One comment about being itchy and Google fills my page with rashes.
I received one of the best haircuts of my life this week and I’ve been sculpting the remains of my hair into interesting shapes, horns and a mohawk. The lady asked me what I wanted and I told her of my sad, limp, fine hair and how I was tired of growing it out. I miss when it was shaved. Shaved? Yes- not clipper cut, shaved. Bald. Before Britney and everyone’s judgment that people who do so are mentally ill. I love not having hair to deal with and I think I’m quite pretty that way. But I told her I looked good with a short pixie as it grew out and I like a fauxhawk and she managed to make it all happen!
This never happens. My hair is a nightmare. Add to that, I’m allergic to many of the styling products, so they can’t spray and mousse me into oblivion. I am very low maintenance. I prefer to dry and go, with only enough styling to keep me from looking like I slept on my hair, which I usually have. I may spike and such, but that’s often to keep the hair off my face and out of my way. Stylists are left trying to create a masterpiece out of difficult material and an impossible customer.
It really helps to begin to appreciate what you have, to work with it instead of fighting it. As a young girl, my friends spent their time trying to force my hair to hold a flip or curl, burning me repeatedly with irons. I spent high school trying to spray it into some kind of style, perm it into submission. I spent my early twenties with various interesting, self-created dye jobs.
Eventually I had my awakening experience and started to reject unimportant things from my life. The hair went- along with the clutter in my home.