When I was in my late teens I had this pair of secondhand baby blue men's corduroy jeans. I effing loved those pants, I wore them all the time. I wore them so much that they just eventually became too trashed for me to wear anymore and I had to say goodbye to them. I was sad but I didn't dwell on it. It was only a couple of years later when I found the exact same pair of jeans and tried them on that I realised what they had meant to me. I am not exaggerating when I say that putting them on was like coming home. It really was the first time I felt that feeling people talk about, coming home. In those jeans I felt more like myself than I did in anything else. But I was young and it was the nineties. I guess I eventually trashed those jeans too, but fashionwise I moved on and if I found those jeans now I'd definitely try them on but I probably wouldn't buy them. I'm a different me now.
The next time I had that feeling was years later when I cut my hair short after years of wearing it long. In my late teens and early twenties I wore my hair in a pixie cut and various iterations of a short mullet and I think I only grew it out really because LB liked it better than way and I guess I was ready for a change. Long hair looks great so why wouldn't I want to have it. But after years of longer hair at some point in my mid twenties I cut it all off and it was so liberating and again I had that feeling that I was my truest self again.
Since then I haven't really worn my hair really short, I usually wear it long but have dabbled with the odd bob. But as you know I hate my hair. It's so dry and untameable and despite the odd good hair day or phase of peace with my hair I often wonder why I bother to have it long at all. I guess in part it's a hope that one day it will miraculously be beautiful. It's also because I can't be bothered putting up with the complaints of LB (who does not like change), my mum ('Oh but your long hair is beautiful...what does LB think of your short hair?'), Baby ('I think you shouldn't get it cut above your shoulders') and Newbie ('No Mummy! NO!' when my hair is up). But you know what, screw those guys. Why would I base my hairstyle on what they want. It's not those guys that have to run their fingers through those brittle, dry, knotted ends or look in the mirror every morning and be greeted with, at best, a feeling of mild disappointment or, at worst, blinding despair. They don't have to figure out daily how to make themselves look cute with a cruel joke of a head of hair.
And so I just did it, I cut it off. Oh I didn't go for the pixie cut or mullet of yesteryear, just a short bob, but it is so liberating, so simpatico to the rest of me.
|The weird bit at the back caught by the plant is not part of the style. Just another cruel joke on the part of the hair gods. Will they never let me have good hair for one minute!?!|
Mum and LB and Baby and Newbie, don't they know the joy of running their hands through their hair and not being stalled by knots and grimmness. Don't they know they feeling of having hair in a style that doesn't just boof out straight away. No! They probably don't know that joy because they don't know the opposite, that which is my life with long hair. I feel so happy to have this haircut to remember how great short hair is. Moreover I'm reminded that really the only time I really love a haircut is if it is a drastic change. And well done of course. Why would I deny myself these truths? These joys? It's like Roxette once said, 'listen to your heart!'