On Coiffing

What is it about hair-cuts that inspires such verbal verbosity from females? We talk about it and talk about it and deliberate, and consult other friends... And then we actually GET it cut, and consult and deliberate some more... Is it right?? Is it flattering?? Is it the BEST it could be?? What about the color? What about the layers? And the BANGS, good heavens, the BANGS!

Why the big deal, right? Hair is a living organism that grows, and it will GROW again-- no matter how disastrously shorn. So why make such a fuss about it?

I'll tell you why. Because, from almost the beginning of time, women have been responsible for the aesthetics of the world. In some species, like with the peacock, it is the boys that do the preening. But for the human ladies? The boon (or burden, more often) falls on us. Centuries ago, when women weren't valued for their word or opinions, they let their looks do the talking. Have any of you seen The Duchess? She conducted political campaigns via hair-do.



And let's not forget Marie Antoinette, whose lavish locks basically provoked the French revolution:

So us ladies get the message: do your hair up nice. Frame your face. Maximize your appeal. Etc. etc. etc. We learn: it's the IMPORTANT THING.






I actually sort of think that all that logic is superfluous. And also, lame. I am more than my hair. Duh.

But regardless: I just got my hair cut again. And I think I like it. But I am afraid that I don't. And it is ESPECIALLY short this time. And so I am sort of stressing out about it.


We'll see how it looks in three weeks. Hair-cuts generally hit their best stride about three weeks post-scissors, I think.

And with that, I will end what started off as an attempt to give a philosophical dissertation on the pressures and expectations women feel towards the achievement of impossible aesthetics... with a return to the blatantly shallow.

I suppose we all fight it, and triumph over it, and return to it, and succumb to it, and challenge it, and LIVE the whole thing. One more example then.

One more girl.

Regarding Wardrobe

Forgive the return to the blatantly shallow, but I can't help it. Maybe it's from being newly exposed to the influence of hundreds of teenage girls, but lately, the first thought I have when waking up is: "Whaddam'I gonna weeaaaar?"

I enjoy clothes. I really do enjoy the process of picking out things to cover the general chassis, and it usually starts with how I want to feel on a given day. One of my friends down in Malibu told me once, "Greta, every day for you is like playing dress up!" and it's true. Some days I feel like being a flower-child bohemian hippy. Some days I feel like being edgy and vintage and hipster. Some days I want to be extra feminine. Some days I want to look grown up and classy. Some days I want to be mysterious. Some days I want to feel whimsical. Some days I want to turn heads.

When I decide on a Me, it easily narrows down to a general description:
Bohemian: Loose skirt, flip-flops, long necklace, big earrings, tank top.
Edgy: Skinny jeans, red cowboy boots, bronze velvet blazer, favorite hat.
Feminine: Anthropologie anything, pretty jewels, lipstick. Curly hair.

Etc.

The problem is, my new internship-profession has only one wardrobe description and its the one that I have always been least likely to choose out of the air for myself: professional. And, not only professional, but modest. And not just normal-modest, because I feel like I do a decent job of generally keeping it classy: we're talking modesty to the point that the high-school boys don't let their minds go a-wandering (and unfortunately, the boys have already indicated they might). Which means REALLY, REALLY modest.

Not whimsical, not edgy, and certainly not "hot": but professional.

(And: booooooring.)

And: it means slacks.

AND: it means tall heels to go with overly long slacks.

UNLESS: it means hemmed slacks.

BUT: I have not yet hemmed any of my overly long slacks.

BECAUSE: It takes a long time and involves ironing, sewing, and patience.

THUS: It involves painful feet at the end of the day because of heels because of overly long slacks because of difficulties of hemming.

All this results in me waking up, taking a dismal look at the boring grown-up blouses and slacks, considering which of my grown-up heels will be the least cruel-soled by 3:00pm, and then reluctantly putting on some subdued combination... After taking a longing look at my fun flouncy dresses, and comfortable jeans, and sassy cowboy boots.

This week is even harder because it's supposed to be hot. I don't have back-to-school-clothes for 90 degrees-- hello?? I have clothes for Pumpkin Spice Latte weather! Looking in my closet: what do I have for hot weather? I have sun dresses. (Too short. Too strapless. Too v-necked.) I have capris. (Too casual. Too young-looking.) I have tank tops. (Too much skin. Too tight.) I have flip flops. (Too unprofessional.) Do you see??? It is the most difficult thing. I always come back to the slacks. And then I sigh, because my favorite ones are still too long, even for the most mercilessly high heels, and it's my own fault because I COULD hem them, I just don't want to get around to it, and so I end up wearing the boring ones, and also heels which make me grouchy and sore-footed.

This last weekend, I was thrilled not just to sleep in, but to get to wear WHATEVER THE HECK I WANTED. I'm telling myself that I'll accumulate a fun, sassy, artsy, professional wardrobe in time, but it does take time to accumulate. Maybe it will complete itself around the same time that I master those classroom management skills.

Until then? Sigh.....

It's the wide-legged Chinos.

Eff.

Hi.

I cut it. I cut it short.

I don't like it at all. I can't remember the last time I actually did NOT like a haircut, because most cuts look alright on me, and I always like trying new styles. But I don't like this one, I don't like it at all, and I am feeling very sorry for myself.

I am so sad about this that, even though I know hair is a totally trivial thing and that my looks are not encompassed in something so slight, I cried about it. I got off the bus from down town, walked home, started making myself lunch, and cried.

Why? Why cut it??! I liked it long!! Even as I walked to the salon, I was wearing my hair down and I felt so pretty and confident, and I was walking with long strides and feeling happy.

And I walked out like a bedraggled pitiful muffin lump.

Why cut it?? WHY?? AND, if anything, it makes me look YOUNGER. Like-- SH*%!!!

I am so sad about this.

I was going to post a before and after picture. This is the before:


My "after" was going to be confidently grinning, looking oh-so-pleased with myself. BUT I AM NOT POSTING AN AFTER, because I just look at the "Before," and I think, "It was so bodacious! It was so tossable! It was so... much... PRETTIER!" If I posted an after, then everyone would just think, "Whoops. Well, yup. Makeover gone awry. Poor girl."

ALSO: my hair grows really, effing slow. Eight months of "the awkward stage" to look forward to.

Good news: it looks alright under my favorite hat. So. You know. I'll just wear that til Easter.

Okay: Greta: get yourself realistic now. Hair is not a big deal. You can get yourself more hats. YOU ARE NOT DEFINED BY YOUR LOOKS AND THEY ARE NOT WHAT GIVES YOU YOUR WORTH. You can get over this. You can grow it out again. You need to stop being vain.

But.

Daaaaammnnn.... :(