A few weeks ago, Terry decided that he hadn’t seen enough snow over the past couple of winters, so he and a couple of his friends booked a series of snowboarding lessons at a place in Glasgow. The lessons are mostly on a Sunday, and because my car is yet to be fixed after my little fender bender over Christmas, this means that I’m left home alone.
Now, I don’t know what you do when you have the house to yourself for several hours of a Sunday afternoon (I’m guessing probably NOT THIS, though…) but I experiment with ridiculous hairstyles:
Yeah. So, obviously I didn’t actually go out like this – it was a “strictly for fun, and also boredom” thing – but I’d always wanted to try out a massive beehive, and by that I don’t mean the little baby beehives I sometimes do with a bumpit, or that velcro thing I got from eBay that one time, but a proper Amy Winehouse/Marge Simpson/Patsy from AbFab kind of ‘hive. (Mostly Patsy, to be honest. Because when I’m older, I intend to make Pats my role model, and just be drunk all the time…)
I will also wear sunglasses all the time, because… actually, because I do that anyway. People hate me for it. I don’t care.
I took the beehive down before Terry got home. I did show him the photos, though, and he kind of laughed in a strange way, and looked at me funny. Then I think I heard him calling his friends and saying he can’t leave me on my own no more, or he comes home to Snooki, apparently.
P.S. Those of you who asked me on Facebook/Twitter/Instagram: a ton of volumising powder, then a ton of backcombing. And seriously, that’s it.
As some of you may recall, I am the kiss of death when it comes to beauty products, in the sense that as soon as I find something I love, it is almost certain to be discontinued immediately. This is particularly true of colour-depositing conditioners for redheads, which I appear to be doomed to spend my life searching for, only for them to be discontinued as soon as I come across them.
So far I’ve managed to to get both John Frieda Radiant Red Color Glaze and Wella Lifetex Color Reflex Mask discontinued. This sucks, because apart from that one time when the Wella product turned my hair bright orange, they were great products: basically deep conditioners, but with a bit of added colour which made my hair a little more vibrant and, well, redder.
And then they discontinued them. Gah.
This month, however, a new product has entered my life, and I like it so much I feel duty-bound to warn you all in advance that it will probably be discontinued any day now. It’s Superdrug’s Colour Effects Wash In, Wash Out Conditioning Colour in Warm Copper Gold (fairly trips off the tongue, no?), you use it in the shower, just like a regular conditioner, and it adds nice, coppery-gold highlights to your hair, which you totally can’t see in this photo, but here it is, anyway:
It’s hard to photograph your own head, apparently. It’s also kind of pointless, because my hair colour can look totally different, depending on the lighting, what time of day it is, the angle of the photo… But yeah. Here is the back of my head, last week. You’re welcome!
This is only 99p per bottle, which is another sure sign that it won’t last. In fact, I became so paranoid that it would be discontinued that when I couldn’t find it on the Superdrug website, I sent them an email saying, “You’re totally discontinuing the Colour Effects Conditioner, aren’t you? Aren’t you?” They assure me they’re not, but…we’ll see. In the meantime, and in the interests of balance, I have to report that it’s kind of crappy AS a conditioner, in that it doesn’t do much for, you know, the actual condition of my hair, and I’ve been having to use my regular conditioner afterwards, or I emerge from the shower looking a bit like this. But still: 99p! And also available in other colours, which I’m afraid I didn’t pay any attention to, because I only have eyes for the redhead stuff.
Now, who wants to place bets on how soon it will be discontinued?
(Er, I wasn’t paid for this post, by the way. I just sound like I was.)
Tagged red hair
On Sunday, I… well, I’ll be honest: I couldn’t be bothered washing my hair. And then I got an email from a reader asking how I create that giant, messy bun thing that sits on top of my head, and if I could possibly do a tutorial on it. This is one of several such requests I’ve had over the past few months, and I thought, “Well, why not? It wouldn’t be the first time the blind had led the blind, after all!” And so it is that today I bring to you this half-assed hair tutorial. I call it “Messy Bun Head”. You are welcome.
Important Disclaimer:
* Clears throat * Before I get started, I just want to stress here that I am not a “hair” person, as those of you who make up fake names to tell me how awful my hair is can testify. I just make it up as I go along, and if I’m putting my hair up, I really just mess around with it until it looks vaguely presentable. I arrived at my Messy Bun Head on holiday last December, when my usual routine was turned on its (messy bun) head, and rather than washing my hair first thing in the morning, I was washing it before we went out in the evening. That left me with the entire day to get through with a head full of dirty, greasy hair (keepin’ it classy here, folks!), and lo! The Messy Bun Head was born.
I tell you all of this purely to make it clear that I am not claiming to be any kind of expert on this. I’m sure there are easier, better, prettier ways to create the same look: this is just how I do it, for the benefit of those of you who have specifically asked.
So! The Gigantic Messy Bun Head!
Here is what you’ll need:
L-R: Hair grips. I swear by the Goody Spin Pin, which I’ve been using since the nineties, when they were sold as “Hair Scroos”. Yes, with that spelling. I KNOW. Goody recently re-released them as a the “Spin Pin”, however, and you can buy them in Asda or Boots if you’re in the UK, or Wal*Mart and Target in the US. You can probably buy them in lots of other places too, but those are the ones I’ve seen them in personally. You can also use good old bobby pins (I normally use a few of those too, to secure any stray strands of hair I’m left with) or any other kind of hair-securing measure you know of, as I will not be coming round to check you’re all doing this EXACTLY LIKE ME.
Comb. You’re all familiar with combs, right?
Hair elastic: And I believe you know Mr. Hair Elastic?
Hairspray. This one is Asda’s own brand, and is the probably only the second can of hairspray I’ve bought since I was a teenager, so I have no idea how good it is compared to any other brands. It seems to work, though.
Greasy Hair: I find this style is best done on unwashed hair, because if my hair has been freshly washed, it’s just too fine and slippery, and so the bun will be much smaller and less full of TEH DRAMA. In other words, it will be simply a Small Messy Bun Head, rather than a gigantic one. If you don’t have a handy head-full of greasy hair, there are probably lots of things you can use to add texture, thicken your hair up, and make it easier to style. I wouldn’t know about any of them, though, because I’m not really into hair products (See “Not a Hair Person” above. Actually, that image is kind of creepy, isn’t it? A Hair Person, I mean. Run, do not walk, from… THE HAIR PERSON!!!!!!!)
Let’s get started and make us some messy bunheads, shall we?
STEP ONE: Take your hair elastic, and secure your hair in a high ponytail. How high you make this will determine the eventual look. If you want the full-on, Messy Bun Head effect, secure your pont tail more or less in the centre of your head. For a more subtle, “coronet” effect, place it further back. You can also create a Messy Bun Head at the nape of the neck, on the side, under your arm…anywhere you have hair, basically.
 "Hai, ponytail!" (D'you see what I did there?)
(Yes, I am watermarking my face now – or as close to is as possible. This is what it’s come to, people.)
(Also, the false eyelashes were for a review I was doing: am all about multitasking, you know. I don’t normally ponce around in false eyelashes on a Sunday. Sometimes I don’t even wear CLOTHES on a Sunday, to be completely honest.)
STEP TWO: Take your comb:
 Hair Tools For Dummies
And backcomb like your life depends on it.
 "Must. Create. Messy. Bun. Head."
(Things I Learned From Blogging # 392: it’s hard to take photos of yourself backcombing your hair. I’m sure you all know how to backcomb, but just in case you don’t, you’re basically combing your hair in the opposite direction you’d usually do it, i.e. working the comb from tip to root, rather than from root to tip.)
Again, how much backcombing you do will detemine your final outcome, and the more backcombing, the bigger the hair, and the bigger the Messy Bun Head. For a more subtle look, just backcomb very lightly, to add a bit of body. You could also add clip-in hair extensions here, if you had them, or pad it out with old socks, or anything you feel like, really: your hair is your oyster. Or something.
Amber’s Top Tip: To keep the bun looking as smooth as possible, try to backcomb the underside of your ponytail only, leaving the front of the hair smooth. This is the part that people will see once the bun is complete.
Once you’re done, your hair will look something like this:
 It was acceptable in the 80s, the 80s...
STEP THREE: Wrap the hair around the hair tie, in the rough shape of a bun.
 So. Very. Drunk.
Oh yeah, did I mention I’d been drinking when I took these? It helps.
(Things I Learned From Blogging # 393: Also hard to take photos of yourself putting your hair in a bun, GOD.)
 "C'mon, Vogue! Let your body gooo with the floooow!" This style is supposed to look messy (Well, d’uh!), and not too “done”, so you don’t have to get this perfect. If it was supposed to look perfect, I wouldn’t be able to show you how to do it, you’d need an actual Hair Person (OMG!). And, at the risk of repeating myself yet again, how you do this will… yes, you guessed it, effect the final look of the bun! If you wrap the hair tightly, it will create a small bun. If you wrap it loosely, it will create a larger one. I personally tend to go for a “The Bigger, The Better” approach, so I keep the circumference of the bun fairly wide, but that’s just me.
 "You! Know! You! Can! Do! It!" (Note how my hair is changing colour from photo to photo. You’ll be pleased to know that this is NOT a requirement of this hairdo, it was because the sun was constantly going in and out from behind clouds, so the lighting in the room kept changing, and sometimes the flash would come on, sometimes it wouldn’t. I don’t have magically changing hair, although that would be pretty cool.)
STEP FOUR: Once you have your basic shape, secure with your hair grip of choice. Here, I’ve used four of the spin pins: one on each side, one at the back, and one right on the top, to hold down the shorter bits of hair which stick up. I find these will hold my hair in place all day, but obviously do whatever you need to here to keep it secure.
 "There's something scary on the ceiling..."  "No, seriously, what IS that? Is it a ceiling crab?"  Rubin to the rescue! At this point, your hair will be a hot mess, I’m not even joking. There will be bits sticking up everywhere, there will be wispy bits all over your head. There will be a weird bit sticking out the back:
 Rats. You won’t want anyone to get too close:
 Too close, back off. and you’ll be thinking, “That FREAKING Amber, why did I ever listen to her?” Your forehead will also be weirdly shiny. Oh no, wait, that’s just me. Don’t panic! And don’t come round and beat me up. It can be fixed! Simply return to your trusty bobby pins and comb, smooth down the hair where you need to and secure any rogue strands. Soon you will be feeling all warm and fuzzy:
 "Oh, Gigantic Bun Head, I love you!" (Er, I hadn’t actually done any of those things here, as you can tell from the fact that my hair is still a Hot Mess. I just thought it was a funny photo.)
Finally, you’re ready for…
STEP FIVE: Hairspray.
 "Simply spray directly into the eye..." OK, so this is a totally posed photo. Because yeah, like I’m allowed to use flammable liquids around my face without supervision: I DON’T THINK.
I only really use spray to keep the little fluffy bits around my head down: the pins do the rest of the work. You may not even need to use a product at all: I will leave that up to you.
And there you have it: A Gigantic Messy Bun Head, all of your very own! Awww! I think I’ll call mine “Clive”.
 "Why Ambassador, wiz zees giant bunheads you are really spoiling us!" Now, I gotta admit: this isn’t one of my better bunheads. In fact, it truly is a Halfassed Bunhead, if ever I saw one. I was trying to do it without the aid of a mirror, and with one hand clutching the camera remote and THAT IS MY EXCUSE. I also didn’t ACTUALLY use the hairspray, so you can see that the fuzzies are still very much in evidence. Sometimes, though, that’s just how it goes. Some days, my hair just doesn’t want to be in a Giant Bunhead, and this was one of those days. I’m sure you get the idea, though, and it’s not creating the perfect Bunhead that matters, it’s, er, the taking part. Or something. Where is my wine?
 And they all lived happily ever after, with their giant bunheads... OK, folks, it’s over to you. Go forth and create Giant Messy Bunheads of your own. A Giant Messy Bunhead Army we will be!
P.S. Right after taking these photos, I took Rubin for a walk, and a wasp landed on my head and would not leave me alone. I am 98.72% sure it thought my head was its nest, true story.
Tagged Gigantic Messy Bun Head
The night before we left for California, I dyed my hair orange.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re all, “But her hair already IS orange? Should I say her hair is orange? Has she not noticed?”
People, I mean ORANGE.
No, MUCH more orange than that. Seriously.
This was the culprit:
Wella Lifetex Color Reflex Mask in Red. Naturally, the company discontinued it as soon as they knew I liked it, but not before I’d managed to squirrel a tube away in preparation for a time when I’d want my hair to look slightly redder than it does naturally.
That time came, as I said, the night before we left for California.
Now, as most of you know, my hair is naturally red, and I never really dared to tamper with it for fear of… well, for fear of it turning BRIGHT ORANGE, basically. I do, however, like to dabble in that small area of haircare – and trust me, it’s a VERY small area of haircare – which consists of products designed specifically for red hair. Wella Lifetext was one of those products: it’s basically a conditioner, but it’s a conditioner designed to “bring out the red” in your hair, and make it glossier, prettier and REDDER. It does this by depositing a small amount of colour every time you use it.
Now, I’d used this before and loved it. It did, indeed, make my hair shinier, and it did, indeed, “bring out the red”, although, honestly, it did it in such a way that only I would notice the difference. And it washes out after about three shampoos, so I figured it was safe even for me to use. Ha!
Because the product had been discontinued, there was only a small amount left in my one remainng tube, but it was just enough for one application, so I slapped it on with gay abandon, and then went about the business of packing my suitcase.
This was my fatal mistake.
I got so wrapped up in the process of adding and removing items from my suitcase that I left the product on for longer than the 2 – 5 minutes advised on the tube. Quite a bit longer, actually.
When I finally rinsed it out?
Orange.
“Whoops!” I thought. “Went a bit too far, there! I will shampoo it again!”
So I did.
ORANGE.
By this point, it was around midnight. Our flight was early the next morning, which is why I was washing my hair last thing at night: I figured if I did it then, and just tied it back to sleep in, I wouldn’t have to bother washing it in the morning, and could have a few more precious minutes of sleep. I’d finished packing my suitcase by this point, and had even laid out my clothes for the next morning, so all I had to do next morning was drag myself out of bed, have a quick shower, throw on some clothes and makeup and go.
I looked at the hair. And you know, it was late, and it was dark. I was looking at it under artificial light, and we all know how much THAT can change the appearance of things. I can actually look not too bad in artificial light, for instance, whereas in harsh daylight, I look like a hag.
“I don’t think my hair is any more orange than it is naturally,” I told myself. “It’s just the light. It’ll be fine in the morning.”
So I tied it up, set my alarm, and went to bed.
In the morning, things went mostly according to plan. The alarm went off, I sleptwalked to the shower, and then slepwalked back into the bedroom, where I positioned myself in front of the mirror to let down my hair, all Rapunzel-like.
ORANGE.
Like, REALLY, REALLY ORANGE. I’m talking OMGORANGE.
It was a very obviously artificial orange: the type of colour that just does not occur in nature.
“OMFG!” I said.
Well, I was in quandary. I had just over 20 minutes before the taxi was due to arrive to take us to the airport, and my hair was bright orange. Also, Terry, who plans our trips with the precision of military manoeuvres, was in the vicinity, and would NOT be pleased to know that The Schedule was about to be disrupted by my orange head.
I tried to pile The Hair on top of my head, thinking that the less you could see of it, the more natural it would look.
Nah.
It actually looked a bit worse, to be honest.
My mind was made up. Ripping off my dressing gown, I ran for the bathroom… only to get halfway down the hall, realise I had no time to wash and dry my hair before the taxi arrived, and turn and run back to the bedroom.
I had repeated this move about five times, in a frenzy of indecision, before Terry noticed me running up and down the hall naked, and wanted to know why.
“MYHAIRISOMGORANGE!” I wailed. “I need to wash it! I need to wash it NOW! There is time for me to wash it! Say there is time for me to wash it!”
Terry grabbed me by the shoulders and looked me in the eye.
“You’re not washing your hair,” he said, speaking very slowly and quietly, and actually, menacingly. “We. Will. Miss. Our. Flight. If. You. Start. Dicking. About. With. Your. Hair. Now. Understand?”
I nodded, mutely, and meekly headed back to the bedroom to get dressed.
And then, as soon as I heard Terry head downstairs to take the cases outside and wait for the taxi, I ran for the bathroom, locked the door behind me, wrenched the showerhead off the wall and, bending over the bath, SHAMPOOED THE HELL OUT OF MY HAIR.
And there was absolutely nothing Terry could do to stop me.
I was still blow-drying it when my parents arrived, closely followed by the taxi. It was a close-run thing. But by the time we got on the plane, my hair was – mercifully – free of TEH ORANGE.
I’m sure Terry will start speaking to me again soon.
Tagged hair
We made it to L.A., and we’re having far too much fun for me to find time to blog, so for the moment, let the record show that my hair is continuing its assault on my person, this time under the new guise of…
THE HAIR HORN!
Don’t have nightmares, kids…
Tagged california, hair, L.A.
Back when I wrote this post (which was about that time I flashed everyone at the local garage, thanks to a strong gust of wind and a big-skirted dress, just in case you can’t be bothered clicking the link), some of you were kind enough to say how much you liked the photos which accompanied it. And honestly, I felt a bit bad about that, because the fact is, that’s not what I actually look like most of the time.
HERE’S what I ACTUALLY look like most of the time:
Funnily enough, this is also going to be the poster for my very own horror movie, The Hair. Tagline: When hair is cut violently, a powerful curse is released…
OMGHAIR!
The curse cannot be broken:
(I’m also waltzing with a ghost in this photo. If you can see the ghost, I’m afraid you’re cursed, and your hair will kill you in your sleep tonight. If you can’t see the ghost, meanwhile? Also cursed. Sorry.)
The curse can strike at any time, and ruin any photo:
As you can see, in this photo Rubin’s special canine senses had alerted him to the approach of THE HAIR. He tried bravely to fight it (or perhaps he’s actually just struggling to get away from it, who knows?) but alas, it was too late, and that nice photo Terry had set up, with my disembodied head floating above some flowers, was ruined by the curse of THE HAIR.
Sometimes The Hair will find new and unusual ways to attack. There you will be, just walking along minding your own buisiness, when:
HAIR MOUSTACHE!
Think you can escape it?
THINK AGAIN:
Note the expression on my mum’s face here. She sees The Hair. She knows I’m doomed. She’s just wondering how to tell me. Or whether to run.
(No, I have no idea what was going on in this photo. Other than that my hair was trying to kill me, obviously.)
You should also fear the close cousin of the Hair Moustache, the HAIR BEARD:
It’s a little more subtle, but just as deadly.
So, readers, while it’s not my intention to make you all have nightmares (I think I did that already when I posted the link to THAT OLD WOMAN from Insidious) I hope I’ve shown you today that you can run, but you cannot hide from…
THE HAIR.
Move over, Samara. There’s a new creepy girl in town.
(Coming soon to a blog near you.)
(Er, if you could maybe imagine the Psycho music or something playing here, thanks.)
Tagged hair
Readers, there’s really no easy way to say this. In fact, because I am slightly afraid of you all, and know you’ve always reacted with horror to my “Hey, I could totally get a fringe!” suggestions in the past, I actually wasn’t going to say anything: I thought I’d just avoid posting photos of myself for a few months and no one would be any the wiser. But my clever plan was foiled, and it was foiled by my very own Shoe Challenge, which started last month and which requires all participants to take photos of themselves and post them on the Internet. Now, what kind of asshole comes up with a rule like that, eh? Oh. That would’ve been me. Excellent. I hate myself.
Of course, I could have simply taken advantage of the “you can crop out your head if you want” clause, but I’ve never done that before and people would notice and ask why, so I’m just going to come clean. I’m going to say this very quickly and then I’m going to run away and hide:
ItriedtocutmyownhairandIscreweditupsoIhadtogotothesalonandnowIhaveafringe.
And now, a short intermission, during which you can all shout at me:
<short intermission, shouting >
So, I’m not even going to TRY and defend my latest act of complete and utter idiocy. I did it because I am stupid, and that’s really all there is to be said on the matter. Because I am me, though, and I normally like to say much, much more than is ever necessary about any given subject, here is my explanation:
“I am stupid. Like, ‘If I’d been born a couple of hundred years ago, I probably wouldn’t have survived childhood’ stupid. Seriously.”
Wait, I meant my OTHER explanation:
Well, see, you know. I had been bored with my hair for a while. It wasn’t that it was a bad cut (Although obviously at least one person will email me now to say that yes, it was): it was just that I’d had it since I was about 14, and I was well and truly sick of it. The problem with that, though, was that over the last year or so, my anxiety about having my hair cut has only intensified. I mean, I know I always joke about hating going to the salon, but seriously, folks: I hate going to the salon. So I just stopped going, other than when I felt it had become unavoidable. And even although Iwas bored with my hair, I could see no way of ever changing it, because every time I DID have it cut, I was so afeared of The Return of the Mullet that I would just have it trimmed and then leave looking exactly the same as when I arrived. I knew I was being silly about it. “Amber,” I told myself, “Ain’t no point going through your ENTIRE LIFE with EXACTLY THE SAME HAIRCUT, just because you’re too scared to change it in case you hate it. Even although every time you have changed it, you’ve hated it.” But I WAS too scared. And I DID continue to go through life with exactly the same haircut.
Exactly the same haircut
It was a problem.
But then. Then came The Googling.
“You know,” I thought to myself one day, “I bet it’s not THAT hard to cut your own hair. I bet I could do it if I really wanted to. I will Google it.”
So I did. But rather than Googling something that might have actually helped me, like “THE PERILS OF CUTTING YOUR OWN HAIR”, say, I obviously Googled something like, “Cutting your own hair is easy, yeah?” Because I got a bunch of results that were all about how EASY it was to cut your own hair. How easy? SO easy! “Awesome!” I said. “Pass me the kitchen scissors, Terry!”
OK, I didn’t say that last bit. Instead, I took my search to YouTube. And there I found a bunch of tutorials with titles like, “How to cut your hair yourself – it’s easy, and not in the least bit stupid!” They had all been made by lovely young girls with gorgeous, gorgeous hair. “I cut it myself,” they all said in their videos. “Because it’s easy!”
And that was when I reached for the scissors.
Well, no, not exactly. I actually spent several weeks contemplating the thought, which obviously makes me sound even more stupid, because there was SO MUCH TIME for me to talk myself out of it. (“Why didn’t you mention this plan?” asked Terry, aghast, when I came out of the bedroom looking like I’d just lost a fight with Edward Scissorhands. “Because you would have talked me out of it,” I said, and that right there shows you why I should probably be taken into protective custody for my own good.) Then, on Saturday, I was having dinner at my parents’ house when, following a routine trip to the bathroom, I looked in the mirror above the hand basin and realised that some strands of my hair were much longer than others.
(This was the cut I mentioned here, by the way, so either some strands of my hair grow freakishly faster than others, or I’d been walking about like that for the past four weeks. And the only reason I had THAT cut was because the last time I’d been to that salon, they’d left one side much longer than the other. Yes, I still went back. Because they’re cheap and I’m in and out in ten minutes, which makes me willing to overlook the fact that hairdressing obviously isn’t part of their skill set.)
(This isn’t even the bad bit of the story yet, by the way.)
“Aha!” I thought. “This is just the opportunity I’ve been waiting for! I will use my new found hair-stylin’ skills – thanks, YouTube! – to fix this!”
So, while my parents and Terry were all outside taking photos of the night sky (Don’t ask), I went into the kitchen, snuck the hairdressing scissors out of the drawer (Yes, my parents own hairdressing scissors. Because my parents own EVEYTHING. Seriously, there will probably come a day when I can type the sentence, “.. so I went into the kitchen and snuck my parents’ nuclear warhead out of the drawer…”) and retired with them to the bathroom.
SNIP! Went the scissors. SNIPSNIP! A-SNIPSNIPSNIP! It was, dare I say it, easy. And also oddly satisfying. As I snipped, I felt my powers grow. It was like when Luke Skywalker started learning all those mad Jedi skillz. Seriously, it was JUST LIKE THAT.
“The Force is strong in you, young Padawan,” I told my reflection. “Attempting all kinds of complicated hairdressing feats, soon you will be!”
And sure enough, the hair looked fine. But I had created a monster of a different kind, there in my parents bathroom. You see, up until then, my thoughts about hair cutting had been of the strictly theoretical kind. It was one of those things that are kind of fun to think about, but which you know you’ll never actually DO, like when I imagine myself on X-Factor sometimes. Now, though, things were different. Buoyed by my recent success in the bathroom, my plans started to take on a more concrete form. It was but a matter of time before I put my skills to their true test, and one way or another, I knew my hair would be a-changin’. I just didn’t realise it would be happening this Tuesday.
After all my planning, though, when it did happen, it was very much a spur-of-the-moment thing. It was yesterday morning. I’d just finished blow-drying my hair, and I wasn’t happy with it. The bits at the front were looking a little straggly, and wouldn’t sit right, and all of sudden I knew EXACTLY what to do about it.
“Screw this!” I said, then I turned on my heel, grabbed the scissors, and cut those bad boys right off, without even giving myself a chance to think about it.
Of course, as soon as I saw the worryingly-long strands of hair fall to the floor, I realised what you all realised right at the start of this post: that I had made a monumental mistake. The full weight of the delusion I’d been operating under all came crashing down upon me in that one-split second, and for the first time in weeks, I was able to see clearly: and not just because I’d chopped several inches of my hair off.
So I cut some more, in a bid to even it all up.
WHOOPS.
Only then did I accept defeat and do what I should have done in the first place: I called the salon. And not my local Krappy Kuts, either. I knew this task would be beyond them. No, I called the proper salon, ‘fessed up, and managed to get an appointment with the salon director that afternoon. One hour and a lot of money later, I was no longer looking like a total idiot (Luckily my ruthless attack on my own head had centred solely around those strands at the very front, so the rest of the hair remains intact. And actually, the stylist has managed to give me more or less the cut I was trying to do myself, and which I’d been thinking about getting for months. It’s just a shame I don’t actually like it now I have it, thus proving that I was RIGHT to be scared to make even the smallest change, and that I should never, ever, EVER try to change my hair, no matter how bored with it I get). I WAS still feeling like one, though, obviously.
And that’s how I came to have a sideways fringe, and no money.
The End
(P.S. No, I’m not posting photos. I’m going to be pinning it back until it grows out anyway, and I’ve also been getting some very personal comments about the general state of my face here recently: I can change my hair, but there’s not much I can do about my face, unfortunately, so no photos until it grows out!)
Tagged cutting your own hair, hair
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