All I’m missing are my green leggings and pointed felt shoes and a brown and gold puffy velvet top. Fine…laugh all you want, it’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Otherwise, I can’t justify spending $30 on a haircut that turned a relatively stylish, if overgrown, bob into an ear-level medieval poodle do.
Picture Anisa took of me in Akka with the incriminating hairdo:
(though I really love this picture)
I have haircut amnesia.
I get to the point where I like my hair, then get it into my head that “I need a haircut. I absolutely need a haircut, now. NOW.” And when I get an idea like that in my head, I have to act on it instantly. In college, in the middle of my International Political Economy class I got it into my head that I finally needed, (who “needs” this??) a nose piercing and so I cut my Shakespeare class to go to South Street, Philadelphia. I got my nose pierced and a new leather jacket in half an hour, had dinner and came back on campus.
But I’ve gotten better since my college days. For example, now, I don’t get those crazy “needs” any more. Like when I “needed” to have my hair purple. Right there. Right then.
So I got Manic Panic hair dye, and convinced my usually calm and collected friend to help me dye my hair. Except Manic Panic is made from natural ingredients, and the purple comes from some evil beetroot, grown in some crazy part of nuclear-enhanced soil of Russia (I’m just guessing) because it doesn’t come off.
We had it on our hands, scalp, face, everywhere, and were rubing with bleach to get it off. I had Gorbachov’s wine stain on my forehead for a day or so. And went to class with it. But my hair was purple.
But I still do this with haircuts. Enough time usually elapses between haircuts that two things inevitably happen:
1. I can’t stand looking at my face or my hair in the mirror anymore (and can’t stand knowing what it looks like when I’m not looking in the mirror)
2. I’ve forgotten how much I hated the last one. I think that’s what happens when burried fashions are unearthed after collective memory has plumetted into “fashion amnesia”.
So I got my haircut and now I’m looking at photos that were taken last weekend and I can’t see why I felt I needed my hair cut. ?? Does anyone else feel this way?
Especially since I look like a medieval character. It doesn’t help that I can hear my seventh grade teacher in History when we were studying the Middle Ages (for the THIRD–but unfortunately not last–FREAKING TIME) saying that a high forehead was a sign of beauty for women in that that time and so the ladies used to shave the top part of their hair in order to have a high forehead…kind of like Violetta’s. JERK. I don’t have THAT high of a forehead either.
I’m never putting my kids in French school.