Not many a long high school year ago, I cut off fourteen and a half inches of my hair, and it has never been that long again.
These memories are relevant, you see, for tonight, I once again did something drastic.
While at work, Friday hit me hard. My hair, which has been cut in nearly the same simple bob fashion since my freshman year of college (and invariably allowed to grow out to an awkward mousy length), suddenly seemed so last Thursday. Oh, the static! Oh, the limpid strange curl that always developed from tucking locks behind my ear! I could take it no more. It was time. It had to go. Something had to change.
I had few requirements: it must be shorter, it must be easy to take care of, and it must not look like a soccer mom.
Feeling that the salon I visited last time was perhaps not the place to achieve this goal, I visited a chain that seemed more trendy, with younger hairdressers and a clientele that seemed slightly more youth-skewed. I was delivered unto the hands of Matt, who has the distinction of being the only male hairstylist that I can recall having seen in about five or six years. This is interesting to me, for the last male maker-of-style-changes I subjected my tresses to was the one who cut over a foot of it off.
My hair is usually very dry, thanks to my daily showers at temperatures near scalding. I was promptly taken to The Sinks for conditioning, and the head-back position must have brought my imposing browline into sharp relief, for somewhere between the "So, what do you do?" and the "Oh really? That's nice," there was a "Have you ever thought about waxing your eyebrows?"
I was already hyped up over the haircut bit, but this! My eyebrows! Those things that I have never taken a tweezer to, not once, for they would probably devour both the tweezer and the tweezee alive! ... and then, it occurred to me. My hair has been the same dull thing for years, a "mundaneness" I am now punishing by hacking it all off. My eyebrows have been the same my entire life. So let's do it. Let's just do it.
I was practically twitching as I tried to register what I had just committed myself to, so my little jerks as the forest was felled by wax and sharp tugs were (hopefully) not too noticeable. Honestly, though, there was probably no better soul in the place to trust this task to. When he observed that my eyebrows do their own damn thing, rather than make a mistake I'd wear for a month, he actually called someone over for a second opinion. He consulted with a fellow stylist on the strange growth pattern of my (former) eyebrows. Eyebrowologists?
In the end, the wig eating monsters have been significantly reduced (not to pencil-thin status). I'm not really sure what I think of this outcome just yet. It occurred to me that should I attempt to lighten my brows via makeup (a la blonde for Kyouyama Anna), it would probably look a hell of a lot less forced. The one disadvantage that I have noticed is that my eyebrows, which were naturally uneven to begin with, are now very clearly so. I think the sheer mass of them disguised that fact before. So might I say now, I am not making snerking faces at you ... my left eyebrow is just ... up there, naturally!
Also, I have resolved to discard the words "apparently" and "awesome" from my vocabulary. This will be a toughie.