bang, bang
I don't look good in bangs. Every time I cut bangs into my hair, I cry a little bit, looking at the mirror, and then I swear to all that is good and all that is holy and all that is good and holy that I will never, never, ever, never ever ever again, not ever, cut bangs into my hair because I look like an asshole in bangs.
Which is why, last night, I got bangs cut into my hair. Because I am stupid. But I had this vision in my head, of how different and cool my hair was going to look. Short spiky bangs and shaggy shoulder-length layers and hip coolness, all around. Coolness, hipness, a way to mark my transformation into A Healthy Person. Or maybe I'm just vain and was tired of my old hair wanted to be cute.
But I am so not cute. The hairstylist listened very carefully to my ideas about what I wanted, and then she ignored them all. My hair used to be really long, down below my shoulder blades. It used to be all one length, and it used to be wavy. This hair, this stupid hair I don't recognize, is not that much shorter, but much thinner because she razor cut it in the most bizarre patterns, and it waves like the idiot hair of a local teevee anchor person or a fucking soccer mom, or a porn star, and I've got these bangs. These ridiculous-looking wispy bangs, with a cowlick in the middle.
I hate my hair so much. No – you know what? It's a perfectly fine haircut, but I don't look like me. I've been sitting here trying to work but what I'm really doing is, every ten minutes, looking into my compact and fiddling with my bangs, these layers, trying to configure them in a way that doesn't make me look ridiculous and old. And unsurprisingly, I am really not having all that much luck.
Of course, certainly, yes, hair grows! Grow, hair. Grow. Stupid hair.
Which is why, last night, I got bangs cut into my hair. Because I am stupid. But I had this vision in my head, of how different and cool my hair was going to look. Short spiky bangs and shaggy shoulder-length layers and hip coolness, all around. Coolness, hipness, a way to mark my transformation into A Healthy Person. Or maybe I'm just vain and was tired of my old hair wanted to be cute.
But I am so not cute. The hairstylist listened very carefully to my ideas about what I wanted, and then she ignored them all. My hair used to be really long, down below my shoulder blades. It used to be all one length, and it used to be wavy. This hair, this stupid hair I don't recognize, is not that much shorter, but much thinner because she razor cut it in the most bizarre patterns, and it waves like the idiot hair of a local teevee anchor person or a fucking soccer mom, or a porn star, and I've got these bangs. These ridiculous-looking wispy bangs, with a cowlick in the middle.
I hate my hair so much. No – you know what? It's a perfectly fine haircut, but I don't look like me. I've been sitting here trying to work but what I'm really doing is, every ten minutes, looking into my compact and fiddling with my bangs, these layers, trying to configure them in a way that doesn't make me look ridiculous and old. And unsurprisingly, I am really not having all that much luck.
Of course, certainly, yes, hair grows! Grow, hair. Grow. Stupid hair.
This entry was posted by anne, on
Wednesday, November 17, 2004.
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Why is it that you can have the exact picture of what you want in your mind, describe it precisely, and end up with something that's nothing like you'd imagined when you get to the salon? I hate that!
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