the following post is dedicated to Mrs. Alice, of Allison and Ray Hancock, because she likes it when i rant about hair and she loves me despite the mess mine always is, and she would’ve let me wear a hippie headband at her wedding.
So we’ve been here before, where we talk about hair envy and hairtastrophes, et cetera (welcome to the blog, Latin, thanks for making us fancy), but I think it’s again time to discuss it.
Here’s how I feel about hair in general; I like it. I think that hair is practical because it both keeps your head from looking a mess from frostbite or lopsidedness and it’s the quickest way to judge a book by its cover, which we all know is terrible and absolutely condoned by moi. I feel that the first reasons are very clear-frostbite I’m sure is quite painful and the second, well, we’ve all seen that one bald person whose head looks like it was molded out of jello-y clay…not ok, sir. (is that completely mean? probably.) If I haven’t lost you yet with my harsh spirit devoid of sympathy for the hair challenged, I think we can all agree with my third point. Don’t pretend you don’t judge people by their hair, you do. It’s the reason the Biebs chopped all his off and J-Lo has kept hers the same for the last 20 years and also the same reason I want Tina Turner hair circa Proud Mary 1971
to compete with lions in the african plain …to look cool.
Let’s try out my theory. What does the following picture say to you?
If you said, “that girl is a crazy hot mess, someone nullify her photobooth privileges/internet access,” you sir, are
reasonable rude. If you said, “someone who: 1. thinks cheerleading is a real sport “* then you are living the saddest of lives my brain twin and proof that my point is valid.
ok, ok maybe i set you up with my extrememly ridiculous face/side pony tail**, but you get what i’m saying, right? no? ok then, moving on. this is what i think my hair says:
6:30am: oh, thank goodness she’s awake, she’s going to wash me now, wash me. wash me. WASH ME, CAN’T YOU SEE I’M DIRTYYYYYYYY?
6:32am: fine, don’t wash me, remember that cowlick you rocked an entire year for 3rd grade? i’m bringing that trash back, have fun pretending you don’t know why people flinch when they look at you from the side.
8:00am: oh, ok you wanna put me in a ponytail (insert all “regalness of an updo” jokes here) well, i will not be silenced, you just thought all those baby bangs were grown out, hope you have some AquaNet and some a few hundred packs of bobby pins if you plan on doing anything today without me stabbing you in your eyes every 27 seconds.
9:00am: hurray i’m free, i knew you’d see it my way. i am a little sorry i had to resort to the headache, but you left me no choice. how about i give you some temporary volume as a peace offering?
11:00am: i’m tired of being peaceful. i know what would be fun, i’ll just dance a little, float in the breeze, maybe develop a few rats’ nests in the bottom-most layer for you to find later. hehehe
[hair tangles itself for the next 4 or 5 hours]
5:30pm: oh yay! you’re going to clean me, i’m so excited i think i’ll maybe do a little curl or wave so that you know i appreciate this.
6:00pm: oops i almost forgot how vindictive i like to be. guess it’s time to be frizzy and flat now.
10:00pm: wait. you’re going to bed? you’re going to squish me for hours! please don’t please don’t! look! i’m good hair, see how magnificent i look right now when no one is anywhere near you and will never be able to witness the glory that is me right now?!!!
then we rinse and repeat (pun fully intended). so maybe that’s not really what my hair says. maybe it really just says “
the person wearing me is lazy and apathetic about me and doesn’t like brushes beauty is not dependent on the status of hair follicles”.