I’m not what you would call a high-maintenance, stylish, Real Housewife kind of girl. I would consider my style as professional (for work) and comfortable (for home). There’s not a lot of in between. Very, very rarely I will wear a dress, but when that happens, it pretty much means that someone is getting married.
Same thing with my hair. I get it cut about every six months. I’ve been going to the same stylist for the last 10 years or so, and each time I go, I basically tell her to do the same thing, with very little variation. Although, I do consistently ask her to cut it a little bit shorter each time. She mostly acquiesces, with only the slightest amount of resistance. Usually, she throws some layers in there, just to give it a little oomph, and I routinely walk out of the salon, looking like this:
Lather, rinse, repeat . . . literally.
I can usually tell when it’s about time to get a cut, because people will start making comments about how long my hair is getting. Anything approaching shoulder length is “long” for me. And usually, I get fed up with the maintenance and blow drying time long before the comments start. But something was different this time. I kind of liked the length. True, I still hated the styling part, but it had gotten so long this time, that I could actually pull it back without it looking goofy, which is not something I am normally able nor willing to do. Especially at work.
But, I knew I needed to do something to it, as it was getting a bit unwieldy, what with all the dead ends and such (one very significant drawback to bi-yearly cuttings). Plus, I had that most magical of days off, Veteran’s Day, where I normally run errands while most of the rest of the country is working or at school. (Thanks vets!!). So, I decided that this would be the perfect time to pay a visit to my stylist.
I went in knowing what I was going to do. At some point, the idea had begun brewing around in my head, and now I just needed to be brave enough to pull the trigger. My stylist was delighted when I told her I wanted to keep it long, with no layers and . . . bangs! She may have giggled and clapped. Adorable.
The reactions have been mixed from family, friends and colleagues. And even from myself! One minute, I think it’s awesome, and the next I wonder who that girl is in the mirror wearing the Cleopatra wig. The hubs’ first reaction was that it was “different,” and when I asked if he liked it, he said yes, but when I followed up with, “would you tell me if you didn’t?” he responded, “probably not.” This ain’t his first rodeo.
Here are some other reactions I received:– “You daring hot mama!” – “Sassy.” – “A new you. Very cute!” – “Oooh, I like it!!” – “You look 10 years younger” (to which I replied, “Oh, 28. I’ll take it!” . . . to which she said, “Oh, you’re that old???” Um, thanks?) – Male colleague standing in my doorway quietly laughing . . . Me: “Don’t just stand there laughing at me, it’s very rude!” Him: “No! It’s just that I’ve never seen you be daring before. You always just do the same thing. And . . . . It’s not as fluffy.”
Whether it turns out to be a good idea, or bad, it comes down to this . . . it will eventually grow back. It’s only hair, after all.