So as you all know, I hair model. Pretty frequently, actually, because the very few girls who have hair like mine either 1) don't know about hair modeling or 2) keep it long and won't let anyone cut it!
We're girls! How we define our sexuality is mostly done through our hair. Our parents take our brothers to get haircuts. We grow our hair out!
In high school, I had curly hair all the way down to my boobs, and if I stretched it out (my hair - not my boobs) I could bring it almost down to my butt. And I loved it because it HID me. No one knew what I was thinking. Heck, no one knew what I really looked like! I was a huge mess of coiled tendrils, hiding my smiles, hiding my emotions, hiding me.
Then senior year started and my dad took me with him to a barber's so I could get a trim. The lady did not understand English well, and she must have been partially blind as I had brought a PICTURE of what I wanted, but alas. She grabbed a fistful of my hair, chopped it off at about my chin and said, "This? This is what you want?"
It took everything within me to not cry at that very moment as I stared at what looked like the most beautiful, most comfortable filler for a pillow. (Yes, my mother's side is Jewish, but I'm also half German! I can't help it!!) I managed to get all the way into my dad's car and be fine, until he asked if I liked it. Tears cascaded down my face, "Dad!" I sniffed, wiping the salt into my snot, "I don't want to be one of those girls who -" SNIFF "cry about their haircut, but I HATE this! I didn't ask for this at all! She-" SNIFF, "Ruined my hair!!"
She did. I wasn't ready to lop all my hair off. So I kept growing it. And growing it. And growing it, until finally, after college, I decided I needed a change in my life on the outside that reflected how I felt like I was growing and learning on the inside.
I searched Craig's List, found hair modeling opportunities, and the rest is history.
I had a gig with Vidal Sassoon two weeks ago.
They couldn't tell I wasn't cool enough to pull that look off on my own; that people would mistake me for a mental hospital escapee instead of a hipster.
You can kinda see it, right?
If you can't, no worries! Just look at the NEW header above! My darling boy redid it for me!
Happy Fourth of July, everybody!!