(Sorry for the dark pictures. Ho hum.)
I mentioned a while ago that I’ve been bored senseless by my hair. Last night I made the long trek up to Evergreen (about an hour from work) to go see my hairdresser.
I threw up my hands and said “do whatever.” She’s been cutting my hair for about nine and a half years now (boy, did that realization make us feel old), so she knows me, my style, and my hair pretty well. We consulted briefly, ran the idea past Bradon (who I drug along for his opinion), were met by a blank stare, and plunged forward.
Layered in the back, angling up the front to about chin length. My hairdresser threw around words like volume and movement (I’ll go movement, but Lord knows I don’t need more volume.)
These pictures are my hair as it came out of the salon…therefore we know we’ll never see it quite like this again. This involves mousse and a hairdryer, and results in a little more…fluffiness…than I generally like in my hair. My hairdresser assured me that I’ll be able to wake up, brush my hair, and go without all this fussing – which is what I did this morning, and for the most part, she was right.
We took off about ten inches, which are indeed being donated to Locks of Love. At this point, the extent of my opinion on my new cut is “It’s so short! I have no hair!” It will probably take a couple of weeks for me to figure out if I like it, but so far I’m happy. It will still tuck behind my ears (barely), it still goes up in a ponytail (mostly), and for now I can’t stop playing with it. I have to say though – being able to run my fingers through my hair without getting it caught and having to become a contortionist to get it out is pretty nifty.