And Stop Treating a Haircut Like Confession
For most of my life now, I’ve felt like a failure. A hair failure, that is.
Every time I go to the hair dresser, it’s like going to confession, where you say that line, “I firmly resolve to sin no more . . .” hoping that if you find yourself thinking, “yeah, right,” it doesn’t invalidate the whole thing. I mean, you have the best of intentions, but you know yourself . . . .
So at the hair dresser’s, when she shows me how to blow out my hair, I’m all like,
Yeah, yeah, I’m totally going to do that. Never mind that, my entire life until now, I wash my hair (if at all) at night and sleep on it wet, then slap that frizzy mop up high first thing in the morning. No, never mind that. This haircut will change all that. From now on, I’m going to give my hair a proper, half hour blow out with a round brush and styling product. Each and every day. That’s right. Yes, ma’am.
And then of course I go right back to the same old routine. And then I feel like a failure.
So today I had one of those mind-blowing, life-changing epiphanies that seem to be coming fast and furious since I turned thirty:
All women throughout history have worn their hair up when doing manual/physical work.
Not all women who do manual/physical work are failures.
I do manual/ physical work all day.
Therefore, I am not necessarily a failure.
Try and invalidate that syllogism if you dare. . . . No, nevermind, don’t. But you see my point?
Ma Ingalls = not a failure.
Rosie the Riveter = not a failure.
Marie Curie = not a failure.
Me = not a failure.
How about you? How do you style your hair on ordinary days?