I just cut 8 inches off of my hair.
And got banged. Again.
I needed this.
I promise it’s not any kind of cry for help thing. I just really wanted a change. When you have sister-wife long and fine hair, winter is kind of a jerk. There’s the problem of static—in which I always looked just on the wrong side of science experiment meets the Bride of Frankenstein—and then there’s the whole “HELP MY HAIR IS CHOKING ME!” problem ever time I slept and/or removed my scarf.
Long hair can be dangerous, is what I’m saying.
And I really, really missed having bangs.
Of course I did. Since just this past week I finally finished growing them out.
Please, if you will, ignore the fact that I may or may not have had this identical haircut in 1994—Oh, 10th grade, you were not a good look for me. I believe it was the haircut that my mother to this day refers to as “The Eskimo look.” But it’s better now. There’s decidedly less plaid flannel and giant too-big-for-me Stone Temple Pilots t-shirts and oversized floor-length jean skirts and Doc Marten steel-toed combat boots and slouchy colored socks.
God help us all.
I’m older, wiser, more confident…I can pull this off a little better than teenageAli ever could.
Also, now I don’t have to get my eyebrows threaded.