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I haven't done a New Year's update, and it's looking like I won't bother, now. From my perspective, it really isn't a "new" anything, just more of the same, and getting instrospective about it is likely to cause another gloomy bout. When I'm next feeling soul-searchy will be time enough to post.
In news, though, for years and years--since high school, except for one occasion bitterly regretted and grown out ASAP, my hair has been long: between shoulder-length and waist-length. And I cut it Thanksgiving weekend. I'd been thinking about it for a couple of years. The thing is, I had an epiphany about my hair during my first real job, during which I had a rythym going. Cut and perm, three trims, six weeks apart. The last trim was the best, as most all the curl was gone, and what I was left with was a longish boy cut that I didn't have to fuss with. For the proceeding four months, mornings were all about the curling iron, the round brush and the blowdryer, or the hot rollers. After about three cycles of this, I'd had enough, and I never went back after the last boy cut for another perm. I just let it grow. And grow. I trimmed the ends until it was all the same length, and then I just trimmed it myself twice or three times a year. For years and years.
Because my hair was never intended to curl. It's baby-fine and straight as a stick, slick and limp. Pins, barettes, and even headbands slip out of my hair. I've even had perms fall out in less than a week. So I finally acknowledged this, and just enjoyed my "wash and wear hair." Even though it was fine, it was very very thick, so air-drying took up to four hours, sometimes more. Blow-drying took as long as 20 minutes, and then it wasn't dry, just dry enough to finish up air drying in less than an hour. But my arms got tired after 20 minutes, so I never found out how long it would have taken to cook it completely dry.
I bought barrettes and carved wooden huge hairpins and hair sticks. Some worked, some didn't, to put it up. I abhor hair in my face, or in my way when I'm trying to work, so pulling it up or back was necessary. I wore the sides and top pulled back in the winter, and all of it knotted up on my head in summer, as hair on my neck in hot weather is cranky-making. The times in high school I'd had short hair, I'd hated the hair-in-collar feeling, but the alternative was the shaved-neck, which was worse. Long hair seemed the way to go. I asked for, and recieved, for an anniversary present, Sundance catalog's sterling hairpin, wore it proudly and garnered many compliments.
But I thought about Judi Dench, and how wonderfully uncompromising and simple her haircut was. And more and more, I wanted that simplicity. Even while I recognised that my flat-backed skull and double crown prevented me from having a pretty skull shape. I scouted around for people who cut hair. I asked women with hair texture that looked similar to mine and haircuts I admired where they'd gotten it done. And I thought about it for a good long while. Last year I chopped up the silhouette a bit, going for choppy layers while still leaving enough length to pull back and up, with shorter feathery bits around the face. The response was overwhelmingly positive--though I suspect any change at all would have been greeted so. Over the summer I let it grow out even longer, so I could knot it atop my head with no shorter bits to fall in my face or on my neck.
Alarmingly, my hair seemed to grow more fragile and fine, seeming to break at the touch of the comb, much less the soft bristle brush. And it was thinning drastically, whether by breakage or just fewer hairs growing in, the bathroom floor was awash with long hair every morning. It got to the point that just after a trim, it no longer felt noticeably fuller. And when I put it up, it would no longer hold the hairpin.
So when the weather finally turned cool, I began to think of cutting it drastically shorter. And on Thanksgiving Saturday, H had gone to run errands, leaving me to shower and dress before we left for lunch at his mom's. I got out of the shower and reached for the hair scissors to trim the ends and maybe chop it up around the face a bit--and looked in the mirror and just started cutting. I stopped when the sides measured out even, and started cleaning up the floor. When I looked in the mirror again, I saw a few strays, so I picked up the scissors again. A few minutes later it was half as long, and I cleaned up the floor again and jumped back in the shower. I towel-dried it, and saw some areas that really needed to be shorter, and started cutting again. I couldn't really see the back because we have no opposing mirrors, so I had to be content. H was surprised, but pleased with it when I got in the car. Everyone else at lunch was shocked. Later that week I had a meeting at a friend's house, and took my hair scissors along, and she shaped up the back for me.
I've loved it. Yesterday was the first day I can say I actually missed the weight of hair on my neck and shoulders. It's been getting too long for the gel to keep it roughed up-looking, so this AM, I wet it first thing when I got up, and cut the top and sides short. Short. An inch to an inch and a half. I had H hold a mirror for me so I could cut the back, and when he saw how I was using my fingers to hold and measure, he cleaned up the back for me. Not quite Dench, but my suspicions regarding her cut were correct--I have flat-head in back; the shortness doesn't really help because the double crown whorls keep the hair lying flat to the head. It's gelled and spiked, and cute, but really too short for me. I'll have to let it grow a bit and reshape it, a little longer on the sides and back. And who knows? I'm already bummed about the necessary frequency of trims, and too tight to pay a stranger to do it, probably wrong, and too damned lazy to do it myself when needful. I may just grow it out again. Especially if it thickens appreciably. That last doesn't appear likely, though. I seem to be shedding as many hairs--just shorter ones. Short and fluffy would be the camoflage there--hah! As fine and flyaway as my hair is, fluffy isn't in its repertoire, so short and spiky will have to do.
In news, though, for years and years--since high school, except for one occasion bitterly regretted and grown out ASAP, my hair has been long: between shoulder-length and waist-length. And I cut it Thanksgiving weekend. I'd been thinking about it for a couple of years. The thing is, I had an epiphany about my hair during my first real job, during which I had a rythym going. Cut and perm, three trims, six weeks apart. The last trim was the best, as most all the curl was gone, and what I was left with was a longish boy cut that I didn't have to fuss with. For the proceeding four months, mornings were all about the curling iron, the round brush and the blowdryer, or the hot rollers. After about three cycles of this, I'd had enough, and I never went back after the last boy cut for another perm. I just let it grow. And grow. I trimmed the ends until it was all the same length, and then I just trimmed it myself twice or three times a year. For years and years.
Because my hair was never intended to curl. It's baby-fine and straight as a stick, slick and limp. Pins, barettes, and even headbands slip out of my hair. I've even had perms fall out in less than a week. So I finally acknowledged this, and just enjoyed my "wash and wear hair." Even though it was fine, it was very very thick, so air-drying took up to four hours, sometimes more. Blow-drying took as long as 20 minutes, and then it wasn't dry, just dry enough to finish up air drying in less than an hour. But my arms got tired after 20 minutes, so I never found out how long it would have taken to cook it completely dry.
I bought barrettes and carved wooden huge hairpins and hair sticks. Some worked, some didn't, to put it up. I abhor hair in my face, or in my way when I'm trying to work, so pulling it up or back was necessary. I wore the sides and top pulled back in the winter, and all of it knotted up on my head in summer, as hair on my neck in hot weather is cranky-making. The times in high school I'd had short hair, I'd hated the hair-in-collar feeling, but the alternative was the shaved-neck, which was worse. Long hair seemed the way to go. I asked for, and recieved, for an anniversary present, Sundance catalog's sterling hairpin, wore it proudly and garnered many compliments.
But I thought about Judi Dench, and how wonderfully uncompromising and simple her haircut was. And more and more, I wanted that simplicity. Even while I recognised that my flat-backed skull and double crown prevented me from having a pretty skull shape. I scouted around for people who cut hair. I asked women with hair texture that looked similar to mine and haircuts I admired where they'd gotten it done. And I thought about it for a good long while. Last year I chopped up the silhouette a bit, going for choppy layers while still leaving enough length to pull back and up, with shorter feathery bits around the face. The response was overwhelmingly positive--though I suspect any change at all would have been greeted so. Over the summer I let it grow out even longer, so I could knot it atop my head with no shorter bits to fall in my face or on my neck.
Alarmingly, my hair seemed to grow more fragile and fine, seeming to break at the touch of the comb, much less the soft bristle brush. And it was thinning drastically, whether by breakage or just fewer hairs growing in, the bathroom floor was awash with long hair every morning. It got to the point that just after a trim, it no longer felt noticeably fuller. And when I put it up, it would no longer hold the hairpin.
So when the weather finally turned cool, I began to think of cutting it drastically shorter. And on Thanksgiving Saturday, H had gone to run errands, leaving me to shower and dress before we left for lunch at his mom's. I got out of the shower and reached for the hair scissors to trim the ends and maybe chop it up around the face a bit--and looked in the mirror and just started cutting. I stopped when the sides measured out even, and started cleaning up the floor. When I looked in the mirror again, I saw a few strays, so I picked up the scissors again. A few minutes later it was half as long, and I cleaned up the floor again and jumped back in the shower. I towel-dried it, and saw some areas that really needed to be shorter, and started cutting again. I couldn't really see the back because we have no opposing mirrors, so I had to be content. H was surprised, but pleased with it when I got in the car. Everyone else at lunch was shocked. Later that week I had a meeting at a friend's house, and took my hair scissors along, and she shaped up the back for me.
I've loved it. Yesterday was the first day I can say I actually missed the weight of hair on my neck and shoulders. It's been getting too long for the gel to keep it roughed up-looking, so this AM, I wet it first thing when I got up, and cut the top and sides short. Short. An inch to an inch and a half. I had H hold a mirror for me so I could cut the back, and when he saw how I was using my fingers to hold and measure, he cleaned up the back for me. Not quite Dench, but my suspicions regarding her cut were correct--I have flat-head in back; the shortness doesn't really help because the double crown whorls keep the hair lying flat to the head. It's gelled and spiked, and cute, but really too short for me. I'll have to let it grow a bit and reshape it, a little longer on the sides and back. And who knows? I'm already bummed about the necessary frequency of trims, and too tight to pay a stranger to do it, probably wrong, and too damned lazy to do it myself when needful. I may just grow it out again. Especially if it thickens appreciably. That last doesn't appear likely, though. I seem to be shedding as many hairs--just shorter ones. Short and fluffy would be the camoflage there--hah! As fine and flyaway as my hair is, fluffy isn't in its repertoire, so short and spiky will have to do.
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