My hair and I right now are in conflict.
I got it cut a few weeks ago because even though all those pretty loopy-lazy braids on Pinterest are just so darn pretty and my hair was almost-almost long enough support them, it seems the overall aura that is me did not. It was like junior high all over again. All the cool kids are doing it and it looks so darn pretty, come on, do it. The reality is I felt like an imposter.
The fella who cuts my hair is kinda hipper-than-hip. He's a swell guy and all, very stylish and still young enough to think he knows everything. He's even admitted to it, which is why I like him. After one too many mornings of feeling like my flyaway hair could be molded into the flying-nun's habit I carried myself to his chair and pleaded with him to chop it off. He didn't want to. He said he thought it looked great. I snorted back that of course he did, HE was the one to cut it in the first place. He wished he could have my hair and I told him I wanted his (he has a great 'do). We compromised and he chopped off bits and pieces taking the length off but keeping it long enough to sport jek-sized knot-knots. He styled it and chatted away and handed me the mirror which is when I realized...
He thinks I'm a soccer mom.
Or maybe he just thinks I'm old and not at all hip. Now I know; this is the point where reconciliation with our inside selves and our outside selves go (goes?) head to head. I might appear somewhat sloppy-racoonish and frumpier than I want to be but inside I'm still hoping to wear my plaid old man flood-trousers, slinky t-shirt (as in the toy) and saddle shoes while I sing Redd Kross songs in my head. Oy. Why does this have to happen when I turn 40? Is this cosmic humor come in to play?
While I like the jek-sized knot knots, I'm afraid the cut has run away with my curl and more often than not I wake up with my hair kinda all rocker-girl crazy a la Suzi Quatro. Yesterday it was full on Leather and I tried to take a picture to show you, I really did but every single pic I took looked like some imposter-soccer-mom jumped into the frame.
So, my hair and I have been partaking in fisticuffs. It kinda-sorta-and-I'm-not-even-joking-here makes me want to get a perm. A spiral perm to be exact. A classic 1980s mop-topped Shirley Temple kind of perm. And lest you think I'm kookier than Charo in fringed hot-pants here is my confession: I once had a spiral perm. I even requested it. Not only that but the compelling factor in wanting the perm in the first place came from Madonna. And I wasn't even a Madonna fan except for Vogue which was awesome. It was her hair in Express Yourself video. It was over the top fantastic and I wanted it. I wanted it enough to actually march into a hair salon, combat boots and all and tell the poofy-haired stylist that I wanted my hair to look like Madonna's (only orange, not blonde). So she did and it was perfect.