You’ve seen one of the shows: What Not to Wear. How Do I Look? America’s Next Top Model.
Chicks (and sometimes dudes) get a style makeover and then, to complete the transformation, they head to the hair chair.
Utter. Fucking. Meltdown.
All the gorgeous free clothes, pep talks, and newfound confidence fly out the window faster than you can say “split ends.” Some refuse to have their fried Crystal Gayle hair cut even an inch; others suffer silently, tears streaming down their face, while their Dynasty hair is transformed into something fashionable this side of the millennium. Others whine, complain, and can’t wait to hit their Hair Cuttery and get their ugly back.
I want to shove the cut locks down their goddamned throats. Last time I checked, hair grows back. Get over it. If you think your hair defines you, it probably does. And what it says is: This woman is hella-lame. Try losing your hair to cancer. You’re not dying. Suck it up: If you can’t cope with looking attractive, go home and get some ratty Jessica Simpson hair extensions and revert to your signature 1991 Dress Barn persona.
I don’t always take to an extreme haircut initially. But I squeeze and spray some styling product into what’s left, and rock the fuck out of my modern mullet. And I wait for it to grow out, like a big girl is supposed to do.
And don’t tell me that you can’t cut your hair because your man loves your long hair. Are you serious? Your dude will think that he’s cheating on you with a hot chick whose hair doesn't choke him during sex. And if a guy is turned off by a different hairstyle, your relationship has bigger problems than your bob.
Get a life. Get a hat.
(photo: flickr.com/photos/tracyrab/35322320/—I'm not suggesting this little one has had a hair meltdown yet; clearly, she's never been on a makeover show.)