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The Hair Witch Project

I have not been a very smart girl recently.

Hair you see. Hair. I have lots of it, long, thick, straight, one of the bennies of hispanic genes, making up for the fact that we all look like Al Pacino when we get old. What my hair likes is to be cut into a straight shape and then be left alone. But of course, I didn't do that.

For the crimbo shows, I curled my hair, and the result was a little bit Monroe/burlesque, seriously pretty. But those hot tong things aren't good for hair. So I resolved to get a perm.
And this was a very great mistake.

The perm did not take well, I left the studio looking like Sideshow Bob. I valiantly struggled with the mess until I had to take it to a good salon. My hairdresser, Leonardo (of course!), shook his head.

'This has been bleached, coloured, permed...you just can't carry on like this. Look at the damage already! You should have a series of deep conditioning treatments. Or be very brave and let me cut it all off, start from scratch.'

I can see the allure of short hair; that sense of not always having a thick curtain permanently in the way, of just looking at your face and letting yourself see it and like it. It's the same thing as make up; I know I look better with it, but sometimes it's just nice to see my face, my skin, my cheekbones and eyes without constantly feeling I must improve something or conceal something else. Of course my Mum, who took beauty seriously in her time, believed that when women grew older, hair cuts should be pretty but certainly not long - 'You don't want to look like a morlock, do you?'

I haven't gone for it yet. Leonardo cut the most damaged bits out, and layered the whole thing. It all looks a bit 80s (I have never had problems achieving 'big' hair). When I curl the remnants of the perm, it has a bedhead look that larians really likes - appropriate accessories would include a fur bikini and a pterodactyl. But I can't go out like this, people will think I'm going to eat them. So I wear it up, or partly up. Up, apart from a very occasional resemblance to a young Mick Hucknell, it looks OK. Partly up it's cute. But cut it all off, or just wear it up until it grows long enough again for me to restyle?



Feb. 11th, 2011 09:19 am (UTC)
:-D It had to be didn't it? The least exotic name I ever heard on a hairdresser was Vincent, insistently pronounced Vinchenzay... when I asked where he came from, turned out he was a Bradford boy!



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