"Give me down to there hair"
Dec. 17th, 2007 01:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brightrosefoxGods, my hair has gotten long. I hadn't been paying attention. See, this is what happens when I quit trying to obsessively measure it and forget about it. My scalp muttered, "Oh, not caring anymore now, are you? Well, good. Here, have more hair already! Yeesh!"
It's exactly three inches shy of my waist. Which means that in three to six months, depending on how diligent I am about the supplements and oils, I'll have reached my goal. I've been reaching this goal for two and a half years, since the guy who trimmed my hair for my wedding trimmed it four inches too short.
I have this thing with my hair.
I had waist-length hair when I was fourteen. When I went to a summer camp for the first time, I was immediately known as "the tiny pale girl with all the hair." My hair was thick, wild, wavy, down to there, and full of its natural color, which was medium brown with red and gold highlights. To top it off, I had skin so pale that it pretty much glowed. In summer, it would get the barest hint of a gold tan. Either way, it made my eyes look even darker (one counseler called them "laser crystal eyes.") I had three or four boys attempt to declare their love for me. I was deathly shy and kind of oblivious to it all. At my parents' house in November, I'd found some photos from that time in camp. One of them showed me standing in the grass, wearing a pastel rainbow-print sundress, my hair spilling down my back, with a self-conscious smile on my face. And I thought, Okay, yeah, now I see it. Because fourteen was the year I blossomed. I was a very, very beautiful girl when I was fourteen (and I say this from the perspective of a different person). And yet I'd been so terrified of boys. My loss, I guess.
My mother wanted my hair shoulder-length or shorter, and every time I grew it out, she wanted to cut it. I suppose she thought my having shorter hair would give me a more sophisticated look. I think I was trying to make up for the mistake I made when I was ten: I decided to get my hair cut into a pixie style, because I saw it on the cover of a book. At that time, my hair was completely straight and very dark. I had bangs. It was a good look. But I kept insisting. The pixie cut was what I wanted. So I got it. And then, when it grew out, my hair was no longer stick-straight. It had become that wild and wavy mess, and had gotten lighter, with highlights. Mom said it was due to puberty setting in, that my hair might have changed texture and color anyway. I was crushed. I had no idea what to do with this new wavy hair. So I started growing out the bangs. By my fourteenth birthday, I was just letting it loose.
When I was fifteen, Mom started having dreams about a young woman with red hair. She started painting that woman a lot. She decided that the woman represented me. So she suggested that we dye my hair red. This went on until college, when I started going back to various shades of brown and auburn. I kept my hair at the length of my shoulder blades, since it was easier to manage, but I missed having waist-length.
This past summer, I went to a stylist and asked her to color my hair as close to its natural color. So that's where it is now. It has its red and gold highlights and it is slightly less wavy, which suits me just fine. I am obsessive-compulsive about caring for it, so it's straighter and sleeker and much much softer now. Bunny fur. Organic products all the way.
And it's almost down to my waist.
*bounces*
It's exactly three inches shy of my waist. Which means that in three to six months, depending on how diligent I am about the supplements and oils, I'll have reached my goal. I've been reaching this goal for two and a half years, since the guy who trimmed my hair for my wedding trimmed it four inches too short.
I have this thing with my hair.
I had waist-length hair when I was fourteen. When I went to a summer camp for the first time, I was immediately known as "the tiny pale girl with all the hair." My hair was thick, wild, wavy, down to there, and full of its natural color, which was medium brown with red and gold highlights. To top it off, I had skin so pale that it pretty much glowed. In summer, it would get the barest hint of a gold tan. Either way, it made my eyes look even darker (one counseler called them "laser crystal eyes.") I had three or four boys attempt to declare their love for me. I was deathly shy and kind of oblivious to it all. At my parents' house in November, I'd found some photos from that time in camp. One of them showed me standing in the grass, wearing a pastel rainbow-print sundress, my hair spilling down my back, with a self-conscious smile on my face. And I thought, Okay, yeah, now I see it. Because fourteen was the year I blossomed. I was a very, very beautiful girl when I was fourteen (and I say this from the perspective of a different person). And yet I'd been so terrified of boys. My loss, I guess.
My mother wanted my hair shoulder-length or shorter, and every time I grew it out, she wanted to cut it. I suppose she thought my having shorter hair would give me a more sophisticated look. I think I was trying to make up for the mistake I made when I was ten: I decided to get my hair cut into a pixie style, because I saw it on the cover of a book. At that time, my hair was completely straight and very dark. I had bangs. It was a good look. But I kept insisting. The pixie cut was what I wanted. So I got it. And then, when it grew out, my hair was no longer stick-straight. It had become that wild and wavy mess, and had gotten lighter, with highlights. Mom said it was due to puberty setting in, that my hair might have changed texture and color anyway. I was crushed. I had no idea what to do with this new wavy hair. So I started growing out the bangs. By my fourteenth birthday, I was just letting it loose.
When I was fifteen, Mom started having dreams about a young woman with red hair. She started painting that woman a lot. She decided that the woman represented me. So she suggested that we dye my hair red. This went on until college, when I started going back to various shades of brown and auburn. I kept my hair at the length of my shoulder blades, since it was easier to manage, but I missed having waist-length.
This past summer, I went to a stylist and asked her to color my hair as close to its natural color. So that's where it is now. It has its red and gold highlights and it is slightly less wavy, which suits me just fine. I am obsessive-compulsive about caring for it, so it's straighter and sleeker and much much softer now. Bunny fur. Organic products all the way.
And it's almost down to my waist.
*bounces*
