Besides being part Greek, I have hair issues. Lots of them. I'm a natural redhead, and that being said, I've got the fine hair that usually goes along with it. (We won't even talk about the reputed temper.)
It all started back when bowl cuts were popular, the ends curled under. There is a picture of me with what appears to be a red mushroom cap on my head, and I am certainly not smiling.
Then onto middle school in the late 70s/early 80s, and someone figuring a perm would be a good idea. My mother swears I chose it, but I'm positive I had nothing to do with that decision. I recall vividly the smell, and then hearing for weeks afterwards at school, "The sun will come out- tomorrow..." Why did they have to release that musical right then?
Bangs, no bangs, long, short, cellophaned, even shaved when I was going through my "Rave-r/Club Kid" phase. My hairdresser never uttered a word.
A friend had once remarked that my sister was "The Hair-Ninja" as in a matter of minutes her hair was up, or down, or half-up, behind her ears, bangless. Apparently this is a family trait; I just happen to go for the actual cut.
Looking back at pictures, it's clear I rarely hold onto the same hairstyle for a solid year. I made a bet with my hairdresser,
Ricky Bell, that I would stick with one through December of this year. I almost didn't make it.
I was set to grow it out when it occurred to me I need bangs. Camouflage for the forehead, you know. When my hair does get long it just gets stringy. Short it is, then.
Ricky was swamped between his two salons and the upcoming holidays.
Knowing if I didn't get in to see someone soon I'd do it myself, I went into a local shop and selected a short cut that, of course, looked great on the model. I dismissed my knowledge that off-camera stood a professional hairdresser, make-up artist, colorist, and lighting expert.
The song lyric "The first cut is the deepest" rang through my ears when I witnessed the first snip. Too late now... gotta keep going. My other stylist is going to kill me. Be strong. It's just hair, it will grow...
When I opened my eyes, I saw a funky, sassy cut that looked relatively easy to maintain. I nearly had a heart attack when the stylist first suggested razor-cutting it for texture. Then I remembered she had never seen a picture of me with feathered hair. Trust. I'm working on it with my students, so, practicing what I preach, I went ahead and trusted.
Looks like I'll keep my bet, for the most part. Going shorter still counts, right, Ricky?