Armed with 3 magazine photos and as much courage as I could muster, I sat down in the stylist’s chair and committed to a couple of inches below shoulder length. The results? Glorious…until I went to bed with wet hair the next night. I was so excited for the piecy blond waves that would greet me from the mirror in the morning. Ah yes, wishful thinking. I woke up with the McDonalds golden arches on my head, two sharp peaks on either side of a jagged part, and bangs that looked like a scraggly tangle of dried seaweed.
“How do you want me to style it for you?” My stylist had asked me as I’d sat, freshly shorn, in her chair two days before. “Sexy,” I’d said. She made it flippy and fabulous. Perfection. But standing in front of my own mirror, moments before I had to head to work, perfection was a distant ideal from a distant weekend past. All I as aiming for with my hairdryer was a head that wasn’t an advertisement for a fast food restaurant. And all I can say is thank goodness for ponytails!