It had happened again, and it was so bad this time that I didn’t want to show anyone. Come to think about it, it was pretty bad every time.
Since I was very young my mother forced me to have hair passed my
ass butt. Sometimes I’d forget to move it out of the way and it would go in the toilet, I was like 3 or 4 when that happened… don’t judge me. I used to beg my mother to cut it short and she’d rant about the importance of Spanish women having long, flowing, beautiful hair. It was a cultural thing this length, short hair was considered ugly. My mother told me that my hair belonged to her and that I wouldn’t be allowed to cut it until I was 18 years old when it would then belong to me.
[This was the day of my very first haircut, my mother took off one whole inch.]
[It took me three hours to straighten this mess.]
When I was nineteen I went to the salon with my Amélie DVD in tow and pointed to the front cover and told the stylist to do that to me. She in turn made me look like a Rubber Soul era Ringo Starr. When I was 21 my hair was at it’s best, until I had a nervous breakdown and chopped it all off again, this time the stylist determined that my hair was too thick for a short cut and hacked into it with thinning shears, it took months to recover. At 23 I had yet another nervous breakdown, this time I looked like a soccer mom (don’t worry, after this recent hick up I found a therapist, my hair can’t handle this torture any longer).
[Fortunate for me but I guess unfortunate to the story I don’t really have any photo’s of my hair looking all Ringo. This photo was after my hair had grown out a bit and my bangs were pinned back.]
[This photo was actually taken the day after the worst day of my life, I didn’t bother straightening my hair. I in no way left the house like this on an ordinary day.]
[I thought this haircut was so lame that I don’t have any photo’s of myself looking soccer mommy other than this little guy.]
The point of the trip down hair memory lane is to prove that I do not learn my lesson, I have never had a successful short haircut… yet for some insane and unknown reason, I did it again. I don’t know what I look like now, it’s just a choppy disaster. I’ve had a lot of bad haircuts but this was the first time that I actually cried when I saw what my once upon a faithful stylist had done to me.
The day that I cut my hair I wanted to crawl under the sheets and never come out. Unfortunately for me it was my brothers birthday so I had to come out in public and sit around my judgmental family members. My brother Paul greeted me with a “What did you do?!” I hadn’t even taken my hat off yet… which it was like pulling teeth in order to get me to do. The following day I had to go to work, where I wasn’t allowed to wear a hat. After work I went shopping for many head bands so I could hide as much hair as possible.
With this hack job I feel very ugly, and less feminine. I’ve been experimenting with make-up, something I haven’t bothered to do since I was 16 years old and my boyfriend would tell me I looked stupid so I took my shirt and wiped it all off and never tried to wear make-up again… outside of a few times when I was 19, probably because I looked like Ringo and I felt ugly again. I haven’t really been wearing jeans or anything outside of dresses, I’ve been trying to wear more jewelry and paint my nails. I really do feel super butch. Most people I tell this to yell at me and call me an idiot, but they didn’t have a trusted hair stylist go Edward Scissorhands on their heads.
Last month a co-worker told me that my hair was growing fast, so I came home excited and took a photo to compare lengths from last month. I decided to come out of the hair closet and show you all these photos as I take them so you can join me in this hair growth journey.
I’d like to think that my hair is growing. I’m anxious for it to get to a length where I can wear it curly again… you know, without looking all Little Orphan Annie. I’ll keep you posted. Tuesday I’m going to brave the hair salon again. My bangs need trimming, I am terrified.