn't allow these worldly periodicals into our home so I would greedily get my fill at my friend's houses. Anyways, I decided to drop my whole "read-books-in-the-library-and-run-around-the-track-by-myself" persona and go with a hairstyle that was sexy and different. So I went for the layered bob and straight-across bangs. It made sense at the time, okay? Needless to say it was a rough year. But by Promotion my hair grew out and I have never gone back. Really long hair became my thing and I became that girl with "crazy hair that probably has woodland creatures nesting inside".

But a haircut was inevitable. It had been over a year and a half since my last trim and I needed to look somewhat professional for my mission. So I gritted my teeth, wore my best looking outfit (brothers sweatshirt paired with socks-flip flops combo), and took the plunge.

The poor, tired old lady over at HairMasters was absolutely horrified when I took my hair out of the bun it had been in for three days straight. She did not want to get anywhere near it. Thankfully she did and proceeded to be brutally harsh with the brushing and talk about her pastor the whole time. I left with a sore scalp and a mind full of hairlady-pastor lover scenarios.

I am the master of severely cocking my head to the side and candid laughing in photo shoots.

Now it's gone and I kind of miss it. Also it seems like it's that awkward length where I look like the skater kid from Clueless. No?