I told my hair stylist that I have a face like an open car door. Broad. Therefore, the short look, chic notwithstanding, would open up that face to too much scrutiny. So all I did today was to cut my fringe short. I’m not sure about short bangs too now. There’s still a lot of face to deal with 😮 Besides, I’ve always preferred pixie-sized proportions (of which I was the proud owner of), with short locks.
Her receptionist on hearing my complaint, offered her perfect solution. Short hair with a long fringe! 🙂 The short back, keeps the style chic and fresh and the fringe to help with my need to cover the car door proportions of my face.
My hair stylist continued (I think she was trying to affirm me), “Your face is not big. In fact, I think it’s too small for… er…..the rest of you.”
The tailing of of the voice after “too small for” was her catching herself from saying “your body”! So much for affirmation. From big face to “big-boned”. But that’s not the body of work for today. 🙂
This Hamlet-like, see-saw of a motion of “to cut short” or “not too short” has been a preoccupation….well, only on my visits to the hairdresser. So yes, my track record with hairdressers has not been great. Not my fault though. They force me to jump ship everytime they get the gleam in their eye with shears in their hands, ready to clip my tresses like Edward Scissorhand does to hedges.
Why the ding donging about mowing my hair? It has its roots in this image that I have entrenched in my head. I was the new-kid-on-the-block in the bank I used to work at. Coming from a less “professional” industry, I was riotous in a bright yellow silk blouse with orange and purple geometrical motif and a purple skirt. A younger, nubile body notwithstanding, I was hauled up for its inappropriateness (I thought folks in Marketing were creative) towards a clean, sleek silhoutte in sombre black, sashaying away, back towards me, long mane, all curled and styled bouncing against her back. Suddenly someone called out to her, let’s just refer to her as Mandy, and she turned.
If there were music playing, it would be one of those melt-down moments when the music goes off-key and slides to a lower register. I’m sorry, the truth hurts but the back looked better than the front! :p I am sure she would have been terrific in her heyday and semblances of it flashed through that day but you know how quickly a flash dissipates. She was past 40 and the long ringlets were bouncier than the collagen-deprived face. That image stuck in my mind! And as a young 20 something, I swore I would cut my hair short once I hit 40!
40’s come and gone and being now where she was, I’m quite certain it’s about trying to snatch a few more years of … I dunno…flirtatious, long locks which somehow symbolises a bastion of youth. All of my life I’ve always had short hair. Bob cut, boy cut, boot camp cut… whatever my mum deemed suitable for a child in uniform. So when I finally wrested control of my hair, I’ve worn it long except for one moment of madness, now perpetuated in my driver’s licence but framing a thin face and body.
Believe you me, one day I would like that chic, cropped look. The real block is unpiling the pounds. Belly ho! :p
Meanwhile, please don’t call out to me while I’m walking away from you, especially when you have a young impressionable person with you. You wouldn’t want another traumatised Hamletta unleashed to the world.